CAESAR’S APOSTASY
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2
CHARACTERS.
The Emperor Contstantius.
The Empress Eusebia.
The Princess Helena, the Emperor’s sister.
Prince Gallus, the Emperor’s cousin.
Prince Julian, Gallus’s younger half-brother.
Memnon, an Ethiopian, the Emperor’s body-slave.
Potamon, a goldsmith.
Phocion, a dyer.
Eunapius, a hairdresser.
A Fruit-seller.
A Captain of the Watch.
A Soldier.
A Painted Woman.
A Paralytic Man.
A Blind Beggar.
Agathon, son of a Cappadocian vine-grower.
Libanius, a Philosopher.
Gregory of Nazianzus.
Basil of Caesarea.
Sallust of Perusia.
Hekebolius, a Theologian.
Maximus the Mystic.
Eutherius, Julian’s chamberlain.
Leontes, a Quaestor.
Myrrha, a slave.
Decentius, a Tribune.
Sintula, Julian’s Master of the Horse.
Florentius, Severus, } Generals.
Oribases, a Physician.
Laipso, Varro, } Subalterns.
Maurus, a Standard-bearer.
Soldiers, church-goers, heathen onlookers, courtiers, priests, students, dancing girls, servants, the Quaestor’s retinue, Gallic warriors.
Visions and voices.
The first act passes in Constantinople, the second in Athens, the third in Ephesus, the fourth in Lutetia in Gaul, and the fifth in Vienna [Vienne] in the same province. The action takes place during the ten years between A.D. 351 and A.D. 361.
3CAESAR’S APOSTASY.
PLAY IN FIVE ACTS.
ACT FIRST.
Easter night in Constantinople. The scene is an open place, with trees, bushes, and overthrown statues, in the vicinity of the Imperial Palace. In the background, fully illuminated, stands the Imperial Chapel. To the right a marble balustrade, from which a staircase leads down to the water. Between the pines and cypresses appear glimpses of the Bosphorus and the Asiatic coast.
Service in the church. Soldiers of the Imperial Guard stand on the church steps. Great crowds of worshippers stream in. Beggars, cripples, and blind men at the doors. Heathen onlookers, fruit-sellers, and water-carriers fill up the place.
Hymn of Praise.
[Inside the church.]
Never-ending adoration
To the Cross of our salvation!
The Serpent is hurled
To the deepest abyss;
The Lamb rules the world;
All is peace, all is bliss.
4Potamon the Goldsmith.
[Carrying a paper lantern, enters from the left, taps one of the soldiers on the shoulder, and asks:] Hist, good friend—when comes the Emperor?
The Soldier.
I cannot tell.
Phocion the Dyer.
[In the crowd, turning his head.] The Emperor? Did not some one ask about the Emperor? The Emperor will come a little before midnight—just before. I had it from Memnon himself.himself.
Eunapius the Barber.
[Rushes in hastily and pushes a Fruit-seller aside.] Out of the way, heathen!
The Fruit-seller.
Softly, sir!
Potamon.
The swine grumbles!
Eunapius.
Dog, dog!
Phocion.
Grumbling at a well-dressed Christian—at a man of the Emperor’s own faith!
Eunapius.
[Knocks the Fruit-seller down.] Into the gutter with you!
Potamon.
That’s right. Wallow there, along with your gods!
5Phocion.
[Beating him with his stick.] Take that—and that—and that!
Eunapius.
[Kicking him.] And this—and this! I’ll baste your god-detested skin for you!
[The Fruit-seller hastens away.
Phocion.
[With the evident intention of being heard by the Captain of the Guard.] It is much to be desired that some one should bring this scene to our blessed Emperor’s ears. The Emperor has lately expressed his displeasure at the way in which we Christian citizens consort with the heathen, just as if no gulf divided us——
Potamon.
You refer to that placard in the market-places? I too have read it. And I hold that, as there is both true and false gold in the world——
Eunapius.
——we ought not to clip every one with the same shears; that is my way of thinking. There are still zealous souls among us, praise be to God!
Phocion.
We are far from being zealous enough, dear brethren! See how boldly these scoffers hold up their heads. How many of this rabble, think you, bear the sign of the cross or of the fish on their arms?
6Potamon.
Not many—and yet they actually swarm in front of the Imperial Chapel——
Phocion.
——on such a thrice-sacred night as this——
Eunapius.
——blocking the way for true sons of the Church——
A Painted Woman.
[In the crowd.] Are Donatists true sons of the Church?
Phocion.
What? A Donatist? Are you a Donatist?
Eunapius.
What then? Are not you one?
Phocion.
I? I? May the lightning blast your tongue!
Potamon.
[Making the sign of the cross.] May plague and boils——!
Phocion.
A Donatist! You carrion! You rotten tree!
Potamon.
Right, right!
Phocion.
You brand for Satan’s furnace!
7Potamon.
Right! Give it him; give it him, dear brother.brother.
Phocion.
[Pushing the Goldsmith away.] Hold your tongue get you behind me. I know you now;—you are Potamon the Manichæan!
Eunapius.
A Manichæan? A stinking heretic! Faugh, faugh!
Potamon.
[Holding up his paper lantern.] Heyday! Why, you are Phocion the Dyer, of Antioch! The Cainite!
Eunapius.
Woe is me, I have held communion with falsehood!
Phocion.
Woe is me, I have helped a son of Satan!
Eunapius.
[Boxing his ear.] Take that for your help!
Phocion.
[Returning the blow.] Oh, you abandoned hound!hound!
Potamon.
Accursed, accursed be ye both!
[A general fight; laughter and derision among the onlookers.
8The Captain of the Guard.
[Calls to the soldiers.] The Emperor comes!
[The combatants are parted and carried with the stream of other worshippers into the church.
Hymn of Praise.
[From the high altar.]
The Serpent is hurled
To the deepest abyss;—
The Lamb rules the world,—
All is peace, all is bliss!
The Court enters in stately procession from the left. Priests with censers go before; after them men-at-arms and torch-bearers, courtiers and bodyguards. In their midst the Emperor Constantius, a man of thirty-four, of distinguished appearance, beardless, with brown curly hair; his eyes have a dark, distrustful expression; his gait and whole deportment betray uneasiness and debility. Beside him, on his left, walks the Empress Eusebia, a pale, delicate woman, the same age as the Emperor. Behind the imperial pair follows Prince Julian, a not yet fully developed youth of nineteen. He has black hair and the beginnings of a beard, sparkling brown eyes with a rapid glance; his court-dress sits badly upon him; his manners are notably awkward and abrupt. The Emperor’s sister, the Princess Helena, a voluptuous beauty of twenty-five, follows, accompanied by maidens and older women. Courtiers and men-at-arms close the procession. The Emperor’s body-slave, Memnon, a heavily-built, magnificently-dressed Ethiopian, is among them.
9The Emperor.
[Stops suddenly, turns round to Prince Julian, and asks sharply.] Where is Gallus?
Julian.
[Turning pale.] Gallus? What would you with Gallus?
The Emperor.
There, I caught you!
Julian.
Sire——!
The Empress.
[Seizing the Emperor’s hand.] Come; come!
The Emperor.
Conscience cried aloud. What are you two plotting?
Julian.
We?
The Emperor.
You and he!
The Empress.
Oh, come; come, Constantius!
The Emperor.
So black a deed! What did the oracle answer?
Julian.
The oracle! By my Holy Redeemer——
The Emperor.
If any one maligns you, he shall pay for it at 10the stake. [Draws the Prince aside.] Oh, let us hold together, Julian! Dear kinsman, let us hold together!
Julian.
Everything lies in your hands, my beloved lord!
The Emperor.
My hands——!
Julian.
Oh, stretch them in mercy over us!
The Emperor.
My hands? What was in your mind as to my hands?
Julian.
[Grasps his hands and kisses them.] The Emperor’s hands are white and cool.
The Emperor.
What else should they be? What was in your mind? There I caught you again!
Julian.
[Kisses them again.] They are like rose-leaves in this moonlight night.
The Emperor.
Well, well, well, Julian!
The Empress.
Forward; it is time.
11The Emperor.
To go in before the presence of the Lord! I—I! Oh, pray for me Julian! They will offer me the consecrated wine. I see it! It glitters in the golden chalice like serpents’ eyes—— [Shrieks.] Bloody eyes——! Oh, Jesus Christ, pray for me!
The Empress.
The Emperor is ill——!
The Princess Helena.
Where is Caesarius? The physician, the physician—summon him!
The Empress.
[Beckons.] Memnon, good Memnon!
[She speaks in a low voice to the slave.
Julian.
[Softly.] Sire, have pity, and send me far from here.
The Emperor.
Where would you go?
Julian.
To Egypt. I would fain go to Egypt, if you think fit. So many go thither—into the great solitude.
The Emperor.
Into the great solitude? Ha! In solitude one broods. I forbid you to brood.
Julian.
I will not brood, if only you will let me——Here my anguish of soul increases day by day. 12Evil thoughts flock around me. For nine days I have worn a hair shirt, and it has not protected me; for nine nights I have lashed myself with thongs, but scourging does not banish them.
The Emperor.
We must be steadfast, Julian! Satan is very busy in all of us. Speak with Hekebolius——
The Slave Memnon.
[To the Emperor.] It is time now——
The Emperor.
No, no, I will not——
Memnon.
[Seizing him by the wrist.] Come, gracious lord;—come, I say.
The Emperor.
[Draws himself up, and says with dignity.] Forward to the house of the Lord!
Memnon.
[Softly.] The other matter afterwards——
The Emperor.
[To Julian.] I must see Gallus.
[Julian folds his hands in supplication to the Empress behind the Emperor’s back.
The Empress.
[Hastily and softly.] Fear nothing!
13The Emperor.
Remain without. Come not into the church with those thoughts in your mind. When you pray before the altar, it is to call down evil upon me.—Oh, lay not that sin upon your soul, my beloved kinsman!
[The procession moves forward towards the church. On the steps, beggars, cripples, and blind men crowd round the Emperor.
A Paralytic.
Oh, mightiest ruler on earth, let me touch the hem of thy garment, that I may become whole.
A Blind Man.
Pray for me, anointed of the Lord, that my sight may be restored!
The Emperor.
Be of good cheer, my son!—Memnon, scatter silver among them. In, in!
[The Court moves forward into the church, the doors of which are closed; the crowd gradually disperses, Prince Julian remaining behind in one of the avenues.
Julian.
[Looking towards the church.] What would he with Gallus? On this sacred night he cannot think to——! Oh, if I did but know—— [He turns and jostles against the blind man, who is departing.] Look where you go, friend!
The Blind Man.
I am blind, my lord!
14Julian.
Still blind! Can you not yet see so much as yonder glittering star? Fie! man of little faith! Did not God’s anointed promise to pray for your sight?
The Blind Man.
Who are you, that mock at a blind brother?
Julian.
A brother in unbelief and blindness.
[He is about to go off to the left.
A Voice.
[Softly, among the bushes behind him.] Julian, Julian!
Julian.
[With a cry.] Ah!
The Voice.
[Nearer.] Julian!
Julian.
Stand, stand;—I am armed.armed. Beware!
A Young Man.
[Poorly clad, and with a traveller’s staff, appears among the trees.] Hush! It is I——
Julian.
Stand where you are! Do not come near me, fellow!
The Young Man.
Oh, do you not remember Agathon——?
15Julian.
Agathon! What say you? Agathon was a boy——
Agathon.
Six years ago.—I knew you at once.
[Coming nearer.
Julian.
Agathon;—by the holy cross, but I believe it is!
Agathon.
Look at me; look well——
Julian.
[Embracing and kissing him.] Friend of my childhood! Playmate! Dearest of them all! And you are here? How wonderful! You have come all the long way over the mountains, and then across the sea,—the whole long way from Cappadocia?
Agathon.
I came two days ago, by ship, from Ephesus. Oh, how I have sought in vain for you these two days. At the palace gates the guards would not let me pass, and——
Julian.
Did you speak my name to any one? or say that you were in search of me?
Agathon.
No, I dared not, because——
Julian.
There you did right; never let any one know more than you needs must——.
Come hither, Agathon; out into the full moonlight, 16that I may see you.—How you have grown, Agathon;—how strong you look.
Agathon.
And you are paler.
Julian.
I cannot thrive in the air of the palace. I think it is unwholesome here.—’Tis far otherwise at Makellon. Makellon lies high. No other town in Cappadocia lies so high; ah, how the fresh snow-winds from the Taurus sweep over it——! Are you weary, Agathon?
Agathon.
Oh, in no wise.
Julian.
Let us sit down nevertheless. It is so quiet and lonely here. Close together; so! [Draws him down upon a seat beside the balustrade.]—“Can any good thing come out of Cappadocia,” they say. Yes—friends can come. Can anything be better?
[Looks long at him.
How was it possible that I did not know you at once? Oh, my beloved treasure, is it not just as when we were boys——?
Agathon.
[Sinking down before him.] I at your feet, as of old.
Julian.
No, no, no——!
Agathon.
Oh, let me kneel thus!
17Julian.
Oh, Agathon, it is a sin and a mockery to kneel to me. If you but knew how sinful I have become. Hekebolius, my beloved teacher, is sorely concerned about me, Agathon. He could tell you——
How thick and moist your hair has grown; and how it curls.—But Mardonius—how goes it with him? His hair must be almost white now?
Agathon.
It is snow-white.
Julian.
How well Mardonius could interpret Homer! I amHomer! I am sure my old Mardonius has not his like at that.—Heroes embattled against heroes—and the gods above fanning the flames. I saw it all, as with my eyes.
Agathon.
Then your mind was set on being a great and victorious warrior.
Julian.
They were happy times, those six years in Cappadocia. Were the years longer then than now? It seems so, when I think of all they contained——
Yes, they were happy years. We at our books, and Gallus on his Persian horse. He swept over the plain like the shadow of a cloud.—Oh, but one thing you must tell me. The church——?
Agathon.
The church? Over the Holy Mamas’s grave?
18Julian.
[Smiling faintly.] Which Gallus and I built Gallus finished his aisle; but I——; mine never fully prospered.—How has it gone on since?
Agathon.
Not at all. The builders said it was impossible as you had planned it.
Julian.
[Thoughtfully.] No doubt, no doubt. I wronged them in thinking them incapable. Now I know why it was not to be. I must tell you, Agathon;—Mamas was a false saint.
Agathon.
The Holy Mamas?
Julian.
That Mamas was never a martyr. His whole legend was a strange delusion. Hekebolius has, with infinite research, arrived at the real truth, and I myself have lately composed a slight treatise on the subject—a treatise, my Agathon, which certain philosophers are said, strangely enough, to have mentioned with praise in the lecture-rooms——
The Lord keep my heart free from vanity! The evil tempter has countless wiles; one can never know——.
That Gallus should succeed and I fail! Ah, my Agathon, when I think of that church-building, I see Cain’s altar——
Agathon.
Julian!
19Julian.
God will have none of me, Agathon!
Agathon.
Ah, do not speak so! Was not God strong in you when you led me out of the darkness of heathendom, and gave me light over all my days—child though you then were!
Julian.
All that is like a dream to me.
Agathon.
And yet so blessed a truth.
Julian.
[Sadly.] If only it were so now!—Where did I find the words of fire? The air seemed full of hymns of praise—a ladder from earth to heaven—[Gazes straight before him.] Did you see it?
Agathon.
What?
Julian.
The star that fell; there, behind the two cypresses. [Is silent a moment, then suddenly changes his tone.] Have I told you what my mother dreamed the night before I was born?
Agathon.
I do not recall it.
Julian.
No, no, I remember—I heard of it after we parted.
20Agathon.
What did she dream?
Julian.
My mother dreamed that she gave birth to Achilles.
Agathon.
[Eagerly.] Is your faith in dreams as strong as ever?
Julian.
Why do you ask?
Agathon.
You shall hear; it concerns what has driven me to cross the sea——
Julian.
You have a special errand here? I had quite forgotten to ask you——
Agathon.
A strange errand; so strange that I am lost in doubt and disquietude. There is so much I should like to know first—about life in the city—about yourself—and the Emperor——
Julian.
[Looks hard at him.] Tell me the truth, Agathon—with whom have you spoken before meeting me?
Agathon.
With no one.
Julian.
When did you arrive?
21Agathon.
I have told you—two days ago.
Julian.
And already you want to know——? What would you know about the Emperor? Has any one set you on to——? [Embraces him.] Oh, forgive me, Agathon, my friend!
Agathon.
What? Why?
Julian.
[Rises and listens.] Hush!—No, it was nothing—only a bird in the bushes——
I am very happy here. Wherefore should you doubt it? Have I not all my family gathered here? at least—all over whom a gracious Saviour has held his hand.
Agathon.
And the Emperor is as a father to you?
Julian.
The Emperor is beyond measure wise and good.
Agathon.
[Who has also risen.] Julian, is the rumour true that you are one day to be the Emperor’s successor?
Julian.
[Hastily.] Speak not of such dangerous matters. I know not what foolish rumours are abroad.—Why do you question me so much? Not a word will I answer till you have told me what brings you to Constantinople.
22Agathon.
I come at the bidding of the Lord God.
Julian.
If you love your Saviour or your salvation, get you home again. [Leans over the balustrade and listens.] Speak softy; a boat is coming in——
[Leads him over towards the other side.
What would you here? Kiss the splinter of the holy cross?—Get you home again, I say! Know you what Constantinople has become in these last fifteen months? A Babylon of blasphemy.—Have you not heard—do you not know that Libanius is here?
Agathon.
Ah, Julian, I know not Libanius.
Julian.
Secluded Cappadocian! Happy region, where his voice and his teaching have found no echo.
Agathon.
Ah, he is one of those heathen teachers of falsehood——?
Julian.
The most dangerous of them all.
Agathon.
Surely not more dangerous than Aedesius of Pergamus?
Julian.
Aedesius!—who now thinks of Aedesius of Pergamus? Aedesius is in his dotage——
23Agathon.
Is he more dangerous than even that mysterious Maximus?
Julian.
Maximus? Do not speak of that mountebank. Who knows anything certain of Maximus?
Agathon.
He avers that he has slept three years in a cave beyond Jordan.
Julian.
Hekebolius holds him an impostor, and doubtless he is not far wrong——
No, no, Agathon—Libanius is the most dangerous. Our sinful earth has writhed, as it were, under this scourge. Portents foretold his coming. A pestilential sickness slew men by thousands in the city. And then, when it was over, in the month of November, fire rained from heaven night by night.night. Nay, do not doubt it, Agathon! I have myself seen the stars break from their spheres, plunge down towards earth, and burn out on the way.
Since then he has lectured here, the philosopher, the orator. All proclaim him the king of eloquence; and well they may. I tell you he is terrible. Youths and men flock around him; he binds their souls in bonds, so that they must follow him; denial flows seductively from his lips, like songs of the Trojans and the Greeks——
Agathon.
[In terror.] Oh, you too have sought him Julian!
24Julian.
[Shrinking back.] I!—God preserve me from such a sin. Should any rumours come to your ears, believe them not. ’Tis not true that I have sought out Libanius by night, in disguise. All contact with him would be a horror to me. Besides, the Emperor has forbidden it, and Hekebolius still more strictly.—All believers who approach that subtle man fall away and turn to scoffers. And not they alone. His words are borne from mouth to mouth, even into the Emperor’s palace. His airy mockery, his incontrovertible arguments, his very lampoons seem to blend with my prayers;—they are to me like those monsters in the shape of birds who befouled all the food of a pious wandering hero of yore. I sometimes feel with horror that my gorge rises at the true meat of the Word—— [With an irrepressible outburst.] Were the empire mine, I would send you the head of Libanius on a charger!
Agathon.
But how can the Emperor tolerate this? How can our pious, Christian Emperor——?
Julian.
The Emperor? Praised be the Emperor’s faith and piety! But the Emperor has no thoughts for anything but this luckless Persian war. All minds are full of it. No one heeds the war that is being waged here, against the Prince of Golgotha. Ah, my Agathon, it is not now as it was two years ago. Then the two brothers of the Mystic Maximus had to pay for their heresies with their lives. You do not know what mighty allies 25Libanius has. One or other of the lesser philosophers is now and then driven from the city; on him no one dares lay a finger. I have begged, I have implored both Hekebolius and the Empress to procure his banishment. But no, no!—What avails it to drive away the others? This one man poisons the air for all of us. Oh, thou my Saviour, if I could but flee from all this abomination of heathendom! To live here is to live in the lion’s den——
Agathon.
[Eagerly.] Julian—what was that you said?
Julian.
Yes, yes; only a miracle can save us?
Agathon.
Oh, then listen! That miracle has happened.
Julian.
What mean you?
Agathon.
You shall hear, Julian; for now I can no longer doubt that it is you it concerns. What sent me to Constantinople was a vision——
Julian.
A vision, you say!
Agathon.
A heavenly revelation——
Julian.
Oh, for God’s pity’s sake, speak!—Hush, do not speak. Wait—some one is coming. Stand here, quite carelessly;—look unconcerned.
26Both remain standing beside the balustrade. A tall, handsome, middle-aged man, dressed, according to the fashion of the philosophers, in a short cloak, enters by the avenue on the left. A troop of youths accompanies him, all in girt-up garments, with wreaths of ivy in their hair, and carrying books, papers and parchments. Laughter and loud talk among them as they approach.
The Philosopher.
Let nothing fall into the water, my joyous Gregory! Remember, what you carry is more precious than gold.
Julian.
[Standing close beside him.] Your pardon,—is aught that a man may carry more precious than gold?
The Philosopher.
Can you buy back the fruits of your life for gold?
Julian.
True; true. But why, then, do you entrust them to the treacherous waters?
The Philosopher.
The favour of man is more treacherous still.
Julian.
That word was wisdom. And whither do you sail with your treasures?
The Philosopher.
To Athens.
[He is about to pass on.
27Julian.
[With suppressed laughter.] To Athens! Then, oh man of wealth, you do not own your own riches.
The Philosopher.
[Stops.] How so?
Julian.
Is it the part of a wise man to take owls to Athens?
The Philosopher.
My owls cannot endure the church-lights here in the imperial city. [To one of the young men.] Give me your hand, Sallust.
[Is about to descend the steps.
Sallust.
[Half-way down the steps, whispers.] By the gods, it is he!
The Philosopher.
He——?
Sallust.
On my life, ’tis he! I know him;—I have seen him with Hekebolius.
The Philosopher.
Ah!
[He looks at Julian with furtive intentness; then goes a step towards him and says:
You smiled just now. At what did you smile?
Julian.
When you complained of the church-lights, I wondered whether it were not rather the imperial light of the lecture-halls that shone too bright in your eyes.
28The Philosopher.
Envy cannot hide under the short cloak.
Julian.
What cannot hide shows forth.
The Philosopher.
You have a sharp tongue, noble Galilean.
Julian.
Why Galilean? What proclaims me a Galilean?
The Philosopher.
Your court apparel.
Julian.
There is a philosopher beneath it; for I wear a very coarse shirt.—But tell me, what do you seek in Athens?
The Philosopher.
What did Pontius Pilate seek?
Julian.
Nay, nay! Is not truth here, where Libanius is?
The Philosopher.
[Looking hard at him.] H’m!—Libanius? Libanius will soon be silent. Libanius is weary of the strife, my lord!
Julian.
Weary? He—the invulnerable, the ever-victorious——?
29The Philosopher.
He is weary of waiting for his peer.
Julian.
Now you jest, stranger! Where can Libanius hope to find his peer?
The Philosopher.
His peer exists.
Julian.
Who? Where? Name him?
The Philosopher.
It might be dangerous.
Julian.
Why?
The Philosopher.
Are you not a courtier?
Julian.
And what then?
The Philosopher.
[In a lower voice.] Would you be foolhardy enough to praise the Emperor’s successor?
Julian.
[Deeply shaken.] Ah!
The Philosopher.
[Hastily.] If you betray me, I shall deny all!
30Julian.
I betray no man; never fear, never fear!—The Emperor’s successor, you say? I cannot tell whom you mean; the Emperor has chosen no successor.—But why this jesting? Why did you speak of Libanius’s peer?
The Philosopher.
Yes or no—is there at the imperial court a youth who, by force and strict commandment, by prayers and persuasions, is held aloof from the light of the lecture-halls?
Julian.
[Hastily.] That is done to keep his faith pure.
The Philosopher.
[Smiling.] Has this young man so scant faith in his faith? What can he know about his faith? What does a soldier know of his shield until he has proved it in battle?
Julian.
True, true;—but they are loving kinsmen and teachers, I tell you——
The Philosopher.
Phrases, my lord! Let me tell you this: it is for the Emperor’s sake that his young kinsman is held aloof from the philosophers. The Emperor has not the divine gift of eloquence. Doubtless the Emperor is great; but he cannot endure that his successor should shine forth over the empire——
31Julian.
[In confusion.] And you dare to——!
The Philosopher.
Ay, ay, you are wroth on your master’s account, but——
Julian.
Far from it; on the contrary—that is to say——
Listen; my place is somewhat near that young prince. I would gladly learn——
[Turns.]
Go apart, Agathon; I must speak alone with this man.
[Withdraws a few steps along with thethe stranger.
You said “shine forth”? “Shine forth over the empire?” What do you know, what can any of you know, of Prince Julian?
The Philosopher.
Can Sirius be hidden by a cloud? Will not the restless wind tear a rift in it here or there, so that——
Julian.
Speak plainly, I beg you.
The Philosopher.
The palace and the church are as a double cage wherein the prince is mewed up. But the cage is not close enough. Now and then he lets fall an enigmatic word; the court vermin—forgive me, sir—the courtiers spread it abroad in scorn; its 32deep meaning does not exist for these gentlefolk—your pardon, sir—for most of them it does not exist.
Julian.
For none. You may safely say for none.
The Philosopher.
Yet surely for you; and at any rate for us.——
Yes, he could indeed shine forth over the empire! Are there not legends of his childhood in Cappadocia, when, in disputation with his brother Gallus, he took the part of the gods, and defended them against the Galilean?
Julian.
That was in jest, mere practice in rhetoric——
The Philosopher.
What has not Mardonius recorded of him? And afterwards Hekebolius! What art was there not even in his boyish utterances—what beauty, what grace in the light play of his thoughts!
Julian.
You think so?
The Philosopher.
Yes, in him we might indeed find an adversary to fear and yet to long for. What should hinder him from reaching so honourable an eminence? He lacks nothing but to pass through the same school through which Paul passed, and passed so unscathed that, when he afterwards joined the Galileans, he shed more light than all the other 33apostles together, because he possessed knowledge and eloquence! Hekebolius fears for his pupil’s faith. Oh, I know it well; the fear is his. Does he forget then, in his exceeding tenderness of conscience, that he himself, in his youth, has drunk of those very springs from which he would now have his pupil debarred? Or think you it was not from us that he learned to use the weapons of speech which he now wields against us with such renowned dexterity?
Julian.
True, true; undeniably true!
The Philosopher.
And what gifts has this Hekebolius in comparison with the gifts which declared themselves so marvellously in that princely boy, who, it is said, in Cappadocia, upon the graves of the slain Galileans, proclaimed a doctrine which I hold to be erroneous, and by so much the more difficult to instil, but which he nevertheless proclaimed with such fervour of spirit that—if I may believe a very widespread rumour—a multitude of children of his own age were carried away by him, and followed him as his disciples! Ah, Hekebolius is like the rest of you—more jealous than zealous; that is why Libanius has waited in vain.
Julian.
[Seizes him by the arm.] What has Libanius said? Tell me, I conjure you, in the name of God?
The Philosopher.
He has said all that you have just heard. And 34he has said still more. He has said: “Behold yon princely Galilean; he is an Achilles of the spirit.”
Julian.
Achilles! [Softly.] My mother’s dream!
The Philosopher.
There, in the open lecture-halls, lies the field of battle. Light and gladness encompass the fighters and the fray. Javelins of speech hurtle through the air; keen swords of wit clash in the combat; the blessed gods sit smiling in the clouds——
Julian.
Oh, away from me with your heathendom——
The Philosopher.
——and the heroes go home to their tents, their arms entwined, their hearts untouched by rancour, their cheeks aglow, the blood coursing swiftly through every vein, admired, applauded, and with laurels on their brows. Ah, where is Achilles? I cannot see him. Achilles is wroth——
Julian.
Achilles is unhappy!—But can I believe it? Oh, tell me—my brain is dizzy—has Libanius said all this?
The Philosopher.
What brought Libanius to Constantinople? Had he any other end than to achieve the illustrious friendship of a certain youth?
35Julian.
Speak the truth! No, no; this cannot be true. How reconcile it with the scoffs and jibes that——? Who scoffs at one whose friendship he would seek?
The Philosopher.
Wiles of the Galileans to build up a wall of wrath and hate between the two champions.
Julian.
Yet you will not deny that it was Libanius——?
The Philosopher.
I will deny everything to the uttermost.
Julian.
The lampoons were not his?
The Philosopher.
Not one of them. They have all been hatched in the palace, and spread abroad under his name——
Julian.
Ah, what do you tell me——?
The Philosopher.
What I will avouch before all the world. You have a sharp tongue—who knows but that you yourself——
Julian.
I——! But can I believe this? Libanius did not write them? Not one of them?
36The Philosopher.
No, no!
Julian.
Not even those infamous lines about Atlas with the crooked shoulders?
The Philosopher.
No, no, I tell you.
Julian.
Nor that foolish and ribald verse about the ape in court dress?
The Philosopher.
Ha, ha; that came from the church, not from the lecture-hall. You disbelieve it? I tell you it was Hekebolius——
Julian.
Hekebolius!
The Philosopher.
Yes, Hekebolius, Hekebolius himself, to breed hatred between his enemy and his pupil——
Julian.
[Clenching his fists.] Ah, if it were so!
The Philosopher.
If that blinded and deceived young man had known us philosophers, he would not have dealt so hardly with us.
Julian.
Of what are you speaking?
37The Philosopher.
It is too late now. Farewell, my lord!
[Going.
Julian.
[Seizes his hand.] Friend and brother, who are you?
The Philosopher.
One who sorrows to see the God-born go to ruin.
Julian.
What do you call the God-born?
The Philosopher.
The Uncreated in the Ever-changing.
Julian.
Still I am in the dark.
The Philosopher.
There is a whole glorious world to which you Galileans are blind. In it our life is one long festival, amid statues and choral songs, foaming goblets in our hands, and our locks entwined with roses. Airy bridges span the gulfs between spirit and spirit, stretching away to the farthest orbs in space——
I know one who might be king of all that vast and sunlit realm.
Julian.
[In dread.] Ay, at the cost of his salvation!
The Philosopher.
What is salvation? Reunion with the primal deeps.
38Julian.
Yes, in conscious life. Reunion for me, as the being I am!
The Philosopher.
Reunion like that of the raindrop with the sea, like that of the crumbling leaf with the earth that bore it.
Julian.
Oh, had I but learning! Had I but the weapons to use against you!
The Philosopher.
Take to yourself weapons, young man! The lecture-hall is the armoury of intellect and talent——
Julian.
[Recoiling.] Ah!
The Philosopher.
Look at those joyous youths yonder. There are Galileans among them. Errors in things divine cause no discord among us.
Farewell! You Galileans have sent truth into exile. See, now, how we bear the buffets of fate. See, we hold high our wreath-crowned heads. So we depart—shortening the night with song, and awaiting Helios.
[He descends the steps where his disciples have waited for him; then the boat is heard rowing away with them.
Julian.
[Gazes long over the water.] Who was he, that mysterious man?
39Agathon.
[Approaching.] Listen to me, Julian——?
Julian.
[In lively excitement.] He understood me! And Libanius himself, the great, incomparable Libanius——! Only think, Agathon, Libanius has said—— Oh, how keen must the heathen eye not be!
Agathon.
Trust me, this meeting was a work of the Tempter!
Julian.
[Not heeding him.] I can no longer endure to live among these people. It was they, then, who wrote those abominable lampoons! They make a mockery of me here; they laugh behind my back; not one of them believes in the power that dwells in me. They ape my gait; they distort my manners and my speech; Hekebolius himself——! Oh, I feel it—Christ is deserting me; I grow evil here.
Agathon.
Oh, though you know it not—you, even you, stand under special grace.
Julian.
[Walks up and down beside the balustrade.] I am he with whom Libanius longs to measure swords. How strange a wish! Libanius accounts me his peer. It is me he awaits——
Agathon.
Hear and obey: Christ awaits you!
40Julian.
What mean you, friend?
Agathon.
The vision that sent me to Constantinople——
Julian.
Yes, yes, the vision; I had almost forgotten it. A revelation, you said? Oh, speak, speak!
Agathon.
It was at home in Cappadocia, a month ago or a little more. There went a rumour abroad that the heathens had again begun to hold secret meetings by night in the temple of Cybele——
Julian.
How foolhardy! Are they not strictly forbidden——
Agathon.
Therefore all we believers arose in wrath. The magistrates ordered the temple to be pulled down, and we broke in pieces the abominable idols. The more zealous among us were impelled by the Spirit of the Lord to go still further. With singing of psalms, and with sacred banners at our head, we marched through the town and fell upon the godless like messengers of wrath; we took from them their treasures; many houses were set on fire, and heathens not a few perished in the flames; still more we slew in the streets as they fled. Oh, it was a marvellous time for the glory of God!
Julian.
And then? The vision, my Agathon!
41Agathon.
For three whole nights and days the Lord of Vengeance was strong in us. But at last the weak flesh could no longer keep pace with the willing spirit, and we desisted from the pursuit——
I lay upon my bed; I could neither wake nor sleep. I felt, as it were, an inward hollowness, as though the spirit had departed out of me. I lay in burning heat; I tore my hair, I wept, I prayed, I sang;—I cannot tell what came over me——
Then, on a sudden, I saw before me by the wall a white and shining light, and in the radiance stood a man in a long cloak. A glory encircled his head; he held a reed in his hand, and fixed his gaze mildly upon me.
Julian.
You saw that!
Agathon.
I saw it. And then he spoke and said: “Agathon; arise, seek him out who shall inherit the empire; bid him enter the lion’s den and do battle with the lions.”
Julian.
Do battle with the lions! Oh, strange, strange!—Ah, if it were——! The meeting with that philosopher—A revelation; a message to me—; am I the chosen one?
Agathon.
Assuredly you are!
Julian.
Do battle with the lions!—Yes, I see it;—so it 42must be, my Agathon! It is God’s will that I should seek out Libanius——
Agathon.
No, no; hear me out!
Julian.
——worm from him all his arts and his learning—smite the unbelievers with their own weapons—fight, fight like Paul—conquer like Paul, in the cause of the Lord!
Agathon.
No, no! that was not the intent.
Julian.
Can you doubt it? Libanius—is he not strong as the mountain lion, and is not the lecture-hall——?
Agathon.
I tell you it is not so; for the vision added: “Proclaim to the chosen one that he shall shake the dust of the imperial city from his feet, and never more enter its gates.”
Julian.
Are you sure of that, Agathon?
Agathon.
Absolutely sure.
Julian.
Not here, then! Do battle with, the lions? Where, where? Oh, where shall I find light?
43
Prince Gallus, a handsome, strongly-built man of five-and-twenty, with light curly hair, and fully armed, enters by the avenue on the left.
Julian.
[Rushing up to him.] Gallus!
Gallus.
What now? [Points to Agathon.] Who is that man?
Julian.
Agathon.
Gallus.
What Agathon? You have so many strange companions——Ah, by heaven, it is the Cappadocian! You have grown quite a man——
Julian.
Do you know, Gallus—the Emperor has asked for you.
Gallus.
[Anxiously.] Just now? To-night?
Julian.
Yes, yes; he wanted to speak with you. He seemed greatly angered.
Gallus.
How know you that? What did he say?
Julian.
I did not understand it. He asked what some oracle had answered.
44Gallus.
Ah!
Julian.
Hide nothing from me. What is the matter?
Gallus.
Death or banishment is the matter.
Agathon.
Gracious Saviour!
Julian.
I feared as much! But no, the Empress spoke hopefully. Oh, say on, say on!
Gallus.
What shall I say? How should I know more than you? If the Emperor spoke of an oracle, a certain messenger must have been intercepted, or some one must have betrayed me——
Julian.
A messenger?—Gallus, what have you dared to do?
Gallus.
How could I live any longer this life of doubt and dread? Let him do with me as he pleases; anything is better than this——
Julian.
[Softly, leading him some paces aside.] Have a care, Gallus! What is this about a messenger?
Gallus.
I have addressed a question to the priests of Osiris in Abydus——
45Julian.
Ah, the oracle! The heathen oracle——!
Gallus.
The heathenism might be forgiven me; but—well, why should you not know it?—I have inquired as to the issue of the Persian war——
Julian.
What madness!—Gallus—I see it in your face: you have asked other questions!
Gallus.
No more; I have not asked——
Julian.
Yes, yes; you have inquired as to a mighty man’s life or death!
Gallus.
And if I had? What can be of more moment to both of us?
Julian.
[Throwing his arms around him.] Be silent, madman!
Gallus.
Away from me! You may cringe before him like a cur; but I have no mind to endure it longer. I will cry it aloud in all the market-places—— [Calls to Agathon.] Have you seen him, Cappadocian? Have you seen the murderer?
Julian.
Gallus! Brother!
Agathon.
The murderer!
46Gallus.
The murderer in the purple robe; my father’s murderer, my step-mother’s, my eldest brother’s——
Julian.
Oh, you are calling down destruction upon us!
Gallus.
Eleven heads in one single night; eleven bodies; our whole house.—Ah, but be sure conscience is torturing him; it shivers through the marrow of his bones like a swarm of serpents.
Julian.
Do not listen to him! Away, away!
Gallus.
[Seizes Julian by the shoulder.] Stay;—you look pale and disordered; is it you that have betrayed me?
Julian.
I! Your own brother——!
Gallus.
What matter for that! Brotherhood protects no one in our family. Confess that you have secretly spied upon my doings! Who else should it be? Think you I do not know what people are whispering? The Emperor designs to make you his successor.
Julian.
Never! I swear to you, my beloved Gallus, it shall never be! I will not. One mightier than he has chosen me.—Oh, trust me, Gallus: my path 47is marked out for me. I will not go thither, I tell you. Oh, God of Hosts—I on the imperial throne! No, no, no!
Gallus.
Ha-ha; well acted, mummer!
Julian.
Ay, you may scoff, since you know not what has happened. Myself, I scarcely know. Oh, Agathon—if this head were to be anointed! Would it not be an apostasy—a deadly sin? Would not the Lord’s holy oil burn me like molten lead?
Gallus.
Were that so, then were our august kinsman balder than Julius Caesar.
Julian.
Beware how you speak! Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s——
Gallus.
My father’s blood——your father’s and your mother’s——!
Julian.
Oh, what know we of those horrors? We were children then. The soldiers were chiefly to blame; it was the rebels—evil counsellors——
Gallus.
[Laughing.] The Emperor’s successor rehearses his part!
48Julian.
[Weeping.] Oh, Gallus, would I might die or be banished in your stead! I am wrecking my soul here. I ought to forgive—and I cannot. Evil grows in me; hate and revenge whisper in my ear——
Gallus.
[Rapidly, looking towards the church.] There he comes!
Julian.
Be prudent, my beloved brother!—Ah, Hekebolius!
The church door has meanwhile been opened. The congregation streams forth; some pass away, others remain standing to see the Court pass. Among those who come out is Hekebolius; he wears priestly dress.
Hekebolius.
[On the point of passing out to the left.] Is that you, my Julian? Ah, I have again passed a heavy hour for your sake.
Julian.
Alas! I fear that happens too often.
Hekebolius.
Christ is wroth against you, my son! It is your froward spirit that angers him; it is your unloving thoughts, and all this worldly vanity——
Julian.
I know it,it, my Hekebolius! You so often tell me so.
49Hekebolius.
Even now I lifted up my soul in prayer for your amendment. Oh, it seemed as though our otherwise so gracious Saviour repulsed my prayer,—as though he would not listen to me; he suffered my thoughts to wander upon trifling things.
Julian.
You prayed for me? Oh, loving Hekebolius, you pray even for us dumb animals—at least when we wear court dress?
Hekebolius.
What mean you, my son?
Julian.
Hekebolius, how could you write those shameful verses?
Hekebolius.
I? I swear by all that is high and holy——
Julian.
I see in your eyes that you are lying! I have full assurance that you wrote them. How could you do it, I ask—and under the name of Libanius, too?
Hekebolius.
Well, well, my dearly beloved, since you know it, I——
Julian.
Ah, Hekebolius! Deceit, and lies, and treachery——
50Hekebolius.
Behold, my precious friend, how deep is my love for you! I dare all to save the soul of that man who shall one day be the Lord’s anointed. If, in my zeal for you, I have had recourse to deceit and lies, I know that a gracious God has found my course well pleasing in his sight, and has stretched forth his hand to sanction it.
Julian.
How blind have I been! Let me press these perjured fingers——
Hekebolius.
The Emperor!
[The Emperor Constantius, with his whole retinue, comes from the church. Agathon has already, during the foregoing, withdrawn among the bushes on the right.
The Emperor.
Oh, blessed peace of heaven in my heart.
The Empress.
Do you feel yourself strengthened, my Constantius?
The Emperor.
Yes, yes! I saw the living Dove hovering over me. It took away the burden of all my sin.—Now I dare venture much, Memnon!
Memnon.
[Softly.] Lose not a moment, sire!
51The Emperor.
There they both stand.
[He goes towards the brothers.
Gallus.
[Mechanically feels for his sword, and cries in terror.] Do me no ill!
The Emperor.
[With outstretched arms.] Gallus! Kinsman!
[He embraces and kisses him.]
Lo, in the light of the Easter stars, I choose the man who lies nearest my heart.—Bow all to the earth. Hail Gallus Caesar![9]
[General astonishment among the Court; a few involuntary shouts are raised.
The Empress.
[With a shriek.] Constantius!
Gallus.
[Amazed.] Caesar!
Julian.
Ah!
[He tries to seize the Emperor’s hands, as if in joy.
The Emperor.
[Waving him aside.] Away from me! What would you? Is not Gallus the elder? What hopes have you been cherishing? What rumours have you, in your blind presumption——? Away; away!
52Gallus.
I—I Caesar!
The Emperor.
My heir and my successor. In three days you will set out for the army in Asia. I know the Persian war is much on your mind——
Gallus.
Oh, my most gracious sire——!
The Emperor.
Thank me in deeds, my beloved Gallus! King Sapor lies west of the Euphrates. I know how solicitous you are for my life; be it your task, then, to crush him.
[He turns, takes Julian’s head between his hands, and kisses him.
And you, Julian, my pious friend and brother—so it needs must be.
Julian.
All blessings on the Emperor’s will!
The Emperor.
Call down no blessings! Yet listen—I have thought of you too. Know, Julian, that now you can breathe freely in Constantinople——
Julian.
Yes, praise be to Christ and the Emperor!
The Emperor.
You know it already? Who has told you?
Julian.
What, sire?
53The Emperor.
That Libanius is banished?
Julian.
Libanius—banished!
The Emperor.
I have banished him to Athens.
Julian.
Ah!
The Emperor.
Yonder lies his ship; he sails to-night.
Julian.
[Aside.] He himself; he himself!
The Emperor.
You have long wished it. I have not hitherto been able to fulfil your desire; but now——; let this be a slight requital to you, my Julian——
Julian.
[Quickly seizing his hand.] Sire, do me one grace more.
The Emperor.
Ask what you will.
Julian.
Let me go to Pergamus. You know the old Aedesius teaches there——
The Emperor.
A very strange wish. You, among the heathens——?
54Julian.
Aedesius is not dangerous; he is a high-minded old man, drawing towards the grave——
The Emperor.
And what would you with him, brother?
Julian.
I would learn to do battle with the lions.
The Emperor.
I understand your pious thought. And you are not afraid——; you think yourself strong enough——?
Julian.
The Lord God has called me with a loud voice. Like Daniel, I go fearless and joyful into the lions’ den.
The Emperor.
Julian!
Julian.
To-night, without knowing it, you have yourself been his instrument. Oh, let me go forth to purge the world!
Gallus.
[Softly to the Emperor.] Humour him, sire; it will prevent his brooding on higher things.
The Empress.
I implore you, Constantius—set no bar to this vehement longing.
Hekebolius.
Great Emperor, let him go to Pergamus. I 55fear I am losing hold of him here, and now ’tis no longer of such moment.
The Emperor.
How could I deny you anything in such an hour? Go with God, Julian!
Julian.
[Kissing his hands.] Oh, thanks—thanks!
The Emperor.
And now to a banquet of rejoicing! My Capuan cook has invented some new fast-dishes, carp-necks in Chios wine, and—— Forward;—your place is next to me, Gallus Caesar!
[The procession begins to advance.]
Gallus.
[Softly.] Helena, what a marvellous change of fortune!
Helena.
Oh, Gallus, dawn is breaking over our hopes.
Gallus.
I can scarce believe it! Who has brought it about?
Helena.
Hush!
Gallus.
You, my beloved? Or who—who?
Helena.
Memnon’s Spartan dog.
56Gallus.
What do you mean?
Helena.
Memnon’s dog. Julian kicked it; this is Memnon’s revenge.
The Emperor.
Why so silent, Eusebia?
The Empress.
[Softly, in tears.] Oh, Constantius—how could you make such a choice!
The Emperor.
Eleven ghosts demanded it.
The Empress.
Woe upon us; this will not appease the ghosts.
The Emperor.
[Calls loudly.] Flute-players! Why are the rascals silent? Play, play!
[All, except Prince Julian, go out to the left. Agathon comes forward among the trees.
Julian.
Gallus his successor; and I—free, free, free!
Agathon.
Marvellously are the counsels of the Lord revealed.
Julian.
Heard you what passed?
57Agathon.
Yes, everything.
Julian.
And to-morrow, my Agathon, to-morrow to Athens!
Agathon.
To Athens? ’Tis to Pergamus you go.
Julian.
Hush! You do not know——; we must be cunning as serpents. First to Pergamus—and then to Athens!
Agathon.
Farewell, my lord and friend!
Julian.
Will you go with me, Agathon?
Agathon.
I cannot. I must go home; I have my little brother to care for.
Julian.
[At the balustrade.] There they are weighing anchor.—A fair wind to you, winged lion; Achilles follows in your wake.
[Exclaims softly.]
Ah!
Agathon.
What was that?
Julian.
Yonder fell a star.
58
ACT SECOND
In Athens. An open place surrounded by colonnades. In the square, statues and a fountain. A narrow street debouches in the left-hand corner. Sunset.
Basil of Caesarea, a delicately-built young man, sits reading beside a pillar. Gregory of Nazianzus and other scholars of the University stroll in scattered groups up and down the colonnades. A larger band runs shouting across the square, and out to the right; noise in the distance.
Basil.
[Looks up from his book.] What mean these wild cries?
Gregory.
A ship has come in from Ephesus.
Basil.
With new scholars?
Gregory.
Yes.
Basil.
[Rising.] Then we shall have a night of tumult. Come, Gregory; let us not witness all this unseemliness.
59Gregory.
[Points to the left.] Look yonder. Is that a pleasanter sight?
Basil.
Prince Julian——; with roses in his hair, his face aflame——
Gregory.
Ay, and after him that reeling, glassy-eyed crew. Hear how the halting tongues babble with wine! They have sat the whole day in Lykon’s tavern.
Basil.
And many of them are our own brethren, Gregory; they are Christian youths——
Gregory.
So they call themselves. Did not Lampon call himself a Christian—he who betrayed the oil-seller Zeno’s daughter? And Hilarion of Agrigentum, and the two others, who did what I shudder to name——
Prince Julian.
[Is heard calling without on the left.] Aha! See, see—the Cappadocian Castor and Pollux.
Basil.
He has caught sight of us. I will go; I cannot endure to see him in this mood.
Gregory.
I will remain; he needs a friend.
60Basil goes out to the right. At the same moment, Prince Julian, followed by a crowd of young men, enters from the narrow street. His hair is dishevelled, and he is clad in a short cloak like the rest. Among the scholars is Sallust of Perusia.
Many in the Crowd.
Long live the light of Athens! Long live the lover of wisdom and eloquence!
Julian.
All your flattery is wasted. Not another verse shall you have to-day.
Sallust.
When our leader is silent, life seems empty, as on the morning after a night’s carouse.
Julian.
If we must needs do something, let it be something new. Let us hold a mock trial.
The Whole Crowd.
Yes, yes, yes; Prince Julian on the judgment-seat!
Julian.
Have done with the Prince, friends——
Sallust.
Ascend the judgment-seat, incomparable one!
Julian.
How could I presume——? There stands the man. Who is so learned in the law as Gregory of Nazianzus?
61Sallust.
That is true!
Julian.
To the judgment-seat, my wise Gregory; I am the prisoner at the bar.
Gregory.
I beg you, friend, let me stand out.
Julian.
To the judgment-seat, I say! To the judgment-seat. [To the others,] What is my transgression?
Some Voices.
Yes, what shall it be? Choose yourself!
Sallust.
Let it be something Galilean, as we of the ungodly say.
Julian.
Right; something Galilean. I have it. I have refused to pay tribute to the Emperor——
Many Voices.
Ha-ha; well bethought! Excellent!
Julian.
Here am I, dragged forward by the nape of the neck, with my hands pinioned——
Sallust.
[To Gregory.] Blind judge—I mean since Justice is blind—behold this desperate wretch; he has denied to pay tribute to the Emperor.
62Julian.
Let me throw one word into the scales of judgment. I am a Greek citizen. How much does a Greek citizen owe the Emperor?
Gregory.
What the Emperor demands.
Julian.
Good; but how much—answer now as though the Emperor himself were in court—how much has the Emperor a right to demand?
Gregory.
Everything.
Julian.
Answered as though the Emperor were present indeed! But now comes the knotty point; for it is written: Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s—and unto God the things that are God’s.
Gregory.
And what then?
Julian.
Then tell me, oh sagacious judge—how much of what is mine belongs to God?
Gregory.
Everything.
Julian.
And how much of God’s property may I give to the Emperor?
Gregory.
Dear friends, no more of this sport.
63The Scholars.
[Amid laughter and noise.] Yes, yes; answer him.
Julian.
How much of God’s property has the Emperor a right to demand?
Gregory.
I will not answer. This is unseemly both towards God and the Emperor. Let me go.
Many Voices.
Make a ring round him!
Julian.
Hold him fast! What, you most luckless of judges, you have bungled the Emperor’s cause, and now you seek to escape? You would flee? Whither, whither? To the Scythians? Bring him before me! Tell me you servants that-are-to-be of the Emperor and of wisdom—has he not attempted to elude the Emperor’s power?
The Scholars.
Yes, yes.
Julian.
And what punishment do you award to such a misdeed?
Voices.
Death! Death in a wine-jar!
Julian.
Let us reflect. Let us answer as though the Emperor himself were present. What limit is there to the Emperor’s power?
64Some of the Crowd.
The Emperor’s power has no limits.
Julian.
So I should think. But to want to escape from the infinite, my friends, is not that madness?
The Scholars.
Yes, yes; the Cappadocian is mad!
Julian.
And what, then, is madness? How did our forefathers conceive of it? What was the doctrine of the Egyptian priests? And what says Maximus the Mystic and the other philosophers of the East? They say that the divine enigma reveals itself in the brainsick. Our Gregory—in setting himself up against the Emperor—is thus in special league with Heaven.—Make libations of wine to the Cappadocian; sing songs to our Gregory’s praise;—a statue of honour for Gregory of Nazianzus!
The Scholars.
[Amid laughter and glee.] Praise to the Cappadocian! Praise to the Cappadocian’s judge!
The Philosopher Libanius, surrounded by disciples, comes across the square.
Libanius.
Ah, see—is not my brother Julian dispensing wisdom in the open market-place?
Julian.
Say folly, dear friend; wisdom has departed the city.
65Libanius.
Has wisdom departed the city?
Julian.
Or is on the point of departing; for are not you also bound for the Piraeus?
Libanius.
I, my brother? What should I want at the Piraeus?
Julian.
Our Libanius, then, is the only teacher who does not know that a ship has just arrived from Ephesus.
Libanius.
Why, my friend, what have I to do with that ship?
Julian.
It is loaded to the water’s edge with embryo philosophers——
Libanius.
[Scornfully.] They come from Ephesus!
Julian.
Is not gold equally weighty whencesoever it may come?
Libanius.
Gold? Ha-ha! The golden ones Maximus keeps to himself; he does not let them go. What sort of scholars is Ephesus wont to send us? Shopkeepers’ sons, the first-born of mechanics. Gold say you, my Julian? I call it lack of gold. But 66I will turn this lack of gold to account, and out of it I will mint for you young men a coin of true and weighty metal. For may not a precious lesson in life, set forth in ingenious and attractive form, be compared to a piece of full-weighted golden currency?—
Hear then, if you have a mind to. Was it not said that certain men had rushed eagerly down to the Piraeus? Who are they, these eager ones? Far be it from me to mention names; they call themselves lovers and teachers of wisdom. Let us betake ourselves in thought to the Piraeus. What is passing there at this moment, even as I stand here in this circle of kindly listeners? I will tell you what is passing. Those men who give themselves out as lovers and dispensers of wisdom, are crowding upon the gangway, jostling, wrangling, biting, forgetting all decorum, and throwing dignity to the winds. And why? To be the first in the field,—to pounce upon the best dressed youths, to lead them home, to entertain them, hoping in the end to make profit out of them in all possible ways. What a shamefaced, empty awakening, as after a debauch, if it should presently appear—ha-ha-ha!—that these youths have scarcely brought with them the wherewithal to pay for their supper of welcome! Learn from this, young men, how ill it becomes a lover of wisdom, and how little it profits him, to run after good things other than the truth.
Julian.
Oh, my Libanius, when I listen to you with closed eyes, I seem lapped in the sweet dream that Diogenes has once more arisen in our midst.midst.
67Libanius.
Your lips are princely spendthrifts of praise, beloved of my soul!
Julian.
Far from it. And yet I had almost interrupted your homily for in this case, one of your colleagues will scarce find himself disappointed.
Libanius.
My friend is jesting.
Julian.
Your friend assures you that the two sons of the governor, Milo, are on board.
Libanius.
[Grasping his arm.] What do you say?
Julian.
That the new Diogenes who secures them as his pupils will scarce need to drink out of the hollow of his hand for poverty.
Libanius.
The sons of the Governor Milo! That noble Milo, who sent the Emperor seven Persian horses, with saddles embroidered with pearls——?
Julian.
Many thought that too mean a gift for Milo.
Libanius.
Very true. Milo ought to have sent a poem, or perhaps a well-polished speech, or a letter. Milo is a nobly-endowed man; all Milo’s family are nobly-endowed.
68Julian.
Especially the two young men.
Libanius.
No doubt, no doubt. For the sake of their beneficent and generous father, I pray the gods that they may fall into good hands. After all, then, you were right, my Julian; the ship brought real gold from Ephesus. For are not intellectual gifts the purest of gold? But I cannot rest; these young men’s welfare is, in truth, a weighty matter; so much depends on who first gains control of them. My young friends, if you think as I do, we will hold out a guiding hand to these two strangers, help them to make the wisest choice of teacher and abode, and——
Sallust.
I will go with you!
The Scholars.
To the Piraeus! To the Piraeus!
Sallust.
We will fight like wild boars for Milo’s sons!
[They all go out, with Libanius, to the right; only Prince Julian and Gregory of Nazianzus remain behind in the colonnade.
Julian.
[Following them with his eyes.] See how they go leaping like a troop of fauns. How they lick their lips at the thought of the feast that awaits them this evening. [He turns to Gregory.] If there is 69one thing they would sigh to God for at this moment, it is that he would empty their stomachs of their breakfasts.
Gregory.
Julian——
Julian.
Look at me; I am sober.
Gregory.
I know that. You are temperate in all things. And yet you share this life of theirs.
Julian.
Why not? Do you know, or do I, when the thunderbolt will fall? Then why not make the most of the bright and sunlit day? Do you forget that I dragged out my childhood and the first years of my youth in gilded slavery? It had become a habit, I might almost say a necessity to me, to live under a weight of dread. And now? This stillness as of the grave on the Emperor’s part;—this sinister silence! I left Pergamus without the Emperor’s permission; the Emperor said nothing. I went of my own will to Nicomedia; I lived there, and studied with Nikokles and others; the Emperor gave no sign. I came to Athens, and sought out Libanius, whom the Emperor had forbidden me to see;—the Emperor has said nothing to this day. How am I to interpret this?
Gregory.
Interpret it in charity, Julian.
70Julian.
Oh, you do not know——! I hate this power without me, terrible in action, more terrible when at rest.
Gregory.
Be frank, my friend, and tell me whether it is this alone that has led you into all these strange ways?
Julian.
What mean you by strange ways?
Gregory.
Is the rumour true, that you pass your nights in searching out the heathen mysteries in Eleusis?
Julian.
Oh, pooh! I assure you there is little to be learnt from those riddle-mongering dreamers. Let us talk no more about them.
Gregory.
Then it is true! Oh, Julian, how could you seek such shameful intercourse?
Julian.
I must live, Gregory,—and this life at the university is no life at all. This Libanius! I shall never forgive him the great love I once bore him! At my first coming, how humbly and with what tremors of joy did I not enter the presence of this man, bowing myself before him, kissing him, and calling him my great brother.brother.
71Gregory.
Yes, we Christians all thought that you went too far.
Julian.
And yet I came here in exaltation of spirit. I saw, in my fancy, a mighty contest between us two,—the world’s truth in pitched battle against God’s truth.—What has it all come to? Libanius never seriously desired that contest. He never desired any contest whatever; he cares only for his own interest. I tell you, Gregory—Libanius is not a great man.
Gregory.
Yet all enlightened Greece proclaims him great.
Julian.
A great man he is not, I tell you. Once only have I seen Libanius great: that night in Constantinople. Then he was great, because he had suffered a great wrong, and because he was filled with a noble wrath. But here! Oh, what have I not seen here? Libanius has great learning, but he is no great man. Libanius is greedy; he is vain; he is eaten up with envy. See you not how he has writhed under the fame which I—largely, no doubt, owing to the indulgence of my friends—have been so fortunate as to acquire? Go to Libanius, and he will expound to you the inward essence and the outward signs of all the virtues. He has them ready to hand, just as he has the books in his library. But does he exercise these virtues? Is his life at one with his teaching? He a successor of Socrates and of Plato—ha-ha! Did he not flatter the Emperor, up to the time of his 72banishment? Did he not flatter me at our meeting in Constantinople, that meeting which he has since attempted, most unsuccessfully, to present in a ludicrous light! And what am I to him now? Now he writes letters to Gallus, to Gallus Caesar, to the Emperor’s heir, congratulating him on his successes against the Persians, although these successes have as yet been meagre enough, and Gallus Caesar is not distinguished either for learning or for any considerable eloquence.—And this Libanius the Greeks persist in calling the king of the philosophers! Ah, I will not deny that it stirs my indignation. I should have thought, to tell the truth, that the Greeks might have made a better choice, if they had noted a little more closely the cultivators of wisdom and eloquence, who of late years——
Basil of Caesarea.
[Entering from the right.] Letters! Letters from Cappadocia!
Gregory.
For me too?
Basil.
Yes, here; from your mother.
Gregory.
My pious mother!
[He opens the paper and reads.
Julian.
[To Basil.] Is it your sister who writes to you?
73Basil.
[Who has entered with his own letter open.] Yes, it is Makrina. Her news is both sad and strange.
Julian.
What is it? Tell me.
Basil.
First of your noble brother Gallus. He rules sternly in Antioch.
Julian.
Yes, Gallus is hard.—Does Makrina write “sternly.”
Basil.
[Looking at him.] Makrina writes “bloodily”——
Julian.
Ah, I thought as much! Why did the Emperor marry him to that dissolute widow, that Constantina?
Gregory.
[Reading.] Oh, what unheard-of infamy!
Julian.
What is it, friend?
Gregory.
[To Basil.] Does Makrina say nothing of what is happening in Antioch?
Basil.
Nothing definite. What is it? You are pale——
Gregory.
You knew the noble Clemazius, the Alexandrian?
74Basil.
Yes, yes; what of him?
Gregory.
He is murdered, Basil!
Basil.
What do you say? Murdered?
Gregory.
I call it murdered;—they have executed him without law or judgment.
Julian.
Who? Who has executed him?
Gregory.
Yes, who? How can I say who? My mother tells the story thus: Clemazius’s mother-in-law was inflamed with an impure love for her daughter’s husband; but as she could not move him to wrong, she gained some back-stairs access to the palace——
Julian.
What palace?
Gregory.
My mother writes only “the palace.”
Julian.
Well? And then——?
Gregory.
It is only known that she presented a very costly jewel to a great and powerful lady to procure a death-warrant——
75Julian.
Ah, but they did not get it!
Gregory.
They got it, Julian.
Julian.
Oh, Jesus!
Basil.
Horrible! And Clemazius——?
Gregory.
The death-warrant was sent to the governor, Honoratus. That weak man dared not disobey so high a command. Clemazius was thrown into prison and executed early next morning, without being suffered, my mother writes, to open his lips in his own defence.
Julian.
[Pale, in a low voice.] Burn these dangerous letters; they might bring us all to ruin.
Basil.
Such open violence in the midst of a great city!city! Where are we; where are we?
Julian.
Aye, you may well ask where we are! A Christian murderer, a Christian adulteress, a Christian——!
Gregory.
Denunciations will not mend this matter. What do you intend to do?
76Julian.
I? I will go no more to Eleusis; I will break off all dealings with the heathen, and thank the Lord my God that he spared me the temptations of power.
Gregory.
Good; but then?
Julian.
I do not understand you——
Gregory.
Then listen. The murder of Clemazius is not all, believe me. This unheard-of infamy has descended like a plague on Antioch. All evil things have awakened, and are swarming forth from their lairs. My mother writes that it seems as though some pestilent abyss had opened. Wives denounce their husbands, sons their fathers, priests the members of their own flock——
Julian.
This will spread yet further. The abomination will corrupt us all.—— Oh, Gregory, would I could fly to the world’s end——!
Gregory.
Your place is at the world’s navel, Prince Julian.
Julian.
What would you have me do?
Gregory.
You are this bloody Caesar’s brother. Stand forth before him—he calls himself a Christian—and 77cast his crime in his teeth; smite him to the earth in terror and remorse——
Julian.
[Recoiling.] Madman, of what are you thinking?
Gregory.
Is your brother dear to you? Would you save him?
Julian.
I once loved Gallus above all others.
Gregory.
Once——?
Julian.
So long as he was only my brother. But now——; is he not Caesar? Gregory,—Basil,—oh, my beloved friends,—I tremble for my life, I draw every breath in fear, because of Gallus Caesar. And you ask me to defy him to his face, me, whose very existence is a danger to him?
Gregory.
Why came you to Athens? You gave out loudly in all quarters that Prince Julian was setting forth from Constantinople to do battle with philosophy, falsely so called—to champion Christian truth against heathen falsehood. What have you done of all this?
Julian.
Ah, ’twas not here that the battle was to be.
Gregory.
No, it was not here,—not with phrase against phrase, not with book against book, not with the 78idle word-fencing of the lecture-room! No, Julian, you must go forth into life itself, with your own life in your hands——
Julian.
I see it; I see it!
Gregory.
Yes, as Libanius sees it! You mocked at him. You said he knew the essence and the outward signs of all the virtues, but his doctrine was only a doctrine to him. How much of you belongs to God? How much may the Emperor demand?
Julian.
You said yourself it was unseemly——
Gregory.
Towards whom? Towards God or the Emperor?
Julian.
[Quickly.] Well then: shall we go together?
Gregory.
[Evasively.] I have my little circle; I have my family to watch over. I have neither the strength nor the gifts for a larger task.
Julian.
[Is about to answer; suddenly he listens towards the right, and calls out.] To the bacchanal!
Basil.
Julian!
79Julian.
To the bacchanal, friends!friends!
[Gregory of Nazianzus looks at him a moment; then he goes off through the colonnade to the left. A large troop of scholars, with the newcomers among them, rushes into the square, amid shouts and noise.
Basil.
[Coming nearer.] Julian, will you listen to me!
Julian.
See, see! They have taken their new friends to the bath, and anointed their hair. See how they swing their cudgels; how they yell and thump the pavement! What say you, Pericles? Methinks I can hear your wrathful shade——
Basil.
Come, come!
Julian.
Ah, look at the man they are driving naked among them. Now come the dancing-girls. Ah, do you see what——!
Basil.
Fie! Fie!—turn your eyes away!
[Evening has fallen. The whole troop settles down in the square beside the fountain. Wine and fruits are brought. Painted damsels dance by torchlight.
Julian.
[After a short silence.] Tell me, Basil, why was the heathen sin so beautiful?
80Basil.
You are mistaken, friend; beautiful things have been said and sung of this heathen sin; but it was not beautiful.
Julian.
Oh, how can you say so? Was not Alcibiades beautiful when, flushed with wine, he stormed at night like a young god through the streets of Athens? Was he not beautiful in his very audacity when he insulted Hermes and battered at the citizens’ doors,—when he summoned their wives and daughters forth, while within the women trembled, and, in breathless, panting silence, wished for nothing better than to——?
Basil.
Oh listen to me, I beg and entreat you.
Julian.
Was not Socrates beautiful in the symposium? And Plato, and all the joyous revellers? Yet they did such things, as, but to be accused of them, would make those Christian swine out there call down upon themselves the curse of God. Think of Oedipus, Medea, Leda——
Basil.
Poetry, poetry; you confound fancies with facts.
Julian.
Are not mind and will in poetry subject to the same laws as in fact? And then look at our holy scriptures, both the old and new. Was sin beautiful in Sodom and Gomorrah? Did not Jehovah’s fire avenge what Socrates shrank not from?—Oh, 81as I live this life of revel and riot, I often wonder whether truth is indeed the enemy of beauty!
Basil.
And in such an hour can you sigh after beauty? Can you so easily forget what you have just heard——?
Julian.
[Stopping his ears.] Not a word more of those horrors! We will shake off all thoughts of Antioch——
Tell me, what does Makrina write further? There was something more; I remember, you said——; what was it you called the rest of her news?
Basil.
Strange.
Julian.
Yes, yes;—what was it?
Basil.
She writes of Maximus in Ephesus——
Julian.
[Eagerly.] The Mystic?
Basil.
Yes; that inscrutable man. He has appeared once more; this time in Ephesus. All the region around is in a ferment. Maximus is on all lips. Either he is a juggler or he has made a baleful compact with certain spirits. Even Christians are strangely allured by his impious signs and wonders.
82Julian.
More, more; I entreat you!
Basil.
There is no more about him. Makrina only writes that she sees in the coming again of Maximus a proof that we are under the wrath of the Lord. She believes that great afflictions are in store for us, by reason of our sins.
Julian.
Yes, yes, yes!—Tell me, Basil: your sister is surely a remarkable woman.
Basil.
She is, indeed.
Julian.
When you repeat to me passages from her letters, I seem to be listening to something full and perfect, such as I have long sighed for. Tell me, is she still bent on renouncing this world, and living in the wilderness?wilderness?
Basil.
That is her steadfast intent.
Julian.
Is it possible? She on whom all gifts seem to have been lavished? She who, ’tis known, is both young and beautiful; she, who has riches in prospect, and in possession such learning as is very rare in a woman! Do you know, Basil, I long to see her? What has she to do in the wilderness?
83Basil.
I have told you how her affianced lover died. She regards him as her expectant bridegroom, to whom she owes her every thought, and whom she is pledged to meet unsullied.
Julian.
Strange how many feel the attraction of solitude in these times.—When you write to Makrina, you may tell her that I too——
Basil.
She knows that, Julian; but she does not believe it.
Julian.
Why not? What does she write?
Basil.
I pray you, friend, spare me——
Julian.
If you love me, do not hide from me one word she writes.
Basil.
[Giving him the letter.] Read, if you must—it begins there.
Julian.
[Reads.] “Whenever you write of the Emperor’s young kinsman, who is your friend, my soul is filled with a great and radiant joy——” O Basil! lend me your eye; read for me.
Basil.
[Reading.] “Your account of the fearless confidence wherewith he came to Athens was to me 84as a picture from the ancient chronicles. Yes, I see in him David born again, to smite the champions of the heathen. God’s spirit watch over him in the strife, now and for ever.”
Julian.
[Grasping his arm.] Enough of that! She too? What is it that you all, as with one mouth, demand of me? Have I sealed you a bond to do battle with the lions of power——?
Basil.
How comes it that all believers look towards you in breathless expectation?
Julian.
[Paces once or twice up and down the colonnade, then stops and stretches out his hand for the letter.] Give it to me; let me see. [Reading.] “God’s spirit watch over him in the strife, now and for ever.”—
Oh, Basil, if I could——! But I feel like Daedalus, between sky and sea. An appalling height and an abysmal depth.—What sense is there in these voices calling to me, from east and west, that I must save Christendom? Where is it, this Christendom that I am to save? With the Emperor or with Caesar? I think their deeds cry out, “No, no!” Among the powerful and high-born;—among those sensual and effeminate courtiers who fold their hands over their full bellies, and quaver: “Was the Son of God created out of nothing?” Or among the men of enlightenment, those who, like you and me, have drunk in beauty and learning from the heathen fountains? Do not most of our fellows lean to 85the Arian heresy, which the Emperor himself so greatly favours?—And then the whole ragged rabble of the Empire, who rage against the temples, who massacre heathens and the children of heathens! Is it for Christ’s sake? Ha ha! see how they fall to fighting among themselves for the spoils of the slain.—Ask Makrina if Christendom is to be sought in the wilderness,—on the pillar where the stylite-saint stands on one leg? Or is it in the cities? Perhaps among those bakers in Constantinople who lately took to their fists to decide whether the Trinity consists of three individuals or of three hypostases!—Which of all these would Christ acknowledge if he came down to earth again?—Out with your Diogenes-lantern, Basil! Enlighten this pitchy darkness.—Where is Christendom?
Basil.
Seek the answer where it is ever to be found in evil days.
Julian.
Hold me not aloof from the well of your wisdom! Slake my thirst, if you can. Where shall I seek and find?
Basil.
In the writings of holy men.
Julian.
The same despairing answer. Books,—always books! When I came to Libanius, it was: books, books! I come to you,—books, books, books! Stones for bread! I cannot live on books;—it is life I hunger for,—face-to-face communion with 86the spirit. Was it a book that made Saul a seer? Was it not a flood of light that enveloped him, a vision, a voice——?
Basil.
Do you forget the vision and the voice which that Agathon of Makellon——?
Julian.
An enigmatic message; an oracle I cannot interpret. Was I the chosen one? The “heir to the empire,” it said. And what empire——? That matter is beset with a thousand uncertainties. Only this I know: Athens is not the lion’s den. But where, where? Oh, I grope like Saul in the darkness. If Christ would have aught of me, he must speak plainly. Let me touch the nail-wound——
Basil.
And yet it is written——
Julian.
[With a gesture of impatience.] I know all that is written. This “it is written” is not the living truth. Do you not feel disgust and nausea, as on board ship in a windless swell, heaving to and fro between life, and written doctrine, and heathen wisdom and beauty? There must come a new revelation. Or a revelation of something new. It must come, I say;—the time is ripe.—Ah, a revelation! Oh, Basil, could your prayers call down that upon me! A martyr’s death, if need be——! A martyr’s death—ah, it makes me dizzy with its sweetness;sweetness; the crown of thorns on my brow——! [He clasps his head with both hands, 87feels the wreath of roses, which he tears off, bethinks himself long, and says softly:] That! I had forgotten that! [Casting the wreath away.] One thing alone have I learnt in Athens.
Basil.
What, Julian?
Julian.
The old beauty is no longer beautiful, and the new truth is no longer true.
Libanius enters hastily through the colonnade on the right.
Libanius.
[Still in the distance.] Now we have him; now we have him!
Julian.
Him? I thought you would have had them both.
Libanius.
Both of whom?
Julian.
Milo’s sons.
Libanius.
Ah, yes, I have them too. But we have him, my Julian!
Julian.
Whom, dear brother?
Libanius.
He has caught himself in his own net!
Julian.
Aha—a philosopher then?
88Libanius.
The enemy of all wisdom.
Julian.
Who, who, I ask?
Libanius.
Do you really not know? Have you not heard the news about Maximus?
Julian.
Maximus? Oh, pray tell me——
Libanius.
Who could fail to see whither that restless visionary was tending,—step by step towards madness——?
Julian.
In other words, towards the highest wisdom.
Libanius.
Ah, that is a figure of speech. But now is the time to act, to seize the opportunity. You, our dearly-prized Julian, you are the man. You are the Emperor’s near kinsman. The hopes of all true friends of wisdom are fixed upon you, both here and in Nikomedia——
Julian.
Listen, oh excellent Libanius,—seeing I am not omniscient——
Libanius.
Know, then, that Maximus has lately made open avowal of what lies at the bottom of his teaching.
89Julian.
And do you blame him for that?
Libanius.
He has averred that he has power over spirits and shades of the dead.
Julian.
[Grasping his cloak.] Libanius!
Libanius.
All on board the ship were full of the most marvellous stories, and here—— [He shows a letter], here, my colleague, Eusebius, writes at length on the subject.
Julian.
Spirits and shades——
Libanius.
At Ephesus lately, in a large assembly both of his partisans and his opponents. Maximus applied forbidden arts to the statue of Hecate. It took place in the goddess’s temple. Eusebius writes that he himself was present, and saw everything from first to last. All was in pitch-black darkness. Maximus uttered strange incantations; then he chanted a hymn, which no one understood. Then the marble torch in the statue’s hand burst into flame——
Basil.
Impious doings!
Julian.
[Breathlessly.] And then——?
90Libanius.
In the strong bluish light, they all saw the statue’s face come to life and smile at them.
Julian.
What more?
Libanius.
Terror seized on the minds of most. All rushed towards the doors. Many have lain sick or raving ever since. But he himself—would you believe it, Julian?—in spite of the fate that befell his two brothers in Constantinople, he goes boldly forward on his reckless and scandalous way.
Julian.
Scandalous? Call you that way scandalous? Is not this the end of all wisdom. Communion between spirit and spirit——
Basil.
Oh, dear, misguided friend——!
Libanius.
More than scandalous, I call it! What is Hecate? What are the gods, as a whole, in the eyes of enlightened humanity? We have happily left far behind us the blind old singer’s days. Maximus ought to know better than that. Has not Plato—and we others after him—shed the light of interpretation over the whole? Is it not scandalous now, in our own days, to seek to enshroud afresh in riddles and misty dreams this admirable, palpable, and, let me add, this laboriously constructed edifice of ideas and interpretations which we, as lovers of wisdom, as a school, as——
91Julian.
[Wildly.] Basil, farewell! I see a light on my path!
Basil.
[Flinging his arms around him.] I will not let you go; I will hold you fast!
Julian.
[Extricating himself from his grasp.] No one shall withhold me;—kick not against the pricks——
Libanius.
What frenzy is this? Friend, brother, colleague, whither would you go?
Julian.
Thither, thither, where torches light themselves and where statues smile!
Libanius.
And you can do this! You, Julian, our pride, our light, our hope,—you can think of rushing to bewildered Ephesus, to give yourself into a juggler’s power! Know that in the hour you so deeply debase yourself, in that same hour you throw away all that bright renown for learning and eloquence which, during these years in Pergamos and Nikomedia, and especially here in the great school of Athens——
Julian.
Oh, the school, the school! Do you pore over your books;—you have pointed my way to the man for whom I have been seeking.
[He goes off hastily through the colonnade to the left.
92Libanius.
[Looking after him awhile.] This princely youth is a menace to enlightenment.
Basil.
[Half to himself.] Prince Julian is a menace to more than that.
93
ACT THIRD
In Ephesus. A brightly lighted hall in Prince Julian’s dwelling. The entrance from the vestibule is on the right side; further back, a smaller door, covered by a curtain. On the left, a door, which leads to the inner part of the house. The wall in the back is pierced with an archway, through which a small enclosed court is visible, decked with small statues.
Servants prepare a festal supper, and lay cushions round the table. The Chamberlain, Eutherius, stands at the entrance, and, with much ceremony, half forces Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil of Caesarea to enter.
Eutherius.
Yes, yes; I assure you it is as I say.
Gregory.
Impossible! Do not make sport of us.
Basil.
You are jesting, friend! How can your master expect us? Not a creature knew of our leaving Athens; nothing has detained us on our way; we have kept pace with the clouds and the wild cranes.
94Eutherius.
Look around; see yonder table. His daily fare is herbs and bread.
Gregory.
Ay, truly; all our senses bear you witness;—wine-flagons, wreathed with flowers and leaves; lamps and fruits; incense filling the hall with its odour; flute-players before the door——
Eutherius.
Early this morning he sent for me. He seemed unwontedly happy, for he paced the room to and fro, rubbing his hands. “Prepare a rich banquet,” said he, “for before evening I look for two friends from Athens——”
[He glances towards the door on the left, is suddenly silent, and draws back respectfully.
Basil.
Is he there?
[Eutherius nods in answer; then gives a sign to the servants to withdraw; they go out by the larger door on the right; he follows.
Prince Julian shortly afterwards enters from the left. He is dressed in long, Oriental garb; his whole demeanour is vivacious, and betrays strong inward excitement.
Julian.
[Going towards them, and greeting them with great warmth.] I see you! I have you! Thanks, thanks, for sending your spirits to herald your bodies!
95Gregory.
Julian!
Basil.
My friend and brother!
Julian.
I have been like a lover, languishing for the pressure of your hands. The court vermin, eager for certain persons’ applause, called me an ape;—oh, would I had an ape’s four hands, to squeeze yours all at once!
Gregory.
But explain——; your servants meet us with flutes before the door, want to lead us to the bath, to anoint our hair and deck us with roses——
Julian.
I saw you last night. The moon was full, you see,—and then is the spirit always strangely alert within me. I sat at the table in my library, and had fallen asleep, weary, oh! so weary, my friends, with research and writing. Of a sudden it seemed as though a storm-wind filled the house; the curtain was swept flapping aloft, and I looked out into the night, far over the sea. I heard sweet singing; and the singers were two large birds, with women’s faces. They flew slanting towards the shore; there they dropped gently earthwards; the bird-forms melted away like a white mist, and, in a soft, glimmering light, I saw you two.
Gregory.
Are you sure of all this?
96Julian.
Were you thinking of me? Were you speaking of me last night?
Basil.
Yes, yes—forward in the prow——
Julian.
What time of the night was it?
Gregory.
What was the time of your vision?
Julian.
An hour after midnight.
Gregory.
[With a look at Basil.] Strange!
Julian.
[Rubbing his hands, and walking up and down the room.] You see! Ha-ha; you see?
Basil.
[Following him with his eyes.] Ah, then it is true——
Julian.
What? What is true?
Basil.
The rumour of the mysterious arts you practise here.
Julian.
Oh, what will not rumour exaggerate?—But tell me, what has rumour found to say? I am told 97there are many reports afloat concerning me. If I could believe some people’s assurances, it would seem that there are few men in the empire so much talked about as I.
Gregory.
That you may safely believe.
Julian.
And what says Libanius to all this? He could never endure that the multitude should be busied with any one but himself. And what say all my never-to-be-forgotten friends in Athens? They know I am in disgrace with the Emperor and the whole court?
Gregory.
You? I have frequent intelligence from the court; but my brother Caesarius makes no mention of that.
Julian.
I cannot interpret it otherwise, good Gregory! From all sides they think it needful to watch me. The other day, Gallus Caesar sent his chaplain Aëtius hither, to find out whether I hold fast to the orthodox faith.
Basil.
Well——?
Julian.
I am seldom absent from matins in the church. Moreover, I reckon the martyrs among the noblest of men; for truly it is no light matter to endure so great torments, ay, and death itself, for the sake of one’s creed. On the whole, I believe Aëtius departed well content with me.
98Basil.
[Grasping his hand.] Julian,—for the sake of our true friendship,—open your heart fully to us.
Julian.
I am the happiest man on earth, dear friends! And Maximus—ay, he is rightly named—Maximus is the greatest man that has ever lived.
Gregory.
[Preparing to depart.] We only wished to see you, my lord!
Julian.
Can this estrange brother from brother? You shrink in affright from the inexplicable. Oh, I do not wonder. So I, too, shrank before my eyes were opened, and I divined that which is the kernel of life.
Basil.
What do you call the kernel of life?
Julian.
Maximus knows it. In him is the new revelation.
Basil.
And it has been imparted to you?
Julian.
Almost. I am on the eve of learning it. This very night Maximus has promised me——
Gregory.
Maximus is a visionary, or else he is deceiving you——!
99Julian.
How dare you judge of these hidden things? They are beyond your learning, my Gregory! Fearful is the way into the glory of glories. Those dreamers in Eleusis were near the right track; Maximus found it, and I after him—by his help. I have wandered through chasms of darkness. A dead swampy water lay on my left—I believe it was a stream that had forgotten to flow. Piercing voices shrilled through the night confusedly, suddenly, and, as it were, without cause. Now and then I saw a bluish light; dreadful shapes floated past me;—I went on and on in deathly fear; but I endured the trial to the end.—
Since then—oh, beloved ones—with this my body transformed to spirit, I have passed far into the land of paradise; I have heard the angels chant their hymns of praise; I have gazed at the midmost light——
Gregory.
Woe to this ungodly Maximus! Woe to this devil-devoted heathen juggler!
Julian.
Blindness, blindness! Maximus pays homage to his precursor and brother—to both his great brothers, the law-giver of Sinai and the seer of Nazareth.——
Would you know how the spirit of realisation filled me?—It happened on a night of prayer and fasting. I perceived that I was wafted far—far out into space, and beyond time; for there was broad and sun-shimmering day around me, and I stood alone on a ship, with drooping sails, in the midst of the glassy, gleaming Aegean sea. Islands 100towered aloft in the distance, like dim, still banks of clouds, and the ship lay heavily, as though sleeping, upon the wine-blue plain.—
Then behold! the plain became more and more transparent, lighter, thinner; at last, it was no longer there, and my ship hung over a fearful, empty abyss. No verdure down there, no sunlight,—only the dead, black, slimy bottom of the sea, in all its ghastly nakedness.——
But above, in the boundless dome, which before had seemed to me empty,—there was life; there invisibility clothed itself in form, and silence became sound.—Then I grasped the great redeeming realisation.
Gregory.
What realisation do you mean?
Julian.
That which is, is not; and that which is not, is.
Basil.
Oh, you are going to wreck and ruin in this maze of mists and gleams!
Julian.
I? Do not miracles happen? Do not both omens and certain strange appearances among the stars declare that the divine will destines me to issues yet unrevealed?
Gregory.
Do not believe such signs; you cannot know whose work they are.
101Julian.
Am I not to believe in fortunate omens which events have already borne out?
[He draws them nearer to him, and says softly.
Know, my friends, that a great revolution is at hand. Gallus Caesar and I shall ere long share the dominion of the earth—he as Emperor, and I as—what shall I call it? the unborn cannot be called by a name, for it has none. So no more of this till the time be fulfilled. But of Caesar I dare speak.—Have you heard of the vision for which Apollinaris, a citizen of Sidon, has been imprisoned and put to the torture?
Basil.
No, no; how can we know——?
Julian.
Apollinaris declared that he heard some one knocking many times at his door by night. He arose, and went out from his house; and lo! there he saw an apparition—whether man or woman, he could not tell. And the apparition spoke to him, and bade him make ready a purple robe, such as newly-chosen rulers wear. But when Apollinaris, in affright, would have declined so dangerous a task, the apparition vanished, and only a voice cried: “Go, go, Apollinaris, and speedily prepare the purple robe.”
Gregory.
Was this the sign that you said events had borne out?
102Julian.
[Nodding slowly.] Seven days later Caesar’s wife died in Bithynia. Constantina has always been his bad angel; therefore she had to be removed, in accordance with the change in the divine will. Three weeks after Constantina’s death, the Emperor’s emissary, the tribune Scudilo, came with a great retinue to Antioch, greeted Gallus Caesar with imperial honours, and invited him, in the Emperor’s name, to visit the imperial camp at Rome.—Caesar’s journey from province to province is now like a conqueror’s progress. In Constantinople he has held races in the hippodrome, and the multitude loudly acclaimed him when he, though as yet but Caesar by title, stood forth after the manner of the earlier Emperors, and gave the crown to Corax, the winner in the race. Thus marvellously does God again exalt our house, which had sunk under sin and persecution.
Gregory.
Strange! In Athens other reports were abroad.
Julian.
I have certain information. The purple robe will soon be needed, Gregory! How, then, can I doubt as to the things which Maximus has foretold as near at hand for me? To-night the last veil falls. Here shall the great enigma be made manifest. Oh, stay with me, my brothers—stay with me through this night of anxiety and expectation! When Maximus comes you shall witness——
Basil.
Never!
103Gregory.
It cannot be; we are on our way home to Cappadocia.
Julian.
And what has driven you in such haste from Greece?
Basil.
My mother is a widow, Julian!
Gregory.
My father is feeble, both in body and mind; he needs my support.
Julian.
Oh, at least remain at the hostelry; only until to-morrow——!
Gregory.
Impossible; our travelling companions start at daybreak.
Julian.
At daybreak? Before midnight the day might dawn for you.
Basil.
Julian, let me not set forth in too great sorrow of soul. Tell me,—when Maximus has interpreted all riddles for you,—what then?
Julian.
Do you remember that river whereof Strabo writes—that river which rises in the Lybian mountains? It grows, and grows in its course; but when it is at its greatest, it oozes into the desert sands, and buries itself in the entrails of the earth, whence it arose.
104Basil.
Say not that you long for death, Julian!
Julian.
What you slavishly hope for after death, ’tis the aim of the great mystery to win for all the initiated, here in our earthly life. ’Tis regeneration that Maximus and his disciples seek,—’tis our lost likeness to the godhead. Wherefore so full of doubt, my brothers? Why do you stand there as though before something insurmountable? I know what I know. In each successive generation there has been one soul wherein the pure Adam has been born again; he was strong in Moses the lawgiver; in the Macedonian Alexander he had power to subdue the world; he was well-nigh perfect in Jesus of Nazareth. But see, Basil—[He grasps him by the arm]—all of them lacked what is promised to me—the pure woman!