temple totter, and are seen to collapse with a thundering
crash, while the whole building is wrapped in a cloud of
dust. The multitude utter shrieks of terror; many flee,
others fall to the ground. There is breathless stillness for
a while. Little by little the cloud of dust settles, and the
temple of Apollo is seen in ruins._
BISHOP MARIS.
[_Whose two conductors have fled, stands alone, and says softly._] God
has spoken.
JULIAN.
[_Pale, and in a low voice._] Apollo has spoken. His temple was
polluted: therefore he crushed it.
BISHOP MARIS.
And I tell you it was that Lord who laid the temple of Jerusalem in
ruins.
JULIAN.
If it be so, then the churches of the Galilean shall be closed, and his
priests shall be driven with scourges to raise up that temple anew.
BISHOP MARIS.
Try, impotent man! Who has had power to restore the temple of Jerusalem
since the Prince of Golgotha called down destruction upon it?
JULIAN.
I have the power! The Emperor has the power! Your God shall be made a
liar. Stone by stone will I rebuild the temple of Jerusalem in all its
glory, as it was in the days of Solomon.
BISHOP MARIS.
Not one stone shall you add to another; for it is accursed of the Lord.
JULIAN.
Wait, wait; you shall see—if you _could_ see—you who stand there
forsaken and helpless, groping in the darkness, not knowing where you
next may place your foot.
BISHOP MARIS.
Yet I see the glare of the lightning that shall one day fall upon you
and yours.
[_He gropes his way out. JULIAN remains behind, surrounded by a
handful of pale and terrified attendants._
ACT THIRD.
SCENE FIRST.
_In Antioch. An open colonnade, with statues and a fountain in front of
it. To the left, under the colonnade, a flight of steps leads up
to the Imperial Palace._
_A company of Courtiers, Teachers, Poets, and Orators—among them the
court-physician, ORIBASES, and the poet, HERACLIUS—are assembled,
some in the colonnade, some around the fountain; most of them are
dressed in ragged cloaks, with matted hair and beards._
HERACLIUS.
I can endure this life no longer. To rise with the sun, plunge into a
cold bath, run or fence oneself weary——
ORIBASES.
’Tis all very wholesome.
HERACLIUS.
Is it wholesome to eat seaweed and raw fish?
A COURTIER.
Is it wholesome to have to devour meat in _great_ lumps, all bloody, as
it comes from the butcher?
HERACLIUS.
’Tis little enough meat I have seen for the past week. Most of it goes
to the altars. Ere long, methinks, we shall be able to say that the
ever-venerable gods are the only meat-eaters in Antioch.
ORIBASES.
Still the same old mocker, Heraclius.
HERACLIUS.
Why, of what are you thinking, friend? Far be it from me to mock at the
Emperor’s wise decrees. Blessed be the Emperor Julian! Does he not
follow in the footsteps of the immortals? For, tell me, does not a
certain frugality seem nowadays to reign, even in the heavenly
housekeeping?
A COURTIER.
Ha-ha-ha! There you are not far wrong.
HERACLIUS.
Look at Cybele, formerly so bounteous a goddess, whose statue the
Emperor lately found in an ash-pit——
ANOTHER COURTIER.
It was in a dunghill——
HERACLIUS.
Like enough; fertilising is Cybele’s business. But look at this goddess,
I say;—in spite of her hundred breasts, she flows neither with milk nor
honey.
[_A circle of laughing hearers has gathered round him. While he
is speaking, the EMPEROR JULIAN has come forward on the
steps in the colonnade, unnoticed by_ _those below. He wears
a tattered cloak, with a girdle of rope; his hair and beard
are unkempt, his fingers stained with ink; in both hands,
under his arms, and stuck in his belt, he holds bundles of
parchment rolls and papers. He stops and listens to
HERACLIUS with every sign of exasperation._
HERACLIUS.
[_Continuing._] It seems as though this wet-nurse of the world had
become barren. We might almost think that she had passed the age when
women——
A COURTIER.
[_Observing JULIAN._] Fie, fie, Heraclius,—shame on you!
[_Julian signs to the courtier to be silent._
HERACLIUS.
[_Continuing._] Well, enough of her. But is Ceres in the same case?
Does she not display a most melancholy—I had almost said an
imperial—parsimony? Yes, believe me, if we had a little more
intercourse with high Olympus nowadays, we should hear much to the
same tune. I dare swear that nectar and ambrosia are measured out as
sparingly as possible. Oh Zeus, how gaunt must thou have grown! Oh
roguish Dionysus, how much is there left of the fulness of thy loins?
Oh wanton, quick-flushing Venus,—oh Mars, inauspicious to married
men——
JULIAN.
[_In great wrath._] Oh most shameless Heraclius! Oh scurvy,
gall-spitting, venom-mouth——
HERACLIUS.
Ah, my gracious Emperor!
JULIAN.
Oh ribald scoffer at all sacred things! And this must I endure—to hear
your croaking tongue the instant I leave my library to breathe the fresh
morning air!
[_He comes nearer._
Know you what I hold under my left arm? No, you do not know. ’Tis a
polemic against you, blasphemous and foolish Heraclius!
HERACLIUS.
What, my Emperor,—against me?
JULIAN.
Yes, a treatise against you. A treatise with which my indignation has
this very night inspired me. Think you I could be other than wroth at
your most unseemly behaviour yesterday? How strange was the licence you
allowed yourself in the lecture-hall, in my hearing, and that of many
other earnest men? Had we not to listen for hours together to the
shameful fables about the gods which you must needs retail? How dared
you repeat such fictions? Were they not lies, from first to last?
HERACLIUS.
Ah, my Emperor, if you call _that_ lying, then both Ovid and Lucian were
liars.
JULIAN.
What else? Oh, I cannot express the indignation that seized me when I
understood whither your impudent address was tending. “Man, let nothing
surprise you,” I was tempted to say with the comic poet, when I heard
you, like an ill-conditioned cur, barking forth, not expressions of
gratitude, but a string of irrational nursery-tales, and ill-written to
boot. For your verses were bad, Heraclius;—that I have proved in my
treatise.
How I longed to arise and leave the hall when I saw you, as in a
theatre, making a spectacle both of Dionysus and of the great immortal
after whom you are named! If I constrained myself to keep my seat, I can
assure you ’twas more out of respect to the players—if I dare call them
so—than to the poet. But ’twas most of all for my own sake. I feared it
might seem as though I were fleeing like a frightened dove. Therefore I
made no sign, but quietly repeated to myself that verse of Homer:
“Bear it, my heart, for a time; heavier things hast thou suffered.”
Endure, as before, to hear a mad dog yelp at the eternal gods.
Yes, I see we must stomach this and more. We are fallen on evil days.
Show me the happy man who has been suffered to keep his eyes and ears
uncontaminated in this iron age!
ORIBASES.
I pray you, my noble master, be not so deeply moved. Let it comfort you
that we all listened with displeasure to this man’s folly.
JULIAN.
That is in nowise the truth! I read in the countenances of most of you
something far different from displeasure while this shameless mountebank
was babbling forth his ribaldries, and then looking round the circle
with a greasy smile, just as though he had done something to be proud
of.
HERACLIUS.
Alas, my Emperor, I am most unhappy——
JULIAN.
That you may well be; for this is, in truth, no trifling matter. Think
you the legends of the gods have not a serious and weighty purpose? Are
they not destined to lead the human spirit, by an easy and pleasant
path, up to the mystic abodes where reigns the highest god,—and thereby
to make our souls capable of union with him? How can it be otherwise?
Was it not with that view that the old poets invented such legends, and
that Plato and others repeated them, and even added to their number?
Apart from this purpose, I tell you, these stories would be fit only for
children or barbarians,—and scarcely for them. But was it children and
barbarians, pray, that you had before you yesterday? Where do you find
the audacity to address me as if I were a child? Do you think yourself a
sage, and entitled to a sage’s freedom of speech, because you wear a
ragged cloak, and carry a beggar’s staff in your hand?
A COURTIER.
How true, my Emperor! No, no, it needs more than that.
JULIAN.
Ay? Does it indeed? And what? To let your hair grow, perhaps, and never
clean your nails? Oh hypocritical Cleon! I know you, one and all. Here,
in this treatise, I have given you a name which——; you shall hear——
_He searches through the bundles of papers. At that moment
LIBANIUS enters from the right, richly clad, and with a
haughty mien._
ORIBASES.
[_In a low tone._] Ah, you come in the nick of time, most honoured
Libanius!
JULIAN.
[_Continuing his search._] Where can it be——
LIBANIUS.
[_To ORIBASES._] What mean you, friend?
ORIBASES.
The Emperor is much enraged; your coming will pacify him.
JULIAN.
Ah, here I have it——
[_With annoyance._
What does that man want?
ORIBASES.
Sire, this is——
JULIAN.
No matter, no matter! Now you shall hear whether I know you or not.
There are among the wretched Galileans a number of madmen who call
themselves penitents. These renounce all earthly possessions, and yet
demand great gifts of the fools who treat them as holy men and almost as
objects of worship. Behold, you are like these penitents, except that I
shall give you nothing. For I am not so foolish as those others. Yes,
yes, were I not firm on that point, you would soon overrun the whole
court with your shamelessness. Nay, do you not already do so? Are there
not many among you who would come again, even if I drove them away? Oh
my dear friends, what can this lead to? Are you lovers of wisdom? Are
you followers of Diogenes, whose garb and habits you ape? In truth, you
do not haunt the schools nearly so much as you besiege my treasurer.
What a pitiful and despicable thing has not wisdom become because of
you! Oh, hypocrites and babblers without understanding! Oh you—— But
what is yonder fat man seeking?
ORIBASES.
Sire, it is the chief magistrate of the city——
JULIAN.
The chief magistrate must wait. The matters we have in hand must take
precedence of all meaner affairs. How now? Why this air of impatience?
Is your business so weighty——
LIBANIUS.
By no means, sire; I can come another day.
[_He is going._
ORIBASES.
Sire, do you not recognise this distinguished man? This is the
rhetorician Libanius.
JULIAN.
What? Libanius? Impossible. Libanius here—the incomparable Libanius! I
cannot believe it.
LIBANIUS.
I thought the Emperor knew that the citizens of Antioch had chosen me as
their chief magistrate.
JULIAN.
Assuredly I knew it. But when I made my entrance into the city, and the
magistrates came forth to greet me with an oration, I looked in vain for
Libanius. Libanius was not among them.
LIBANIUS.
The Emperor had uttered no wish to hear Libanius speak on that occasion.
JULIAN.
The orator Libanius ought to have known what were the Emperor’s wishes
in that respect.
LIBANIUS.
Libanius knew not what changes time and absence might have wrought.
Libanius therefore judged it more becoming to take his place among the
multitude. He chose, indeed, a sufficiently conspicuous position; but
the Emperor deigned not to let his eyes fall on him.
JULIAN.
I thought you received my letter the day after——
LIBANIUS.
Your new friend Priscus brought it to me.
JULIAN.
And none the less—perhaps all the more—you held aloof——?
LIBANIUS.
Headache and weighty business——
JULIAN.
Ah, Libanius, in bygone days you were not so chary of your presence.
LIBANIUS.
I come where I am bidden. Ought I to be intrusive? Would you have me
stand in the way of the Emperor’s much-honoured Maximus?
JULIAN.
Maximus never appears at court.
LIBANIUS.
And for good reason. Maximus holds a court of his own. The Emperor has
conceded him a whole palace.
JULIAN.
Oh my Libanius, have I not conceded you my heart? How can you envy
Maximus his palace?
LIBANIUS.
I envy no man. I do not even envy my colleagues Themistius and
Mamertinus, although you have conferred on them such signal proofs of
your favour. Nor do I envy Hekebolius, whose wealth you have increased
by such princely presents. I even rejoice to be the only man to whom you
have given nothing. For I well know the reason of the exception. You
wish the cities of your empire to abound in everything, and most of all
in oratory, knowing that it is that distinction which marks us off from
the barbarians. Now you feared that I, like certain others, might, if
you gave me riches, become lukewarm in my art. The Emperor has therefore
preferred to let the teacher of his youth remain poor, in order to hold
him the closer to his craft. Thus do I interpret a course of action
which has astonished some whom I forbear to name. ’Tis for the honour
and well-being of the state that you have given me nothing. I am to lack
riches that I may abound in eloquence.
JULIAN.
And I, my Libanius, have also understood the reason why the teacher of
my youth has let me pass many months here in Antioch without presenting
himself. Libanius doubtless deemed that any services his former pupil
may have rendered to the gods, to the state, or to learning, were not
great enough to deserve celebration by the man who is called the king of
eloquence. Libanius no doubt thought that meaner orators were better
fitted to deal with such trivial things. Moreover, Libanius has remained
silent out of care for the balance of my mind. You feared, doubtless, to
see the Emperor intoxicated with arrogance, reeling like one who in his
thirst has drunk too deeply of the leaf-crowned wine-bowl, had you
lavished on him any of that art which is the marvel of Greece, and
raised him, so to speak, to the level of the gods, by pouring out before
him so precious a libation.
LIBANIUS.
Ah, my Emperor, if I could believe that my oratory possessed such
power——
JULIAN.
And why should you not believe it, incomparable friend? Oh, leave me. I
am wroth with you, Libanius. But it is the lover’s anger against the one
he loves.
LIBANIUS.
Is it indeed so? Oh my crowned brother, let me then tell you that not a
day has passed since your coming hither on which I have not cursed the
steadfastness that would not let me make the first advance. My friends
assured me—not without some show of reason—that you had undertaken this
long journey chiefly in order to see me and hear me speak. But Julian
himself gave no sign. What was I to do? Should I flatter as Emperor him
whom I loved as a man?
JULIAN.
[_Embracing and kissing him._] My Libanius!
LIBANIUS.
[_Kissing the Emperor in return._] My friend and brother!
ORIBASES.
How honourable to both!
COURTIERS AND TEACHERS.
[_Clapping their hands._] How beautiful! How sublime!
JULIAN.
Libanius, cruel friend,—how could you find it in your heart to balk me
so long of this happy moment? During the weeks and months I have waited
for you, my countenance has been veiled in Scythian darkness.
LIBANIUS.
Alas, you were in better case than I; for you had those to whom you
could speak about your absent friend.
JULIAN.
Say not so. I had only the hapless lover’s comfort: that of sorrowfully
repeating your name, and crying out: “Libanius, Libanius!”
LIBANIUS.
Ah, whilst you spoke thus to empty air, I spoke to the four walls of my
chamber. Most of the day I passed in bed, picturing to myself who was
then with you—now this one, now that. “Once it was otherwise,” I said to
myself,—“then it was I who possessed Julian’s ear.”
JULIAN.
And meanwhile you let me pine away with longing. Look at me. Have I not
grown a century older?
LIBANIUS.
Oh, have I not suffered as great a change? You did not recognise me.
JULIAN.
This meeting has been to both of us as a bath, from which we go forth
healed.
[_They embrace and kiss again._
And now, beloved friend, now tell me what has brought you hither to-day;
for I cannot doubt that you have some special errand.
LIBANIUS.
To say nothing of my longing—so it is. Would that another had been sent
in my stead! But the post of honour to which the confidence of the
citizens has summoned me makes it my duty to perform all missions alike.
JULIAN.
Speak, my Libanius, and tell me how I can serve you.
LIBANIUS.
Let me begin by saying that the inhabitants of this city are sunk in
sorrow because you have withdrawn your favour from them.
JULIAN.
H’m——!
LIBANIUS.
And this sorrow has been coupled with anxiety and disquiet since
Alexander, the new governor, assumed office.
JULIAN.
Aha; indeed!
LIBANIUS.
The exaltation of such a man could not but take us by surprise.
Alexander has hitherto filled only trifling offices, and that in a
manner little calculated to earn him either the respect or the affection
of the citizens.
JULIAN.
I know that well, Libanius!
LIBANIUS.
Alexander is violent in all his dealings, and justice is of little
moment in his eyes——
JULIAN.
I know it; I know all you tell me. Alexander is a rough man, without
morals and without eloquence. Alexander has in no way deserved so great
advancement. But you may tell the citizens of Antioch that they have
deserved Alexander. Ay, they have, if possible, deserved a still worse
ruler, covetous and intractable as they are——
LIBANIUS.
It is, then, as we feared; this is a punishment——
JULIAN.
Hear me, Libanius! How did I come hither? With full confidence in the
people of this city. Antioch, chosen by the Sun-King for his especial
seat, was to help me to repair all the wrong and ingratitude which had
so long been shown to the immortals. But how have you met me? Some with
defiance, others with lukewarmness. What have I not to endure here? Does
not that Cappadocian, Gregory of Nazianzus, still wander about the city,
stirring up the ignorant Galileans by his audacious speeches? Has not a
poet arisen among them—a certain Apollinaris—who, with his wild songs,
inflames their fanaticism to the point of madness?
And what do I not learn from other places? In Caesarea, have they not
carried out their threat, and wrecked the temple of Fortuna! Oh shame
and infamy! Where were the goddess’s worshippers the while? Did they
prevent it? No, they did not lift a finger, Libanius, though they should
have laid down life itself to preserve the sanctuary.
But wait, wait! The Galileans of Caesarea shall atone with their blood,
and the whole city shall go up in flames as soon as I have time at my
disposal.
LIBANIUS.
My lord and friend,—if you would permit me——
JULIAN.
Permit me, first. Say yourself whether I ought to tolerate such things?
Say whether my zeal can bear with such insults to the divinities who
hover over and shield me? But what can I do? Have I not laboured through
many a long night to disprove these unhappy delusions,—writing,
Libanius, till my eyes were red, and my fingers black with ink? And what
good, think you, has it done? I have reaped scorn instead of thanks, not
only from the fanatics themselves, but even from men who pretend to
share my opinions. And now, to crown all these mortifications, I find
you acting as spokesman for the complaints of a handful of citizens
against Alexander, who at least does his best to keep the Galileans in
check.
LIBANIUS.
Oh, my august friend,—that is precisely our ground of complaint.
JULIAN.
Do _you_ tell me this?
LIBANIUS.
’Tis not with my own good will that I do the city’s errands. I urged
upon the council that they ought to choose for this task the most
distinguished man in the town, thereby implying that I did not wish to
be chosen. Despite this hint, the choice fell on me, who am certainly
not——
JULIAN.
Well, well, well! But oh, Libanius, that I must hear from your mouth——!
LIBANIUS.
I beg my crowned brother to remember that I speak in the name of the
city! For myself, I prize the immortal gods as highly as any one. Where
would the art of oratory be without the legends which the poets of
bygone days have left to us? May not these legends be likened to a rich
vein of ore, whence an accomplished orator can forge himself both
weapons and ornaments, if only he understands how to work the metal
skilfully? How flat and insipid would not the maxims of wisdom seem,
expressed without images or comparisons borrowed from the supernatural?
But think, oh my friend—can you expect the multitude to take this view,
especially in such an age as ours? I assure you that in Antioch, at any
rate, ’tis not to be hoped for. The citizens—both Galileans and the more
enlightened—have of late years lived at peace without greatly concerning
themselves as to these matters. There is scarce a household in the city
wherein people are of one mind upon things divine. But, until lately,
domestic peace has nevertheless prevailed.
Now the case is altered. People have begun to weigh creed against creed.
Discord has broken out between the nearest kinsmen. For example, a
citizen, whose name I forbear to mention, has lately disinherited his
son because the young man separated himself from the Galilean community.
Commerce and social life suffer from all this, especially now, when
scarcity reigns and famine stands at the door.
JULIAN.
Enough, enough,—more than enough, Libanius! You complain of scarcity.
But tell me, has luxury ever been more rampant than now? Is the
amphitheatre ever empty when it is reported that a new lion has arrived
from Africa? Last week, when there was a talk of turning all idlers and
vagabonds out of the city because of the dearth, did not the citizens
loudly demand that the gladiators and dancing-girls should be exempted;
for they felt they could not exist without them!
Ah, well may the gods desert you in wrath over, your folly! There are
plenty of teachers of wisdom in this city, but where is wisdom? Why do
so few tread in my footsteps? Why stop at Socrates? Why not go a few
steps further, and follow Diogenes, or—if I dare say so—me, since we
lead you to happiness? For is not happiness the goal of all philosophy?
And what is happiness but harmony with oneself? Does the eagle want
golden feathers? Or the lion claws of silver? Or does the
pomegranate-tree long to bear fruits of sparkling stone? I tell you no
man has a right to enjoy until he has steeled himself to forbear. Ay, he
ought not to touch enjoyment with his finger-tips until he has learnt to
trample it under foot.
Ah truly, we are far from that! But for that end will I work with all my
might. For the sake of these things I will give up others which are also
important. The Persian king—alarmed at my approach—has offered me terms
of peace. I think of accepting them, that I may have my hands free to
enlighten and improve you, intractable generation! As to the other
matter, it must remain as it is. You shall keep Alexander. Make the best
you can of him.
Yet, my Libanius, it shall not be said that I have sent you from me in
disfavour——
LIBANIUS.
Ah, my Emperor——
JULIAN.
You mentioned with a certain bitterness that I had given much to
Themistius and Mamertinus. But did I not also take something from them?
Did I not take from them my daily companionship? ’Tis my intent to give
you more than I gave them.
LIBANIUS.
Ah, what do you tell me, my august brother?
JULIAN.
’Tis not my intent to give you gold or silver. That folly prevailed with
me only at first, until I saw how people flocked round me, like thirsty
harvesters round a fountain, elbowing and jostling one another, and each
stretching out a hollow hand to have it filled first, and filled to the
brim. I have grown wiser since. I think it may be said in particular
that the Goddess of Wisdom has not withdrawn her countenance from me in
the measures I have taken for the good of this city.
LIBANIUS.
Doubtless, doubtless!
JULIAN.
Therefore I commission you, oh my Libanius, to compose a panegyric on
me.
LIBANIUS.
Ah, what an honour——!
JULIAN.
You must lay special stress on the benefits for which the citizens of
Antioch owe me gratitude. I hope you will produce an oration that shall
do honour both to the orator and to his subject. This task, my Libanius,
shall be my gift to you. I know of nothing more fitting to offer to a
man like you.
LIBANIUS.
Oh, my crowned friend, what a transcendent favour!
JULIAN.
And now to the fencing-hall. Then, my friends, we will walk through the
streets, to give these insolent townsfolk a profitable example of
sobriety in dress and simplicity in manners.
ORIBASES.