A COURTIER.
Pray, sire, let me be excused; I feel extremely unwell——
HERACLIUS.
I too, most gracious lord! All this morning I have been struggling
against a feeling of nausea——
JULIAN.
Then take an emetic, and see if you cannot throw up your folly at the
same time.
Oh Diogenes,—how degenerate are your successors! They are ashamed to
wear your cloak in the open street.
[_He goes out angrily through the colonnade._
SCENE SECOND.
_A mean street in the outskirts of the city. In the row of houses to the
left stands a small church._
_A great multitude of lamenting Christians is assembled. The
psalm-writer APOLLINARIS and the teacher CYRILLUS are among them.
Women with children in their arms utter loud cries. GREGORY OF
NAZIANZUS passes along the street._
THE WOMEN.
[_Rushing up to him and taking hold of his garments._] Ah, Gregory,
Gregory—speak to us! Comfort us in this anguish!
GREGORY.
Only One can give comfort here. Hold fast by Him. Cling to the Lord our
Shepherd.
A WOMAN.
Know you this, oh man of God,—the Emperor has commanded that all our
sacred scriptures shall be burnt!
GREGORY.
I have heard it; but I cannot believe that his folly is so great.
APOLLINARIS.
It is true. Alexander, the new governor, has sent out soldiers to search
the houses of the brethren. Even women and children are whipped till
they bleed, if they are suspected of hiding books.
CYRILLUS.
The Emperor’s decree applies not to Antioch only, nor even to Syria; it
applies to the empire and the whole world. Every smallest word that is
written concerning Christ is to be wiped out of existence, and out of
the memory of believers.
APOLLINARIS.
Oh ye mothers, weep for yourselves and for your children!
The day will come when ye shall dispute with those ye now carry in your
arms, as to what was in truth written in the lost Word of God. The day
will come when your children’s children shall mock at you, and shall not
know who or what Christ was.
The day will come when no heart shall remember that once on a time the
Saviour of the world suffered and died.
The last believer shall go in darkness to his grave, and from that hour
shall Golgotha vanish away from the earth, like the place where the
Garden of Eden lay.
Woe, woe, to the new Pilate! He is not content, like the first, to slay
the Saviour’s body. He murders the word and the faith!
THE WOMEN.
[_Tearing their hair and rending their garments._] Woe, woe, woe!
GREGORY.
And I say unto you, be of good cheer! God does not die. ’Tis not from
Julian that the danger comes. The danger was there long ere he arose, in
the weakness and contentiousness of our hearts.
CYRILLUS.
Oh, Gregory, how can you ask us to remain steadfast amid these
horrors?—Brethren and sisters—know you what has happened in Arethusa?
The unbelievers have maltreated the old bishop Marcus, dragged him by
the hair through the streets, cast him into the sewers, dragged him up
again, bleeding and befouled, smeared him over with honey and set him in
a tree, a prey to wasps and poisonous flies.
GREGORY.
And has not God’s power been gloriously manifested in this very Marcus?
What was Marcus before? A man of doubtful faith. When the troubles broke
out in Arethusa, he even fled from the city. But behold—-no sooner had
he heard in his hiding-place that the raging crew were avenging the
bishop’s flight on innocent brethren, than he returned of his own free
will. And how did he bear the torments which so appalled even his
executioners, that in order to withdraw with some show of credit, they
offered to release him if he would pay a very trifling fine? Was not his
answer: No—and no, and again no? The Lord God was with him. He neither
died nor yielded. His countenance showed neither terror nor impatience.
In the tree wherein he hung, he thanked God for being lifted a few steps
nearer heaven, while the others, as he said, crawled about on the flat
earth.
CYRILLUS.
A miracle must have happened to the resolute old man. If you had heard,
as I did, the shrieks from the prison, that day in the summer when
Hilarion and the others were tortured——! They were like no other
shrieks—agonised, rasping, mixed with hissing sounds every time the
white-hot iron buried itself in the raw flesh.
APOLLINARIS.
Oh, Cyrillus, have you forgotten how the shrieks passed over into song?
Did not Hilarion sing even in death? Did not that heroic Cappadocian boy
sing until he gave up the ghost under the hands of the torturers? Did
not Agathon, that boy’s brother, sing until he swooned away, and then
woke up in madness?
Verily I say unto you, so long as song rings out above our sorrows,
Satan shall never conquer!
GREGORY.
Be of good cheer. Love one another and suffer one for another, as
Serapion in Doristora lately suffered for his brothers, for love of whom
he let himself be scourged, and cast alive into the furnace!
See, see,—has not the Lord’s avenging hand already been raised against
the ungodly? Have you not heard the tidings from Heliopolis under
Lebanon?
APOLLINARIS.
I know it. In the midst of the ribald feast of Aphrodite, the heathen
broke into the house of our holy sisters, violated them, murdered them
amid tortures unspeakable——
THE WOMEN.
Woe, woe!
APOLLINARIS.
——ay, some of the wretches even tore open the bodies of the martyrs,
dragged forth the entrails and ate the liver raw!
THE WOMEN.
Woe, woe, woe!
GREGORY.
The God of Wrath seasoned the meal. How have they thriven on it? Go to
Heliopolis, and you shall see those men with a putrefying poison in all
their veins, their eyes and teeth dropping out, bereft of speech and
understanding. Horror has fallen on the city. Many heathens have been
converted since that night.
Therefore I fear not this pestilent monster who has risen up against the
church; I fear not this crowned hireling of hell, who is bent upon
finishing the work of the enemy of mankind. Let him fall upon us with
fire, with sword, with the wild beasts of the amphitheatre! Should his
madness even drive him further than he has yet gone—what does it matter?
For all this there is a remedy, and the path lies open to victory.
THE WOMEN.
Christ, Christ!
OTHER VOICES.
There he is! There he comes!
SOME.
Who?
OTHERS.
The Emperor! The murderer! The enemy of God!
GREGORY.
Be still! Let him pass by in silence.
[_A detachment of the Imperial Guards comes along the street.
JULIAN follows, accompanied by courtiers and philosophers,
all surrounded by guards. Another division of the Household
Guard, led by FROMENTINUS, closes the procession._
A WOMAN.
[_Softly to the others._] See, see, he has wrapped himself in rags, like
a beggar.
ANOTHER WOMAN.
He must be out of his senses.
A THIRD WOMAN.
God has already stricken him.
A FOURTH WOMAN.
Hide your little ones against your breasts. Let not their eyes behold
the monster.
JULIAN.
Aha, are not these all Galileans? What do you here in the sunshine, in
the open street, you spawn of darkness?
GREGORY.
You have closed our churches; therefore we stand without and praise the
Lord our God.
JULIAN.
Ah, is that you, Gregory? So you still linger here. But beware; my
patience will not last for ever.
GREGORY.
I seek not a martyr’s death; I do not even desire it; but if it be
allotted me, I shall glory in dying for Christ.
JULIAN.
Your phrases weary me. I will not have you here. Why cannot you keep to
your stinking dens? Go home, I tell you!
A WOMAN.
Oh, Emperor, where is our home?
ANOTHER WOMAN.
Where are our houses? The heathen have plundered them and driven us out.
A VOICE IN THE THRONG.
Your soldiers have taken from us all our goods.
OTHER VOICES.
Oh Emperor, Emperor, why have you seized upon our possessions?
JULIAN.
You ask that? I will tell you, ignorant creatures! If your riches are
taken from you, ’tis out of care for your souls’ weal. Has not the
Galilean said that you shall possess neither silver nor gold? Has not
your Master promised that you shall one day ascend to heaven? Ought you
not, then, to thank me for making your rising as easy as possible?
THE PHILOSOPHERS.
Oh, incomparably answered!
APOLLINARIS.
Sire, you have robbed us of what is more precious than gold and silver.
You have robbed us of God’s own word. You have robbed us of our sacred
scriptures.
JULIAN.
I know you, hollow-eyed psalm-singer! Are not you Apollinaris? I believe
if I take away your senseless books, you are capable of making up
others, just as senseless, in their stead. But you are a pitiful
bungler, let me tell you, both in prose and verse! By Apollo! no true
Greek would suffer a line of yours to pass his lips. The pamphlet you
sent me the other day, which you had the effrontery to entitle “The
Truth,” I have read, understood, and condemned.
APOLLINARIS.
’Tis possible you may have read it; but understood it you have not; for
if you had, you would not have condemned it.
JULIAN.
Ha-ha! the rejoinder I am preparing will prove that I understood it.—But
as to those books whose loss you lament and howl over, I may tell you
that you will presently hold them cheaper when it is proved that Jesus
of Nazareth was a liar and deceiver.
THE WOMEN.
Woe to us; woe to us!
CYRILLUS.
[_Stepping forward._] Emperor—what mean you by that?
JULIAN.
Did not the crucified Jew prophesy that the Temple of Jerusalem should
lie in ruins till the end of time?
CYRILLUS.
So shall it be!
JULIAN.
Oh fools! At this moment my general, Jovian, with two thousand workmen,
is at Jerusalem, rebuilding the temple in all its glory. Wait, wait, you
stiff-necked doubters—you shall learn who is the mightier, the Emperor
or the Galilean.
CYRILLUS.
Sire, that you yourself shall learn to your dismay. I held my peace till
you blasphemed the Highest, and called him a liar; but now I tell you
that you have not a feather-weight of power against the Crucified One!
JULIAN.
[_Constraining himself._] Who are you, and what do you call yourself?
CYRILLUS.
[_Coming forward._] I will tell you. First and foremost I call myself a
Christian, and that is a most honourable name; for it shall never be
wiped away from the earth.
Furthermore, I bear the name of Cyrillus, and am known by that name
among my brethren and sisters.
But if I keep the former name unspotted, I shall reap eternal life as a
reward.
JULIAN.
You are mistaken, Cyrillus! You know I am not unversed in the mysteries
of your creed. Believe me—he in whom you put your trust is not the being
you imagine. He died, in very truth, at the time when the Roman, Pontius
Pilate, was governor in Judea.
CYRILLUS.
I am not mistaken. ’Tis you, oh Emperor, who err in this. ’Tis you, who
repudiated Christ at the moment when he gave you dominion over the
world.
Therefore I tell you, in his name, that he will quickly take from you
both your dominion and your life; and then shall you recognise, too
late, how mighty is he whom in your blindness you despise.
Yea, as you have forgotten his benefits, he will not remember his
lovingkindness, when he shall rise up to punish you.
You have cast down his altars; he shall cast you down from your throne.
You have taken delight in trampling his law under foot, that very law
which you yourself once proclaimed to believers. In like manner shall
the Lord trample you under his heel. Your body shall be scattered to the
wild winds, and your soul shall descend to a place of greater torments
than you can devise for me and mine!
[_The women flock around CYRILLUS, with cries and lamentations._
JULIAN.
I would fain have spared you, Cyrillus! The gods are my witnesses that I
hate you not for your faith’s sake. But you have mocked at my imperial
power and authority, and that I must punish.
[_To the Captain of the Guard._
Fromentinus, lead this man to prison, and let the executioner Typhon
give him as many lashes with the scourge as are needful to make him
confess that the Emperor, and not the Galilean, has all power upon
earth.
GREGORY.
Be strong, Cyrillus, my brother!
CYRILLUS.
[_With upraised hands._] How blessed am I, to suffer for the glory of
God!
[_The soldiers seize and drag him out._
THE WOMEN.
[_With tears and sobs._] Woe to us! Woe, woe, to the apostate!
JULIAN.
Disperse these maniacs! Let them be driven out of the city as rebels. I
will no longer endure this defiance and scandal.
[_The guard drives the lamenting crowd into the side streets.
Only the Emperor and his suite remain behind. A man who has
hitherto been hidden is now seen lying at the church door;
he is in torn garments, and has ashes strewn on his head._
A SOLDIER.
[_Stirring him with a lance-shaft._] Up, up; be off!
THE MAN.
[_Looking up._] Tread under foot this salt without savour, rejected of
the Lord!
JULIAN.
Oh everlasting gods!—Hekebolius——!
THE COURTIERS.
Ah, so it is,—Hekebolius!
HEKEBOLIUS.
That is no longer my name! I am nameless. I have denied the baptism that
gave me my name!
JULIAN.
Arise, friend! Your mind is distempered——
HEKEBOLIUS.
Judas’s brother is pestiferous. Away from me——
JULIAN.
Oh feeble-hearted man——
HEKEBOLIUS.
Avaunt, tempter! Take back your thirty pieces of silver! Is it not
written, “Thou shalt forsake wife and children for the Lord’s sake”? And
I——? For the sake of wife and children have I betrayed the Lord my God!
Woe, woe, woe!
[_He casts himself down again on his face._
JULIAN.
Such flames of madness do these writings kindle over the earth!
And do I not well to burn them?
Wait! Ere a year has passed the Temple of the Jews shall stand again on
Zion hill,—the splendour of its golden dome shining over the world, and
testifying: Liar, liar, liar!
[_He goes hastily away, followed by the philosophers._
SCENE THIRD.
_A road outside the city. To the left, by the wayside, stands a statue
of Cybele amid the stumps of hewn-down trees. At a little distance
to the left is a fountain, with a stone basin. It is towards
sunset._
_On a step at the foot of the goddess’s statue sits an old priest, with
a covered basket in his lap. A number of men and women carry water
from the fountain. Passers-by are seen on the road. From the left
enters the dyer PHOCION, meanly clad, with a great bundle on his
head. He meets EUNAPIUS the barber, who comes from the city._
PHOCION.
Aha!—my friend Eunapius in full court dress!
EUNAPIUS.
Shame on you for mocking a poor man.
PHOCION.
Call you that mockery? I thought it was the highest distinction.
EUNAPIUS.
You may say so indeed. ’Tis now the height of distinction to go in rags,
especially if they have lain long enough in the gutter.
PHOCION.
How will all this end, think you?
EUNAPIUS.
What should I care? I know how it has ended with me, and that is enough.
PHOCION.
Are you no longer in the Emperor’s service?
EUNAPIUS.
What should the Emperor Julian want with a barber? Think you he has his
hair cut, or his beard trimmed? He does not even comb them. But how goes
it with you? You do not look much better off.
PHOCION.
Alas, Eunapius, purple-dyeing has had its day.
EUNAPIUS.
Right, right; now we dye only the backs of the Christians. But what is
that you are toiling with?
PHOCION.
A bundle of willow bark. I am to dye fools’ cloaks for the philosophers.
[_A detachment of soldiers enters from the right; they range
themselves beside the statue of Cybele._
PHOCION.
[_To one of the men beside the stone basin._] What does this mean?
THE MAN.
The statue is to be fed once more.
PHOCION.
Will the Emperor sacrifice here this evening?
ANOTHER MAN.
Does he not sacrifice both morning and evening—sometimes here, sometimes
there?
A WOMAN.
Tis hard on us poor folk that the new Emperor is so much in love with
the gods.
ANOTHER WOMAN.
Nay, Dione, say not so. Ought we not all to love the gods?
THE FIRST WOMAN.
Maybe, maybe; but ’tis hard on us none the less——
ONE OF THE MEN.
[_Points to the right._] Look—there he comes.
_The EMPEROR JULIAN advances in priestly attire, with a
sacrificial knife. Many philosophers, priests, and servants
surround him, along with his guard. After them comes a crowd
of people, some mocking, some indignant._
ONE OF THE NEWCOMERS.
There stands the goddess. Now you shall see sport.
AN OLDER MAN.
Do you call that sport? How many hungry mouths could be fed with what is
wasted here?
JULIAN.
[_Approaching the statue._] Oh, this sight! It fills my heart with
rapture and my eyes with tears of sorrow.
Yes, I must indeed weep, when I remember that this awe-inspiring
goddess’s statue, overthrown by impious and audacious hands, has lain so
long as if in a sleep of oblivion—and that, moreover, in a place I
loathe to mention.
[_Suppressed laughter among the listeners. JULIAN turns
angrily._
But I feel no less rapture when I remember that to me it was vouchsafed
to rescue the Divine Mother from so unworthy a situation.
May I not well be enraptured by this thought?—Men say of me, that I have
won a few victories over the barbarians, and praise me for them. For my
part, I set more value on what I am doing for the gods; for to them we
owe all our strength and all our care.
[_To those by the stone basin._
It pleases me, however, to find that there are some in this stiff-necked
city who are not deaf to my exhortations, but have come forth with
seemly piety—and, I doubt not, have brought with them suitable
offerings.
[_He goes up to the Old Priest._
What do I see? One solitary old man! Where are your brethren of the
temple?
THE OLD PRIEST.
Sire, they are all dead but I.
JULIAN.
All dead! The road laid irreverently close to the sanctuary. The
venerable grove hewn down——
Old man—where are the sacrificial offerings?
THE OLD PRIEST.
[_Pointing to the basket._] Here, sire!
JULIAN.
Yes, yes; but the rest?
THE OLD PRIEST.
This is all.
[_He opens the basket._
JULIAN.
A goose! And this goose is all?
THE OLD PRIEST.
Yes, sire!
JULIAN.
And what pious man have we to thank for so generous an offering?
THE OLD PRIEST.
I brought it with me myself. Oh, sire, be not wroth; this one was all I
had.
[_Laughter and mutterings among the bystanders._
SUPPRESSED VOICES.
’Tis enough. A goose is more than enough.
JULIAN.
Oh Antioch—you put my patience to a hard test!
A MAN IN THE CROWD.
Bread first, offerings afterwards!
PHOCION.
[_Nudging him in the side._] Well said; well said!
ANOTHER MAN.
Give the citizens food; the gods may do as best they can.
A THIRD MAN.
We were better off under Chi and Kappa!
JULIAN.
Oh you shameless brawlers, with your Chi and Kappa! Think you I do not
know whom you mean by Chi and Kappa? Ho-ho, I know very well. ’Tis a
by-word among you. You mean Christ and Constantius. But their dominion
is past, and I shall soon find means of subduing the frowardness and
ingratitude you display both towards the gods and towards me. You are
offended because I allot the gods their due offerings. You mock at my
modest attire and my untrimmed beard. This beard is a very thorn in your
eyes! You call it, irreverently, a goat’s beard. But I tell you, oh
fools, it is a wise man’s beard. I am not ashamed to let you know that
this beard harbours vermin, as willow copses harbour game—and yet this
despised beard is more honourable to me than your smooth-shaven chins to
you!
EUNAPIUS.
[_Half aloud._] What foolishness; most unreasonable!
JULIAN.
But think you I will leave your mockeries unanswered? No, no, you will
find yourselves mistaken. Only wait; you shall hear from me sooner than
you think. I am at this moment preparing a treatise, entitled “The
Beard-Hater.” And would you know against whom it is directed? It is
directed against you, citizens of Antioch—against you, whom I describe
in it as “those ignorant hounds.” You will find in it my reasons for
many things that now seem strange to you in my behaviour.
FROMENTINUS.
[_Entering from the right._] Great Emperor, I bring you good news.
Cyrillus has already given way——
JULIAN.
Ah, I thought so.
FROMENTINUS.
Typhon did his work bravely. The prisoner was stripped, tied by the
wrists, and slung to the rafters, so that the tips of his toes barely
touched the floor; then Typhon scourged him from behind with a lash of
ox sinews that circled his body round to the breast.
JULIAN.
Oh how wicked to force us to use such means!
FROMENTINUS.
Lest he should die under our hands, we had at last to release the
obstinate wretch. He remained for a time quite still, and seemed to
reflect; then suddenly he demanded to be brought before the Emperor.
JULIAN.
This pleases me. And you are having him brought hither?
FROMENTINUS.
Yes, sire—here they come with him.
_A detachment of soldiers enters, conducting CYRILLUS._
JULIAN.
Ah, my good Cyrillus,—you are not quite so overweening as you were, I
see.
CYRILLUS.
Have you read in the entrails of some beast or bird what I have to say
to you?
JULIAN.
Methinks there needs no divination to foresee that you have come to your
senses, that you renounce your delusions concerning the Galilean’s
power, and that you acknowledge both the Emperor and our gods to be
greater than he.
CYRILLUS.
Imagine no such thing. Your gods are powerless; and if you cling to
these graven images, that can neither hear nor see, you yourself will
soon be as powerless as they.
JULIAN.
Cyrillus—is this what you have to say?
CYRILLUS.
No; I come to thank you. Hitherto I have dreaded you and your tortures.
But in the hour of agony I won the victory of the spirit over all that
is corruptible. Yes, Emperor, while your hirelings thought I was hanging
in torment from the prison roof,—I lay, happy as a child, in my
Saviour’s arms; and when your executioners seemed to be flaying my body
with stripes, the Lord passed his healing hand over the wounds, took
away the crown of thorns, and placed on my brow the crown of life.
Therefore I thank you; no mortal has ever done me so great a service as
you.
And lest you should think I fear you for the future, see——
[_He throws back his cloak, tears open his wounds and casts
pieces of flesh at the Emperor’s feet._
—see—see—gorge yourself with the blood you thirst after! But as for me,
know that I thirst after Jesus Christ alone.
[_Shrieks of horror are heard among the crowd._
MANY VOICES.
This will bring disaster on us all!
JULIAN.
[_Who has recoiled._] Hold the madman, lest he lay hands on us!
[_The soldiers surround CYRILLUS and drag him to the water
basin; at the same moment the voices of singing women are
heard to the right._
JULIAN.
Look there, Fromentinus—what strange company is that——?
FROMENTINUS.
My gracious Emperor, ’tis the psalm-singers——
JULIAN.
Ah, that band of raving women——
FROMENTINUS.
The governor Alexander has taken from them some writings which they hold
sacred. They are going out of the city to weep at the graves of the
Christians.
JULIAN.
[_With clenched hands._] Defiance; defiance—from men and women alike!
[_Old PUBLIA, and many other women, come along the road._
PUBLIA.
[_Sings._
Their gods are of marble, and silver and gold.
They shall crumble to mould.
CHORUS OF WOMEN.
To mould; to mould!
PUBLIA.
They murder our brothers; our children they smite.
Soar up, doves of song, and pray God to requite!
CHORUS OF WOMEN.
Pray God to requite!
PUBLIA.
[_Catching sight of JULIAN._] There he stands! Woe to the miscreant who
has burnt the word of the Lord! Think you you can burn the word of the
Lord with fire? I will tell you where it burns.
[_She wrests a knife from one of the sacrificing priests, cuts
open her breast and probes into the wound._
Here the word burns. You may burn our books; but the word shall burn in
the hearts of men until the uttermost end of time!
[_She casts the knife from her._
THE WOMEN.
[_Sing with growing ecstasy._
Let writings be burnt, and let bodies be slain;
The word shall remain—
The word shall remain!
[_They take PUBLIA into their midst and go out towards the
country._
THE PEOPLE BY THE FOUNTAIN.
Woe to us; the Galileans’ God is the strongest!
OTHER VOICES.
What avail all our gods against this one?
OTHERS AGAIN.
No offering! No worship! ’Twill incense the terrible _one_ against us.
JULIAN.
Oh fools! You fear to incense a man long dead,—a false prophet—you shall
have proof of it. He is a liar, I say! Wait but a little longer. Every
day, every hour, may bring tidings from Jerusalem——
_JOVIAN, much travel-stained, enters hastily, with a few
followers, from the right._
JOVIAN.
Most gracious Emperor, pardon your servant for seeking you here.
JULIAN.
[_With a cry of joy._] Jovian! Oh welcome news-bearer!
JOVIAN.
I come direct from Judea. I learned at the palace that you were here——
JULIAN.