Chapter V: Part 5

Oh, I entreat you——! Soldiers, friends, brothers in arms,—see, I stretch out my trembling arms to you——! Be not alarmed, my Decentius!—Oh that I should live to see this! I do not blame you, my faithful friends; it is despair that has driven you to this. You will have it? Good; I submit to the will of the army.—Sintula, call the generals together.—You, Tribune, can bear witness to Constantius that ’twas only on compulsion that I—— [_He turns to VARRO._] Go, captain, and make known throughout the camp this unlooked-for turn of events. I will write without delay to Rome——

SALLUST.

My lord, the soldiers clamour to see you.

MAURUS.

A circlet of gold on your head, Emperor!

JULIAN.

I have never possessed such a gaud.

Maurus.

This will serve.

[_He takes off his gold chain, and winds it several times round
Caesar’s brow._

SHOUTS OUTSIDE.

The Emperor, the Emperor! We will see the Emperor!

SOLDIERS.

On the shield with him! Up, up!

[_The bystanders raise JULIAN aloft on a shield, and show him to
the multitude, amid long-continued acclamations._

JULIAN.

The will of the army be done! I bow before the inevitable, and renew all my promises——

LEGIONARIES.

Five gold pieces and a pound of silver!

BATAVIANS.

Not over the Alps!

JULIAN.

We will occupy Vienna. ’Tis the strongest city in Gaul, and well supplied with provisions of every sort. There I intend to wait until we see whether my afflicted kinsman sanctions what we have here determined, for the empire’s weal——

SALLUST.

That he will never do, my lord!

JULIAN.

[_With upstretched hands._] Divine wisdom enlighten his darkened soul, and guide him for the best! Be thou with me, Fortune, who hast never yet deserted me!

MYRRHA AND THE WOMEN.

[_Lamenting outside on the right._] Dead, dead, dead!

ACT FIFTH.

At Vienna [in Gaul]. A vaulted space in the catacombs. _To the left a
winding passage running upwards. In the background, a flight of
steps is hewn in the rock, leading up to a closed door. In front,
to the right, a number of steps lead down to the lower passages.
The space is feebly lighted by a hanging-lamp._

_JULIAN CAESAR, unshaven, and in dirty clothes, stands bending
over the opening to the right. A subdued sound of psalm-singing
comes through the door from the church beyond it, built on to the
catacomb._

JULIAN.

[_Speaking downwards._] Still no sign?

A VOICE.

[_Far below._] None.

JULIAN.

Neither yes nor no? Neither for nor against?

THE VOICE.

Both.

JULIAN.

That is the same as nothing.

THE VOICE.

Wait, wait.

JULIAN.

I have waited five days; you asked for only three. I tell you——I have no mind to—— [_He listens towards the entrance, and calls down._] Do not speak!

SALLUST.

[_Entering by the passage on the left._] My lord, my lord!

JULIAN.

Is it you, Sallust? What would you down here?

SALLUST.

This thick darkness——; ah! now I see you.

JULIAN.

What do you want?

SALLUST.

To serve you, if I can,—to lead you out to the living again.

JULIAN.

What news from the world above?

SALLUST.

The soldiers are restless; there are signs on all hands that their patience will soon be exhausted.

JULIAN.

Is the sun shining up there?

SALLUST.

Yes, my lord.

JULIAN.

The vault of heaven is like a sea of glittering light. Perhaps it is high noon. It is warm; the air quivers along the walls of the houses; the river, half-shrunken in its bed, ripples over the white flints.—Beautiful life! Beautiful earth!

SALLUST.

Oh come, my lord, come! This stay in the catacombs is construed to your hurt.

JULIAN.

How is it construed?

SALLUST.

Dare I tell you?

JULIAN.

You dare, and you must. How is it construed?

SALLUST.

Many believe that it is remorse rather than sorrow that has driven you underground in this strange fashion.

JULIAN.

They think I killed her?

SALLUST.

The mystery of the case may excuse them, if——

JULIAN.

No one killed her, Sallust! She was too pure for this sinful world; therefore an angel from heaven descended every night into her secret chamber, and called upon her. You doubt it? Know you not that this is how the priests in Lutetia accounted for her death? And the priests ought to know. Has not the transport of her body hither been like a triumphal progress through the land? Did not all the women of Vienna stream forth beyond the gates to meet her coffin, hailing her with green boughs in their hands, spreading draperies on the road, and singing songs of praise to the bride of heaven, who was being brought home to the bridegroom’s house?—Why do you laugh?

SALLUST.

I, my lord?

JULIAN.

Ever since, I have heard bridal songs night and day. Listen, listen; they are wafting her up to glory. Ay, she was indeed a true Christian woman. She observed the commandment strictly;—she gave to Caesar what was Caesar’s, and to the other she gave——; but ’twas not of _that_ you came to speak; you are not initiated in the secrets of the faith, Sallust!—What news, I ask?

SALLUST.

The weightiest news is that on learning of the events at Lutetia, the Emperor fled hastily to Antioch.

JULIAN.

That news I know. No doubt Constantius already saw us in imagination before the gates of Rome.

SALLUST.

The friends who boldly cast in their lot with you in this dangerous business, saw in imagination the same thing.

JULIAN.

The time is not auspicious, Sallust! Know you not that in the martial games, before we left Lutetia, my shield broke in pieces, so that only the handle remained in my grasp? And know you not that, when I was mounting my horse, the groom stumbled as I swung myself up from his folded hands?

SALLUST.

Yet you gained the saddle, my lord!

JULIAN.

But the man fell.

SALLUST.

Better men will fall if Caesar loiters.

JULIAN.

The Emperor is at death’s door.

SALLUST.

The Emperor still lives. The letters you wrote him as to your election——

JULIAN.

My enforced election. They constrained me, I had no choice.

SALLUST.

The Emperor does not hold that explanation valid. He designs, as soon as he has mustered an army in the eastern provinces, to march into Gaul.

JULIAN.

How know you that——?

SALLUST.

By an accident, my lord! Believe me, I entreat you——!

JULIAN.

Good, good; when that happens, I will go to meet Constantius—not sword in hand——

SALLUST.

Not? How, then, do you think to meet him?

JULIAN.

I will render to the Emperor what is the Emperor’s.

SALLUST.

Mean you that you will abdicate?

JULIAN.

The Emperor is at death’s door.

SALLUST.

Oh that vain hope! [_He casts himself on his knees._] Then take my life, my lord!

JULIAN.

What now?

SALLUST.

Caesar, take my life; I would rather die by your will than by the Emperor’s.

JULIAN.

Rise, friend!

SALLUST.

No, let me lie at my Caesar’s feet, and confess all. Oh, beloved master,—to have to tell you this!—When I sought you out in the camp on the Rhine,—when I recalled to you the old friendship of our Athenian days,—when I begged to share with you the dangers of war,—then, oh Caesar, I came as a secret spy, in the Emperor’s pay——

JULIAN.

You——!

SALLUST.

My mind had for some time been inflamed against you. You remember that little variance in Milan—yet no little one for me, who had hoped that Caesar would help to restore my waning fortunes. Of all this they took advantage in Rome; they regarded me as the very man to spy out your doings.

JULIAN.

And you could sell yourself so basely? To so black a treachery!

SALLUST.

I was ruined, my lord; and I thought Caesar had forsaken me. Yes, my Caesar, I betrayed you——, during the first few months; but not afterwards. Your friendliness, your magnanimity, all the favour you showed me——; I became, what I had professed to be, your faithful adherent; and in my secret letters to Rome I put my employers on false scents.

JULIAN.

Those letters were from _you_?—Oh, Sallust!

SALLUST.

They contained nothing to injure you, my lord! What others may have written, I know not; I only know that I often enough groaned in anguish under my enforced and hated silence. I ventured as far as I by any means dared. That letter written to an unnamed man in your camp, which contained an account of the Emperor’s triumphal entry in Rome, and which you found one morning on the march to Lutetia pushed under your tent-flap——; you did find it, my lord?

JULIAN.

Yes, yes——?

SALLUST.

That was directed to me, and chance favoured me in bringing it into your hands. I dared not speak. I longed to, but I could not; I put off from day to day the confession of my shame. Oh, punish me, my lord; see, here I lie!

JULIAN.

Stand up; you are dearer to me thus,—conquered without my will and against your own. Stand up, friend of my soul; no one shall touch a hair of your head.

SALLUST.

Rather take the life which you will not long have power to shield. You say the Emperor is at death’s door. [_He rises._] My Caesar, what I have sworn to conceal, I now reveal to you. There is no hope for you in the Emperor’s decay. The Emperor is taking a new wife.

JULIAN.

Ah, what madness! How can you think——?

SALLUST.

The Emperor is taking a new wife, my lord! [_He hands him some papers._] Read, read, noble Caesar; these letters will leave you no room for doubt.

JULIAN.

[_Seizing the papers, and reading._] Yes, by the light and might of Helios——!

SALLUST.

Oh that I had dared to speak sooner!

JULIAN.

[_Still reading._] He take a woman to wife! Constantius,—that dwindling shadow of a man——! Faustina,—what is this?—young, scarcely nineteen,—a daughter of——ah! a daughter of that insolent tribe. Therefore, of course, a zealous Christian woman. [_He folds the papers together._] You are right, Sallust; his decay gives no room for hope. What though he be decrepit, dying,—what of that? Is not Faustina pious. An annunciating angel will appear; or even——; ha-ha!—in short,—by some means or other,—a young Caesar will be forthcoming, and thus——

SALLUST.

Delay means ruin.

JULIAN.

This move has long been planned in all secrecy, Sallust! Ah, now all the riddles are solved. Helena——, ’twas not, as I conceived, her heedless tongue that destroyed her——

SALLUST.

No, my lord!

JULIAN.

——they thought,—they believed that——! oh inscrutable, even-handed retribution! that was why she had to die.

SALLUST.

Yes, that was the reason, I was the man they first pitched upon in Rome. Oh, my lord, you cannot doubt that I refused to do it? I pleaded the impossibility of finding an occasion; they assured me that the abominable design was abandoned, and then——!

JULIAN.

They will not stop at—at the double corpse in the sarcophagus up yonder. Constantius takes another wife. That is why I was to be disarmed in Lutetia.

SALLUST.

One thing alone can save you, my Caesar: you must act before the Emperor has recruited his forces.

JULIAN.

What if, of my own free will, I withdrew into solitude, devoting myself to that wisdom which I have here been forced to neglect? Would the new men in power leave me undisturbed? Would not the very fact of my existence be like a sword hanging over their heads?

SALLUST.

The kinsmen of the Empress that is to be are the men who surrounded Gallus Caesar in his last hours.

JULIAN.

The tribune Scudilo. Trust me, friend,—I have not forgotten that. And am I to yield and fall before this bloodthirsty Emperor! Am I to spare him who for long years has stumbled about among the corpses of my nearest kin!

SALLUST.

If you spare him, in less than three months he will be stumbling among the corpses of your adherents.

JULIAN.

Yes, yes; there you are right. It is almost my imperative duty to stand up against him. If I do, ’twill not be for my own sake. Do not the weal and woe of thousands hang in the balance? Are not thousands of lives at stake? Or could I have averted this extremity? You are more to blame than I, Sallust! Why did you not speak before?

SALLUST.

In Rome they made me swear a solemn oath of secrecy.

JULIAN.

An oath? Indeed! By the gods of your forefathers?

SALLUST.

Yes, my lord—by Zeus and by Apollo.

JULIAN.

And yet you break your oath?

SALLUST.

I wish to live.

JULIAN.

But the gods?

SALLUST.

The gods—they are far away.

JULIAN.

Yes, your gods are far away; they hamper no one; they are a burden to no one; they leave a man elbow-room for action. Oh, that Greek happiness, that sense of freedom——!

You said that the Emperor, vengeful as he is, will pour out the blood of my friends. Yes, who can doubt that? Was Knodomar spared? Did not that harmless captive pay with his life for an error of language? For—I know it, Sallust—they killed him; that tale about the barbarian’s home-sickness was a lie. Then what may not we expect? In what a hateful light must not Decentius have represented matters in Rome?

SALLUST.

That you may best understand from the hasty flight of the court to Antioch.

JULIAN.

And am I not my army’s father, Sallust?

SALLUST.

The soldiers’ father; their wives’ and children’s buckler and defence.

JULIAN.

And what will be the fate of the empire should I waver now? A decrepit Emperor, and after him a helpless child, upon the throne; faction and revolt; every man’s hand against his neighbour, in the struggle for power.—Not many nights ago I saw a vision. A figure appeared before me, with a halo round its head; it looked wrathfully upon me, and said: “Choose!” With that it vanished away, like morning mist. Hitherto I had interpreted it as referring to something far different; but now that I know of the Emperor’s approaching marriage——

Yes, indeed, it is time to choose, ere misfortune overwhelms the empire. I am not thinking of my own interest; but _dare_ I shirk the choice, Sallust? Is it not my duty to the Emperor to defend my life? Have I a right to stand with folded arms and await the murderers whom he, in his mad panic, is bribing to hew me down? Have I a right to give this unhappy Constantius an opportunity of heaping fresh blood-guiltiness upon his sinful head? Were it not better for him—as the Scriptures say—that he should suffer wrong rather than do wrong? If, therefore, this that I do to my kinsman can be called a wrong, I hold that the wrong is wiped out by the fact that it hinders my kinsman from inflicting a wrong on me. I think that both Plato and Marcus Aurelius, that crowned bridegroom of wisdom, would support me in that. At any rate, it would be no unworthy problem for the philosophers, my dear Sallust!—Oh that I had Libanius here!

SALLUST.

My lord, you are yourself so far advanced in philosophy, that——

JULIAN.

True, true; yet I would fain hear the views of certain others. Not that I am vacillating. Do not think that! Nor do I see any reason to doubt a favourable issue. For those omens should by no means discourage us. The fact that I retained the handle, when my shield broke during the games, may with ample reason, I think, be taken to mean that I shall succeed in holding what my hand has grasped. And if, in vaulting upon my horse, I overthrew the man who helped me to mount, may not this portend a sudden fall to Constantius, to whom I owe my rise? Be this as it may, my Sallust, I look forward to composing a treatise which shall most clearly justify——

SALLUST.

Very good, my gracious lord; but the soldiers are impatient; they would fain see you, and learn their fate from your own lips.

JULIAN.

Go, go and pacify them;—tell them that Caesar will presently show himself.

SALLUST.

My lord, ’tis not Caesar, it is the Emperor himself they want to see.

JULIAN.

The Emperor is coming.

SALLUST.

Then he comes—though empty-handed—yet with the lives of thousands in his hands!

JULIAN.

A barter, Sallust; the lives of thousands against the death of thousands.

SALLUST.

Have your enemies the right to live?

JULIAN.

Happy you, whose gods are afar off. Oh, to possess this hardihood of will——!

A VOICE.

[_Calling from deep in the galleries below._] Julian, Julian!

SALLUST.

Ah! What is that?

JULIAN.

Leave me, dear friend; go quickly!

THE VOICE.

Silence the psalm-singing, Julian!

SALLUST.

It calls again. Oh, then it is true!

JULIAN.

What is true?

SALLUST.

That you abide down here with a mysterious stranger, a soothsayer or a magician, who came to you by night.

JULIAN.

Ha-ha; do they say that? Go, go!

SALLUST.

I conjure you, my lord,—have done with these noxious dreams. Come with me; come up to the light of day!

THE VOICE.

[_Nearer, underneath._] All my labour is vain.

JULIAN.

[_Speaking down the passage to the right._] No sign, my brother?

THE VOICE.

Desolation and emptiness.

JULIAN.

Oh, Maximus!

SALLUST.

Maximus!

JULIAN.

Go, I tell you! If I leave this house of corruption, it will be as Emperor.

SALLUST.

I implore you——; what seek you here in the darkness?

JULIAN.

Light. Go, go!

SALLUST.

If Caesar loiters, I fear he will find the way barred against him.

[_He goes by the passage on the left. A little while afterwards,
MAXIMUS THE MYSTIC ascends the steps; he wears a white
sacrificial fillet round his brow; in his hand is a long,
bloody knife._

JULIAN.

Speak, my Maximus!

MAXIMUS.

All my labour is vain, I tell you. Why could you not silence the psalm-singing? It strangled all the omens; they would have spoken, but could utter nothing.

JULIAN.

Silence, darkness;—and I can wait no longer! What do you counsel me to do?

MAXIMUS.

Go forward blindly, Emperor Julian. The light will seek you out.

JULIAN.

Yes, yes, yes; that I, too, believe. I need not, after all, have sent for you all this long way. Know you what I have just heard——?

MAXIMUS.

I will not know what you have heard. Take your fate into your own hands.

JULIAN.

[_Pacing restlessly up and down._] After all, what is he, this Constantius—this Fury-haunted sinner, this mouldering ruin of what was once a man?

MAXIMUS.

Be that his epitaph, Emperor Julian!

JULIAN.

In his whole treatment of me, has he not been like a rudderless wreck,—now drifting to the left on the current of suspicion, now hurled to the right by the storm-gust of remorse? Did he not stagger, terror-stricken, up to the imperial throne, his purple mantle dripping with my father’s blood? perhaps with my mother’s too?—Had not all my kin to perish that he might sit secure? No, not all; Gallus was spared, and I;—a couple of lives must be left wherewith to buy himself a little pardon. Then he drifted into the current of suspicion again. Remorse wrung from him the title of Caesar for Gallus; then suspicion wrung from him Caesar’s death-warrant. And I? Do I owe him thanks for the life he has hitherto vouchsafed me? One after the other; first Gallus, and then——; every night I have sweated with terror lest the next day should be my last.

MAXIMUS.

Were Constantius and death your worst terrors? Think.

JULIAN.

No, you are right. The priests——! My whole youth has been one long dread of the Emperor and of Christ. Oh, he is terrible, that mysterious—that merciless god-man! At every turn, wheresoever I wished to go, he met me, stark and stern, with his unconditional, inexorable commands.

MAXIMUS.

And those commands—were they within you?

JULIAN.

Always without. Always “Thou shalt.” If my soul gathered itself up in one gnawing and consuming hate towards the murderer of my kin, what said the commandment: “Love thine enemy!” If my mind, athirst for beauty, longed for scenes and rites from the bygone world of Greece, Christianity swooped down on me with its “Seek the one thing needful!” If I felt the sweet lusts of the flesh towards this or that, the Prince of Renunciation terrified me with his: “Kill the body that the soul may live!”—All that is human has become unlawful since the day when the seer of Galilee became ruler of the world. Through him, life has become death. Love and hatred, both are sins. Has he, then, transformed man’s flesh and blood? Has not earth-bound man remained what he ever was? Our inmost, healthy soul rebels against it all;—and yet we are to will in the very teeth of our own will! Thou shalt, shalt, shalt!

MAXIMUS.

And you have advanced no further than that! Shame on you!

JULIAN.

I?

MAXIMUS.

Yes, you, the man of Athens and of Ephesus.

JULIAN.

Ah, those times, Maximus! ’Twas easy to choose then. What were we really working at? A philosophic system; neither more nor less.

MAXIMUS.

Is it not written somewhere in your Scriptures! “Either with us or against us”?

JULIAN.

Did not Libanius remain the man he was, whether he took the affirmative in a disputation, or the negative? This lies deeper. Here it is action that must be faced. “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.” In Athens I once made a game of that;—but it is no game. You cannot grasp it, you, who have never been under the power of the god-man. It is more than a doctrine he has spread over the world; it is an enchantment, that binds the soul in chains. He who has once been under it,—I believe he can never quite shake it off.

MAXIMUS.

Because you do not wholly _will_.

JULIAN.

How can I _will_ the impossible?

MAXIMUS.

Is it worth while to _will_ what is possible?

JULIAN.

Word-froth from the lecture-halls! You can no longer cram my mind with that. And yet——oh no, no, Maximus! But you cannot understand how it is with us. We are like vines transplanted into a new, strange soil; transplant us back again, and we die; yet in the new soil we cannot thrive.

MAXIMUS.

We? Whom do you call we?

JULIAN.

All who are under the terror of the revelation.

MAXIMUS.

A terror of shadows!

JULIAN.

Be that as it may. But do you not see that this paralysing terror has curdled and coiled itself up into a wall around the Emperor? Ah, I see very well why the great Constantine promoted such a will-binding doctrine to power and authority in the empire. No bodyguard with spears and shields could form such a bulwark round the throne as this benumbing creed, for ever pointing beyond our earthly life. Have you looked closely at these Christians? Hollow-eyed, pale-cheeked, flat-breasted, all; they are like the linen-weavers of Byssus; they brood their lives away unspurred by ambition; the sun shines for them, and they do not see it; the earth offers them its fulness, and they desire it not;—all their desire is to renounce and suffer, that they may come to die.

MAXIMUS.

Then use them as they are; but you yourself must stand without. Emperor or Galilean;—_that_ is the alternative. Be a thrall under the terror, or monarch in the land of sunshine and gladness! You cannot will contradictions; and yet that is what you would fain do. You try to unite what cannot be united,—to reconcile two irreconcilables; therefore it is that you lie here rotting in the darkness.

JULIAN.

Show me light if you can!

MAXIMUS.

Are you that Achilles, whom your mother dreamed that she should give to the world? A tender heel alone makes no man an Achilles. Arise, my lord! Confident of victory, like a knight on his fiery steed, you must trample on the Galilean, if you would reach the imperial throne——

JULIAN.

Maximus!

MAXIMUS.

My beloved Julian, look at the world around you! Those death-desiring Christians you speak of are fewest of the few. And how is it with all the others? Are not their minds falling away from the Master, one by one? Answer me,—what has become of this strange gospel of love? Does not sect rage against sect? And the bishops, those gold-bedecked magnates, who call themselves the chief shepherds of the church! Do they yield even to the great men of the court in greed and ambition and sycophancy——?

JULIAN.

They are not all like that; think of the great Athanasius of Alexandria——

MAXIMUS.

Athanasius stood alone. And where is Athanasius now? Did they not drive him out, because he would not sell himself to serve the Emperor’s will? Was he not forced to take refuge in the Libyan desert, where he was devoured by lions? And can you name me _one_ other like Athanasius? Think of Maris, the bishop of Chalcedon, who has now changed sides three times in the Arian controversy. Think of old Bishop Marcus, of Arethusa; him you know from your boyhood. Has he not lately, in the teeth of both law and justice, taken all municipal property from the citizens, and transferred it to the church? And remember the feeble, vacillating Bishop of Nazianzus, who is the laughing-stock of his own community, because he answers yes and no in the same cause, in the hope to please both parties.

JULIAN.

True, true, true!

MAXIMUS.

These are your brothers in arms, my Julian; you will find none better among them. Or perhaps you count upon those two great Galilean lights that were to be, in Cappadocia? Ha-ha; Gregory, the bishop’s son, pleads causes in his native town, and Basil, on his estate in the far east, is buried in the writings of secular philosophers.

JULIAN.

Yes, I know it well. On all sides they fall away! Hekebolius, my former teacher, has grown rich through his zeal for the faith, and his expositions of it; and since then——! Maximus—it has come to this, that I stand almost alone in earnestness.

MAXIMUS.

You stand _quite_ alone. Your whole army is either in headlong flight, or lying slain around you. Sound the battle-call,—and none will hear you; advance,—and none will follow you! Dream not that you can do anything for a cause which has despaired of itself. You will be beaten, I tell you! And where will you turn then? Disowned by Constantius, you will be disowned by all other powers on earth,—and over the earth. Or will you flee to the Galilean’s bosom? How stands the account between you and him? Did you not own, a moment ago, that you are under the terror? Have you his commands within you? Do you love your enemy, Constantius, even if you do not smite him? Do you hate the lusts of the flesh or the alluring joys of this world, even if you do not, like a heated swimmer, plunge into their depths? Do you renounce the world, because you have not courage to make it your own? And are you so very sure that—if you die here—you shall live yonder?

JULIAN.

[_Pacing to and fro._] What has he done for me, he who exacts so much? If he hold the reins of the world-chariot in his hands, it must have been within his power to——

[_The psalm-singing in the church becomes louder._

Listen, listen! They call that serving him. And he accepts it as a sweet-smelling sacrifice. Praise of himself,—and praise of her in the coffin! If he be omniscient, how then can he——?

THE CHAMBERLAIN EUTHERIUS.

[_Coming hastily down through the passage on the left._] My Caesar! My lord, my lord; where are you?

JULIAN.

Here, Eutherius? What would you with me?

EUTHERIUS.

You must come up, my lord;—you must see it with your own eyes;—the Princess’s body is working miracles.

JULIAN.

You lie!

EUTHERIUS.

I do not lie, my lord! I am no believer in this foreign doctrine; but what I have seen I cannot doubt.

JULIAN.

What have you seen?

EUTHERIUS.

The whole town is in a frenzy. They are bearing the sick and crippled to the Princess’s bier; the priests let them touch it, and they go away healed.

JULIAN.

And this you yourself have seen?

EUTHERIUS.

Yes, my lord; I saw an epileptic woman go forth from the church healed, praising the Galileans’ God.

JULIAN.

Ah, Maximus, Maximus!

EUTHERIUS.

Hark, how the Christians exult;—some fresh miracle must have happened.

THE PHYSICIAN ORIBASES.

[_Calling out in the passage to the left._] Eutherius,—have you found him? Eutherius, Eutherius, where is Caesar?

JULIAN.

[_Meeting him._] Here, here;—is it true, Oribases?

ORIBASES.

[_Coming forward._] Incredible, inexplicable,—and yet true; they touch the bier, the priests read and pray over them, and they are healed; from time to time a voice proclaims: “Holy, holy, is the pure woman!”

JULIAN.

A voice proclaims——?

ORIBASES.

The voice of one invisible, my Caesar; a voice high up under the vaultings of the church——; no man knows whence it comes.

JULIAN.

[_Stands a moment immovable, then turns suddenly to MAXIMUS, and cries_:] Life or the lie!

MAXIMUS.

Choose!

ORIBASES.

Come, come, my lord; the awe-stricken soldiers threaten you——

JULIAN.

Let them threaten.

ORIBASES.

They accuse you and me of the Princess’s death——

JULIAN.

I will come; I will satisfy them——

ORIBASES.

There is only _one_ way: you must turn their thoughts in another direction, my lord;—they are wild with despair over the fate awaiting them if you delay any longer.

MAXIMUS.

Now go to heaven, thou fool; now die for thy Lord and Master!

JULIAN.

[_Grasping him by the arm._] The Emperor’s empire for me!

MAXIMUS.

Achilles!

JULIAN.

What looses the covenant?

MAXIMUS.

[_Handing him the sacrificial knife._] This.

JULIAN.

What washes the water away?

MAXIMUS.

The blood of the sacrifice.

[_He tears off the fillet from his own brow, and fastens it
round Caesar’s._

ORIBASES.

[_Drawing nearer._] What is your purpose, my lord?

JULIAN.

Ask not.

EUTHERIUS.

Hark to the clamour! Up, up, my Caesar!

JULIAN.

First down,—then up. [_To MAXIMUS._] The sanctuary, my beloved brother——?

MAXIMUS.

Straight below, in the second vault.

ORIBASES.

Caesar, Caesar,—whither are you going?

MAXIMUS.

To freedom.

JULIAN.

Through darkness to light. Ah——!

[_He descends into the lower galleries._

MAXIMUS.

[_Softly, looking after him._] So it has come at last!

EUTHERIUS.

Speak, speak; what mean these hidden arts?

ORIBASES.

And now, when every instant is precious——

MAXIMUS.

[_Whispering uneasily, as he shifts his place._] These gliding, clammy shadows! Faugh! The slimy things crawling underfoot——!

ORIBASES.

[_Listening._] The turmoil waxes, Eutherius! It is the soldiers; listen, listen!

EUTHERIUS.

It is the song in the church——

ORIBASES.

No, ’tis the soldiers!—here they come!

_The Knight SALLUST appears up in the gallery, surrounded by a
great crowd of excited soldiers. The Standard-Bearer MAURUS
is amongst them._

SALLUST.

Be reasonable, I entreat you——!

THE SOLDIERS.

Caesar has betrayed us! Caesar shall die!

SALLUST.

And what then, madmen!

MAURUS.

What then? With Caesar’s head we will buy forgiveness——

THE SOLDIERS.

Come forth, come forth, Caesar!

SALLUST.

Caesar,—my Caesar, where are you?

JULIAN.

[_Calling out, in the vault underneath._] Helios! Helios!

MAXIMUS.

Free!

THE CHOIR IN THE CHURCH ABOVE.

Our Father which art in heaven!

SALLUST.

Where is he? Eutherius, Oribases,—what is here afoot?

THE CHOIR.

[_In the church._] Hallowed be Thy name!

Julian.

[_Comes up the steps; he has blood on his forehead, on his breast, and on his hands._] It is finished!

THE SOLDIERS.

Caesar!

SALLUST.

Blood-stained——! What have you done?

JULIAN.

Cloven the mists of terror.

MAXIMUS.

Creation lies in your hand.

THE CHOIR.

[_In the church._] Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven!

[_The chant continues during what follows._

JULIAN.

Now Constantius has no longer a bodyguard.

MAURUS.

What say you, my lord?

JULIAN.

Ah! My faithful ones! Up into the daylight to Rome, and to Greece!

THE SOLDIERS.

Long live the Emperor Julian!

JULIAN.

We will not look back; all ways lie open before us. Up into the daylight! Through the church! The liars shall be silenced——!

[_He rushes up the steps in the background._

The army mine, the treasure mine, the throne mine!

THE CHOIR.

[_In the church._] Lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil!

[_JULIAN throws wide the doors, revealing the brightly-lighted
interior of the church. The priests stand before the high
altar; crowds of worshippers kneel below, around the
Princess’s bier._

JULIAN.

Free, free! Mine is the kingdom!

SALLUST.

[_Calls to him._] And the power and the glory!

THE CHOIR.

[_In the church._] Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory——

JULIAN.

[_Dazzled by the light._] Ah!

MAXIMUS.

Victory!

THE CHOIR.

[_In the church._] ——For ever and ever, amen!

-----

-----

THE EMPEROR JULIAN

CHARACTERS

THE EMPEROR JULIAN.
NEVITA, _a general_.
POTAMON, _a goldsmith_.
CAESARIUS OF NAZIANZUS, _court physician_.
THEMISTIUS, _an orator_.
MAMERTINUS, _an orator_.
URSULUS, _treasurer_.
EUNAPIUS, _a barber_.
BARBARA, _a procuress_.
HEKEBOLIUS, _a theologian_.
_Courtiers and Officers of State._
_Citizens of Constantinople._
_People taking part in the procession of Dionysus,
flute-players, dancers, jugglers, and women._
_Envoys from Eastern Kings._
THE CHAMBERLAIN EUTHERIUS.

_Servants of the palace._

_Judges, orators, teachers, and citizens of Antioch._
MEDON, _a corn-dealer_.
MALCHUS, _a tax-gatherer_.
GREGORY OF NAZIANZUS, _Caesarius’s brother_.
PHOCION, _a dyer_.
PUBLIA, _a woman of Antioch_.
HILARION, _son of Publia_.
AGATHON OF CAPPADOCIA.
MARIS, _Bishop of Chalcedon_.
_People taking part in the procession of Apollo, priests,
servants of the temple, harp-players and watchmen of the
city._
_Agathon’s younger brother._
_A procession of Christian prisoners._
HERACLIUS, _a poet_.
ORIBASES, _court physician_.
LIBANIUS, _an orator, and chief magistrate of Antioch_.
APOLLINARIS, _a hymn-writer_.
CYRILLUS, _a teacher_.
_An old priest of Cybele._
_Psalm-singers of Antioch._
FROMENTINUS, _a captain_.
JOVIAN, _a general_.
MAXIMUS THE MYSTIC.
NUMA, _a soothsayer_.
_Two other Etruscan soothsayers._
PRINCE HORMISDAS, _a Persian exile_.
ANATOLUS, _captain of the lifeguard_.
PRISCUS, _a philosopher_.
KYTRON, _a philosopher_.
AMMIAN, _a captain_.
BASIL OF CAESAREA.
MAKRINA, _his sister_.
_A Persian deserter._
_Roman and Greek soldiers._
_Persian warriors._

_The first act passes in Constantinople, the second and third in Antioch, the fourth in and about the eastern territories of the empire, and the fifth on the plains beyond the Tigris. The events take place in the interval between December, A.D. 361, and the end of June, A.D. 363._

THE EMPEROR JULIAN.

PLAY IN FIVE ACTS.

ACT FIRST.

SCENE FIRST.

_The port of Constantinople. In the foreground to the right, a
richly-decorated landing-stage, spread with carpets. On the
elevated quay, at a little distance from the landing-stage, is
seen a veiled stone, surrounded by a guard. Far out on the
Bosphorus lies the imperial fleet, hung with flags of mourning._

_A countless multitude, in boats and on the beach. Near the end of the
landing-stage stands the EMPEROR JULIAN, robed in purple and
decked with golden ornaments. He is surrounded by COURTIERS and
HIGH OFFICERS OF STATE. Among those standing nearest to him are
NEVITA, the commander of the forces, and the court physician,
CAESARIUS, together with the orators, THEMISTIUS and MAMERTINUS._

JULIAN.

[_Looking out over the water._] What a meeting! The dead Emperor and the living.—Alas that he should have drawn his last breath in such distant regions! Alas that, in spite of all my haste, I should not have had the sweet consolation of embracing my kinsman for the last time! A bitter lot for both of us!—

Where is the ship with the body?

NEVITA.

There it comes.

JULIAN.

That long boat?

NEVITA.

Yes, most gracious Emperor.

JULIAN.

My poor kinsman! So great in life; and now to have to content you with so low a roof! Now you will not strike your forehead against the coffin-lid, you who bowed your head in riding through the Arch of Constantine.

A CITIZEN AMONG THE SPECTATORS.

[_To the Goldsmith POTAMON._] How young he looks, our new Emperor!

POTAMON.

But he has grown more stalwart. When I last saw him he was a lean stripling; that is now nine or ten years ago.

ANOTHER CITIZEN.

Ay, he has done great things in those years.

A WOMAN.

And all the dangers he has passed through, ever since his childhood!

A PRIEST.

Marvellously has he been shielded from them all; the hand of heaven is over him.

POTAMON.

Rumour says that in Gaul he placed himself in very different hands.

THE PRIEST.

Lies, lies; you may depend upon it.

JULIAN.

Now he comes. The Sun, whom I invoke, and the great thunder-wielding God, know that I never desired Constantius’s death. That was far indeed from being my wish. I have offered up prayers for his life.—Tell me, Caesarius,—you must know best,—have they shown all due honour, on the journey, to the imperial corpse?

CAESARIUS.

The funeral procession was like a conqueror’s triumph through the whole of Asia Minor. In every town we traversed, believers thronged the streets; through whole nights the churches echoed with prayers and hymns; thousands of burning tapers transformed the darkness into high noon——

JULIAN.

Good, good, good!—I am seized with an unspeakable misgiving at the thought of taking the helm of state after so great and virtuous and well-beloved an Emperor. Why was it not my lot to live in peaceful retirement?

MAMERTINUS.

And who could have sufficed to this high and difficult calling so completely as you, incomparable lord? I call fearlessly to all those others who have aspired to the empire: Come, then, and take the helm of government; but take it as Julian takes it. Be on the alert night and day for the common welfare. Be masters in name, and yet servants to civic freedom. Choose the foremost places in battle, and not at the feasts. Take nothing for yourselves, but lavish gifts upon all. Let your justice be equally remote from laxity and from inhumanity. Live so that no virgin on earth shall wring her hands because of you. Bid defiance—both to impenetrable Gaul, and inhospitable Germany. What would they answer? Appalled by such stern conditions, they would stop their effeminate ears, and cry: “Only a Julian is equal to such a task!”

JULIAN.

The Omnipotent grant that such high hopes may not be disappointed. But how great are my shortcomings! A shudder comes over me. To affront comparison with Alexander, Marcus Aurelius, and so many other illustrious princes! Has not Plato said that only a god can rule over men? Oh pray with me that I may escape the snares of ambition, and the temptations of power. Athens, Athens! Thither my longings turn! I was as a man taking reasonable exercise for the sake of his health;—and now, they come and say to me, “Go forth into the arena, and conquer in the Olympian games. The eyes of all Greece are upon you!” May I not well be panic-stricken even before the contest begins?

THEMISTIUS.

Panic-stricken, oh Emperor? Have you not already the applause of Greece? Are you not come to reinstate all exiled virtues in their ancient rights? Do we not find concentred in you all the victorious genius of Herakles, of Dionysus, of Solon, of——

JULIAN.

Hush! Only the praise of the dead shall be heard to-day. The boat has reached the wharf. Take my crown and my chains; I will not wear the insignia of empire at such a time as this.

[_He hands the ornaments to one of the bystanders. The funeral
procession advances along the landing-stage, with great
pomp. Priests with lighted candles walk at its head; the
coffin is drawn on a low-wheeled carriage; church banners
are borne before and after the carriage; choristers swing
censers; crowds of Christian citizens follow after._

JULIAN.

[_Laying his hand on the coffin, and sighing audibly._] Ah!

A SPECTATOR.

Did he cross himself?

ANOTHER IN THE CROWD.

No.

THE FIRST.

You see; you see!

A THIRD SPECTATOR.

And he did not bow before the sacred image.

THE FIRST.

[_To the second._] You see! What did I tell you?

JULIAN.

Pass onward to thy home, amid pomp and honour, soulless body of my kinsman! I make not this dust answerable for the wrongs thy spirit did me. What do I say? Was it thy spirit that dealt so hardly with my house, that I alone am left? Was it thy spirit that caused my childhood to be darkened with a thousand terrors? Was it thy spirit that bade fall that noble Caesar’s head? Was it thou who didst allot to me, an untried stripling, so difficult a post in inhospitable Gaul, and afterwards, when disaffection and mischance had failed to crush me, didst seek to rob me of the honour of my victories? Oh Constantius, my kinsman,—not from thy great heart did all this spring. Wherefore didst thou writhe in remorse and anguish; why didst thou see gory shades around thee, on thy last bed of pain? Evil councillors embittered thy life and thy death. I know them, these councillors; they were men who took hurt from living in the ceaseless sunshine of thy favour. I know them, these men, who so obsequiously clothed themselves in that garb of faith, which was most in favour at court.

HEATHEN CITIZENS.

[_Among the spectators._] Long live the Emperor Julian!

CAESARIUS.

Most gracious lord, the procession waits——

JULIAN.

[_To the priests._] Stay not your pious hymns on my account. Forward, my friends!

[_The procession passes slowly out to the left._

Follow whoso will, and remain whoso will. But this you shall all know to-day, that my place is here.

[_Uneasiness and movement in the crowd._

What am I? The Emperor. But in saying that, have I said all? Is there not one imperial office, which seems to have been shamefully wiped out of remembrance in these later years? What was that crowned philosopher, Marcus Aurelius? Emperor? Only Emperor? I could almost ask: was he not something more than Emperor? Was he not also the Supreme Pontiff?

VOICES IN THE CROWD.

What says the Emperor? What was that? What did he say?

THEMISTIUS.

Oh sire, is it indeed your purpose——?

JULIAN.

Not even my uncle Constantine the Great dared to renounce this dignity. Even after he had conceded to a certain new doctrine such very extraordinary privileges, he was still called the Chief Priest by all who held fast to the ancient divinities of the Grecian race. I will not here enlarge upon the melancholy disuse into which this office has fallen of late years, but will merely remark that none of my exalted predecessors, not even he to whom, with tear-stained faces, we to-day bid our last farewell, has dared to reject it. Should I presume to take any step which so wise and just emperors did not deem right or expedient? Far be it from me!

THEMISTIUS.

Oh great Emperor, mean you by this——?

JULIAN.

I mean by this, that there shall be perfect freedom for all citizens. Cling to the Christians’ God, you who find it conduce to your souls’ repose. As for me, I dare not build my hopes on a god who has hitherto been my foe in all my undertakings. I know by infallible signs and tokens that the victories I won on the Gallic frontier I owe to those other divinities who favoured Alexander in a somewhat similar way. Under watch and ward of these divinities, I passed unscathed through all dangers; and, in especial, it was they who furthered my journey hither with such marvellous speed and success that, as I gathered from cries in the streets, some people have come to look upon me as a divine being,—which is a great exaggeration, my friends! But certain it is, that I dare not show myself ungrateful for such untiring proofs of favour.

VOICES IN THE CROWD.

[_Subdued._] What is he going to do?

JULIAN.

Therefore, I restore to their pristine rights the venerable Gods of our forefathers. But no injury shall be done to the God of the Galileans, nor to the God of the Jews. The temples, which pious rulers of old erected with such admirable art, shall rise again in rejuvenated splendour, with altars and statues, each for its especial God, so that seemly worship may once more be offered them. But I will by no means tolerate any vengeful assaults upon the churches of the Christians; neither shall their graveyards be molested, nor any other places which a strange delusion leads them to regard as sacred. We will bear with the errors of others; I myself have laboured under illusions;—but over that I cast a veil. What I have thought upon things divine since my one-and-twentieth year, I will not now dwell upon; I will only say that I congratulate those who follow my example,—that I smile at those who will not tread in my footsteps,—that I will doubtless try to persuade, but will not coerce any one.

[_He stops a moment expectantly; feeble applause is heard here
and there among the crowd. He continues with more warmth._

I had reckoned, not unreasonably, on grateful acclamations, where I find only wondering curiosity. Yet I ought to have known it;—there reigns a deplorable indifference among those who profess to hold fast to our ancient faith. Oppression and mockery have caused us to forget the venerable rites of our forefathers. I have inquired high and low, but scarcely a single person have I found who could speak with authority as to the ceremonies to be observed in sacrificing to Apollo or Fortuna. I must take the lead in this, as in other matters. It has cost me many sleepless nights to search out in the ancient records what tradition prescribes in such cases; but I do not complain when I remember how much we owe to these very divinities; nor am I ashamed to do everything with my own hands—— Whither away, Caesarius?

CAESARIUS.

To the church, most gracious Emperor; I would pray for the soul of my departed master.

JULIAN.

Go, go! In these matters every one is free.

[_CAESARIUS, with several of the older courtiers and officers of
state, goes out to the left._

But the freedom I concede to the meanest citizen, I claim for myself as well.——Be it known, therefore, to you all, Greeks and Romans, that I return with my whole heart to the beliefs and rites which our forefathers held sacred,—that they may be freely propagated and exercised, no less than all new and foreign opinions;—and as I am a son of this city, and therefore hold it pre-eminently dear, this I proclaim in the name of its guardian deities.

[_JULIAN gives a sign; some of the attendants withdraw the veil
from the stone: an altar is seen, and, at its base, a flagon
of wine, a cruse of oil, a little heap of wood, and other
appurtenances. Strong but speechless emotion in the
multitude, as JULIAN goes up to the altar, and prepares for
the offering._

THEMISTIUS.

Oh well may I, as a Greek, melt into tears at the sight of so much humility and pious zeal!

A CITIZEN.

See, he breaks the fuel himself!

ANOTHER.

Over his left thigh. Is that how it ought to be broken?

THE FIRST CITIZEN.

Doubtless, doubtless.

MAMERTINUS.

In the light of the fire you there kindle, oh, great Emperor, shall research and learning shine forth, ay, and rise rejuvenated, like that miraculous bird——

NEVITA.

That fire will temper the weapons of Greece. I know little of the Galilean figments; but this I have noted, that all who believe in them are spiritless and unfit for greater things.

THEMISTIUS.

In this fire, oh incomparable one, I see wisdom purged of all scandal and reproach. The wine of your libation is like purple, wherewith you deck the truth, and set her on a royal throne. Now, as you lift up your hands——

MAMERTINUS.

Now, as you lift up your hands, it is as though you glorified the brow of knowledge with a golden wreath; and the tears you shed——

THEMISTIUS.

[_Pressing nearer._] Yes, yes, the tears I see you shed are like costly pearls, wherewith eloquence shall once more be rewarded in kingly wise. Once again, then, the Greeks are suffered to raise their eyes to heaven, and follow the eternal stars in their courses! How long it is since that was vouchsafed us! Have we not been forced, for fear of spies, to tremble and bow our faces to the earth, like the brutes? Which of us dared so much as to watch the rising or the setting of the sun?

[_He turns to the crowd._

Even you husbandmen, who have to-day flocked hither in such numbers, even you did not venture to note the position of the heavenly bodies, although by them you should have regulated your labours——

MAMERTINUS.

And you seamen,—have either you or your fathers dared to utter the names of the constellations by which you steered? Now you may do so; now all are free to——

THEMISTIUS.

Now no Greek need live on land or sea without consulting the immutable laws of the heavens; he need no longer let himself be tossed about like a plaything, by chance and circumstance; he——

MAMERTINUS.

Oh, how great is this Emperor, to whom we owe such blessings!

JULIAN.

[_Before the altar, with uplifted arms._] Thus have I openly and in all humility made libations of oil and wine to you, ye beneficent deities, who have so long been denied these seemly observances. I have sent up my thanksgiving to thee, oh Apollo, whom some of the sages—especially those of the East—call by the name of the Sun-King, because thou bringest and renewest that light, wherein life has its source and its fountain-head.—To thee, too, I have made offering, oh Dionysus, god of ecstasy, who dost lift up the souls of mortals out of abasement, and exaltest them to an ennobling communion with higher spirits.—And, although I name thee last, I have not been least mindful of thee, oh Fortuna! Without thine aid, should I have stood here? I know indeed that thou dost no longer visibly manifest thyself, as in the golden age, of which the peerless blind singer has told us. But this I know, too,—and herein all other philosophers are at one with me—that it is thou who hast the decisive share in the choice of the guardian spirit, good or evil, that is to accompany every man on his path through life. I have no cause to chide thee, oh Fortuna! Rather have I the strongest reason to yield thee all thanks and praise. This duty, precious to my heart, have I this day fulfilled. I have not shrunk from even the humblest office. Here I stand in open day; the eyes of all Greece are upon me; I expect the voice of all Greece to unite with mine in acclaiming you, oh ye immortal gods!

[_During the sacrificial service, most of the Christian
onlookers have gradually stolen away; only a little knot
remains behind. When JULIAN ceases speaking, there arise
only faint sounds of approval mingled with subdued laughter,
and whispers of astonishment_

JULIAN.

[_Looking round._] What is this? What has become of them all? Are they slinking away?

THEMISTIUS.

Yes, red with shame at the ingratitude of so many years.

MAMERTINUS.

Nay, ’twas the flush of joy. They have gone to spread the great tidings throughout the city.

JULIAN.

[_Leaving the altar._] The ignorant multitude is ever perplexed by what is unaccustomed. My task will be arduous; but no labour shall daunt me. What better befits a philosopher than to root out error? In this mission I count on your aid, enlightened friends! But our thoughts must turn elsewhere, for a little time. Follow me; I go to other duties.

[_He departs hastily, without returning the citizens’ greetings;
the courtiers, and his other attendants, follow him._

SCENE SECOND.

_A great hall in the Imperial Palace. Doors on both sides, and in the
back; in front, to the left, on a daïs by the wall, stands the
imperial throne._

_The EMPEROR JULIAN, surrounded by his court and high officials, among
whom is URSULUS, the Treasurer, with the orators THEMISTIUS and
MAMERTINUS._

JULIAN.

So far have the gods aided us. Now the work will roll onwards, like the waves of a spring flood. The sullen ill-will which I can trace in certain quarters where I least expected it, shall not disturb my equanimity. Is it not precisely the distinguishing mark of true wisdom, that it begets patience! We all know that by suitable remedies bodily ills may be allayed;—but can fire and sword annihilate delusions as to things divine? And what avails it though your hands make offerings, if your souls condemn the action of your hands?

Thus will we live in concord with each other. My court shall be open to all men of mark, whatever their opinions. Let us show the world the rare and august spectacle of a court without hypocrisy—assuredly the only one of its kind—a court in which flatterers are counted the most dangerous of enemies. We will censure and expostulate with one another, when it is needful, yet without loving one another the less.

[_To NEVITA, who enters by the back._

Your face is radiant, Nevita;—what good tidings do you bring?

NEVITA.

The best and happiest indeed. A great company of envoys from princes in furthest India have come to bring you gifts, and to entreat your friendship.

JULIAN.

Ah, tell me,—to what peoples do they belong?

NEVITA.

To the Armenians, and other races beyond the Tigris. Indeed, some of the strangers aver they come from the islands of Diu and Serandib.

JULIAN.

From the uttermost verge of the earth my friends!

THEMISTIUS.

Even so far has rumour carried your name and your glory!

MAMERTINUS.

Even in those unknown regions is your sword a terror to princes and peoples!

THEMISTIUS.