Chapter II: Part 2

[_Boxing his ear._] Take that for your help!

PHOCION.

[_Returning the blow._] Oh, you abandoned hound!

POTAMON.

Accursed, accursed be ye both!

[_A general fight; laughter and derision among the onlookers._

THE 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._

THE 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 the 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.

THE 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. Evil 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!

THE 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!

JULIAN.

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. 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——?

JULIAN.

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, that 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!

JULIAN.

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 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?

JULIAN.

[_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!

JULIAN.

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.

AGATHON.

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?

AGATHON.

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.

AGATHON.

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——

AGATHON.

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. 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!

JULIAN.

[_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 Libanius 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.

_Both 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._

JULIAN.

[_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.

THE 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——?

THE 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!

JULIAN.

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——

JULIAN.

[_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 the 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 deep 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 apostles 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 he 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?

JULIAN.

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?

THE 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?

THE 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.

JULIAN.

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?

AGATHON.

[_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!

JULIAN.

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!

AGATHON.

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 must 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?

_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.

GALLUS.

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——

JULIAN.

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!

GALLUS.

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 is 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!

JULIAN.

[_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, my Hekebolius! You so often tell me so.

HEKEBOLIUS.

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——

HEKEBOLIUS.

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!

THE 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!

GALLUS.

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?

THE 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——?

JULIAN.

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 fear 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.

GALLUS.

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?

AGATHON.

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.

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.

GREGORY.

[_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.

_BASIL 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?

SALLUST.

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.

JULIAN.

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.

THE 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?

SOME 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.

LIBANIUS.

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 I 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.

LIBANIUS.

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.