ACT TWO.

Basil of Caesarea (looks up from his book).

What mean those wild cries?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

A ship from Ephesus has landed.

Basil of Caesarea.

With new disciples?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Yes.

Basil of Caesarea (rises).

Then we shall have a clamorous night. Come, Gregory; let us not look upon all that wantonness.

Gregory of Nazianzus (points out to the left).

Look there. Is that a more delightful sight?

Basil of Caesarea.

Prince Julian –; with roses in his hair, with flushed face –

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Yes, and behind him this reeling, glassy-eyed throng. Hear how their slack tongues babble with wine! They have sat the whole day in Lycon's tavern.

Basil of Caesarea.

And many among them are our own, Gregory; they are Christian youths –

Gregory of Nazianzus.

So they call themselves. Did not Lampon call himself a Christian, – he who violated the oil-merchant Zeno's daughter? And Hilarion of Agrigentum, and the two others, who did that which I am loath to name –

Prince Julian (is heard calling outside to the left).

Eia, look, look, – Castor and Pollux from Cappadocia!

Basil of Caesarea.

He has caught sight of us. I will go; I cannot bear to see him thus.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I shall stay; he has need, surely, of a friend.

Many in the crowd.

Long live the light of Athens! Long live the lover of wisdom and eloquence!

Prince Julian.

All flattery is wasted. Not one verse more shall you have today.

Sallust of Perusia.

When our leader falls silent, we feel it empty, like the morning after a night's feast.

Prince Julian.

If it must be, then let it be something new. Let it be a trial-game.

The whole throng.

Yes, yes, yes; Prince Julian on the judgment seat!

Prince Julian.

Away with the prince, you friends –

Sallust of Perusia.

Step up, you incomparable one!

Prince Julian.

I should presume –? Yonder stands the man. Who is so versed in the law as Gregory of Nazianzus?

Sallust of Perusia.

That is true!

Prince Julian.

On the judgment seat, my wise Gregory; I am an accused man.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I beg you, friend, leave me out of it.

Prince Julian.

On the judgment seat, I say! On the judgment seat! (to the others.) What is my crime?

Some voices.

Yes, what shall it be? Choose for yourself!

Sallust of Perusia.

Let it be something Galilean, as we ungodly call it.

Prince Julian.

Right; something Galilean. Now I have it. I have refused to pay the emperor tribute –

Many voices.

Ha-ha; not bad! Excellent!

Prince Julian.

Here I am led forth; shoved by the neck; with bound hands –

Sallust of Perusia (to Gregory).

Blind judge – yes, I mean, inasmuch as justice is blind –, behold this audacious man; he has refused to render the emperor tribute.

Prince Julian.

Allow me to cast a word into the scales of deliberation. I am a Greek citizen. How much does a Greek citizen owe the emperor?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

What the emperor demands.

Prince Julian.

Good; but how much, – yes, answer now as if the emperor himself were present in the court –, how much dare the emperor demand?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

All.

Prince Julian.

That was truly the answer, as if the emperor himself were present. But now there is a knot; for it is written: render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, – and unto God what is God's.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

And what then?

Prince Julian.

Then tell me, o shrewd judge, – how much of what is mine belongs to God?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

All.

Prince Julian.

And how much of God's property am I permitted to give the emperor?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Dear friends, no more of this game.

The disciples (amid noise and laughter).

Yes, yes; answer him!

Prince Julian.

How much of God's property dare the emperor demand?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I will not answer. This is unseemly both toward God and the emperor. Let me get away!

Many voices.

Form a ring about him!

Prince Julian.

Hold him fast! What, you most hapless judge, you have muddled the emperor's cause, and now you would escape it? You would flee? Whither, whither? To the Scythians? Forth before me! Answer me, you budding servants of the emperor and of wisdom, – has he not sought to withdraw himself from the emperor's power?

The disciples.

Yes, yes!

Prince Julian.

And what punishment do you set for such a misdeed?

Voices.

Death! Death in a wine-vat!

Prince Julian.

Let us consider. Let us answer, as if the emperor himself were present. Where is the limit of the emperor's power?

Some in the crowd.

The emperor's power is without limit.

Prince Julian.

That I should think. But to seek to withdraw from the limitless, o you friends, is that not madness?

The disciples.

Yes, yes; the Cappadocian is mad!

Prince Julian.

And what, then, is madness? What did our forefathers judge of that condition? What did the Egyptian priests teach? And what do Maximus the mystic and the other friends of wisdom in the eastern lands say? They say that the heavenly riddle reveals itself in the madman. Our Gregory – inasmuch as he sets himself up against the emperor – is therefore in especial league with the heavenly. – Pour out wine for the Cappadocian; sing songs in our Gregory's praise; – a monument of honour for Gregory of Nazianzus!

The disciples (amid laughter and jubilation).

Praised be the Cappadocian! Praised be the Cappadocian's judge!

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Why, look, – I do believe my brother Julian is proclaiming wisdom in the open marketplace!

Prince Julian.

Say folly, my precious one; wisdom has, after all, wandered out.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Has wisdom wandered out?

Prince Julian.

Or about to wander out; for, is it not so, you too are minded to go down to Piraeus?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

I, my brother; what should I do in Piraeus?

Prince Julian.

Our Libanius is, then, the only teacher who does not know that a ship from Ephesus has lately landed?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Eh, friend, what do I care about that ship!

Prince Julian.

It is laden to the brim with sprouts of learning –

Libanius the teacher of wisdom (scornfully).

It comes, after all, from Ephesus!

Prince Julian.

Is the gold not equally weighty, wherever it comes from?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Gold? Ha-ha! The golden ones Maximus keeps for himself; those he does not let go. What sort of disciples are they who usually come here from Ephesus? Tradesmen's sons, the firstborn of artisans. Gold, you say, my Julian? I say lack of gold. But this lack of gold I will turn to account, to coin from it a true and weighty gold coin for you, you young ones! Or is perhaps a profitable teaching for life, – when it is set forth in an ingenious and attractive form – not to be likened to a full-weight gold coin? –

Hear, then, if it so please you. It was said here that certain men have in haste hurried down to Piraeus? Who are they, these hasty ones? Far be it from me to name names; they call themselves lovers of wisdom and teachers of wisdom. Move yourselves now in thought down to Piraeus. What is going on there at this moment, while I stand here in your kindly listening cluster? I shall tell you what is going on. Those men, who hold themselves to love and to proclaim wisdom, they crowd together on the landing-bridge; they jostle, they wrangle, bite, forget all decency and set all decorum aside. And why? To be the first on the thwarts, – to snatch to themselves the best-dressed youths, lead them to their houses, take them in there, hoping thereafter to draw profit from them in all manner of ways. – What shamefulness, what awakening into emptiness, as after a drunkenness, when after a little while it appears – ha-ha-ha! – that those youths scarcely brought with them what was needful to pay for the arrival-feast! – Learn from this, you young ones, how ill it becomes a lover of wisdom, and how little it pays, to covet those goods which lie outside the truth.

Prince Julian.

Oh, my Libanius, when I hear you with closed eyes, then I sink down into a sweet dream that Diogenes is reborn among us.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Your mouth is princely lavish, my dearly beloved!

Prince Julian.

Nothing less. And yet I was near to breaking off your speech; for this time at least one of your brethren will hardly feel disappointed.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

My friend jests.

Prince Julian.

Your friend assures you that the governor Milon's two sons are aboard.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom (grasps him by the sleeve).

What do you say?

Prince Julian.

That successor of Diogenes who has them to bring up will hardly have need, for poverty's sake, to drink from the hollow hand.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

The governor Milon's sons! That noble Milon, who sent the emperor seven Persian horses with saddle-gear sewn with pearls –

Prince Julian.

Many found that it was too paltry a gift for Milon.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Very true. Milon should have sent a poem; or he should have sent a well-composed speech or a letter. Milon is a richly endowed man; the whole of the governor Milon's kin is richly endowed.

Prince Julian.

Most of all the two youths.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

That I can well believe. The gods grant, for the sake of the benevolent and generous father, that they may fall into good hands! So you were right after all, o Julian; the ship truly brought gold from Ephesus. For are not the gifts of the spirit the genuine gold? But I have no peace within me; these young men's welfare is in truth an important matter; so much depends on who first gets hold of them. My young friends, if you think as I do, then let us reach these two strangers a guiding hand, help them to make the most profitable choice of teacher and lodging and –

Sallust of Perusia.

I am with you!

The disciples.

To Piraeus! To Piraeus!

Sallust of Perusia.

We shall hew like wild boars for Milon's sons!

Prince Julian (follows them with his eyes).

See how they frolic, like a herd of fauns. How they lick the corners of their mouths in lust after the meal that will be had tonight. (turns to Gregory.) Had they at this moment a sigh to God, it should be that he would empty their bellies of their breakfast.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Julian –

Prince Julian.

Just look at me; I am sober.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I know it. You are temperate in all things. And yet you live this life along with them.

Prince Julian.

Why not? Do you or I know when the lightning will strike? Why, then, not live one bright sunny day? Do you forget that I have dragged out both my childhood and my first years of youth in a golden slavery? It had become a habit to me, yes, I may say a kind of necessity, to feel that certain dread over me. And now? This grave-stillness on the emperor's side; – this lurking dumbness! I left Pergamon without the emperor's consent; the emperor kept silent about it. I went on my own to Nicomedia; I lived there and learned both from Nicocles and from the others; the emperor let it happen. I came to Athens, sought out Libanius, whom the emperor had forbidden me to see; – the emperor has kept silent to this day. How shall I interpret this?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

You shall interpret it in love, Julian!

Prince Julian.

Oh, you do not know –! I hate this power outside me, terrible when it acts, – yet more terrible when it rests.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Be honest, friend, and tell me whether it is only this that has led you onto all those strange paths.

Prince Julian.

What do you mean by strange paths?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Is it true, what rumour says, – that you spend your nights exploring the heathen mysteries in Eleusis?

Prince Julian.

Ah, what! I can assure you, there is little to be gained from those riddle-loving dreamers. Let us speak no more of it.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

So it is true after all! Oh, Julian, how could you seek this shameful intercourse!

Prince Julian.

I must live, Gregory, – and this here at the school of wisdom, it is not life. This Libanius! I shall never forgive him that I have loved him so dearly! Did I not, on my arrival, go humble and trembling with joy before that man, bow before him, kiss him and call him my great brother.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Yes, it was all Christians' opinion that you carried it too far.

Prince Julian.

And yet I came here with solemnity in my soul. I saw in the spirit a mighty struggle between us two, – the truth of the world, which should wrestle against the truth of God. – What has it come to? Libanius has never in earnest wanted this struggle. He has never wanted any struggle at all; he wants only his own. I tell you, Gregory, – Libanius is no great man.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Yet all enlightened Hellas cries out that he is.

Prince Julian.

And yet he is no great man, I tell you. A single time have I seen Libanius great; it was that night in Constantinople. Then he was great, because he had suffered a great wrong, and because a lofty wrath filled him. But here! Oh, what have I not here been witness to! Libanius has great learning, but he is no great man. Libanius is greedy; he is vain; he is inflamed with envy. Or do you think he could have endured the renown that I, – admittedly in great part through my friends' indulgence – have been so fortunate as to acquire? Come to Libanius, and he can reckon up for you the essence and marks of all the virtues. He has them ready to hand, just as he has the books in his book-hall. But does he practise these virtues? Is his life like his teaching? He a successor of Socrates and of Plato, – ha-ha! Did he not flatter the emperor before he was driven out? Did he not flatter me at our meeting in Constantinople, that meeting which he has since made a most unfortunate attempt to set in a ridiculous light! And what am I to him now? Now he writes letters to Gallus, to Caesar Gallus, to the emperor's heir, and wishes him joy of his progress against the Persians, although this progress has hitherto been paltry enough and although Caesar Gallus distinguishes himself neither by learning nor by any notable eloquence. – And this Libanius the Greeks persist in calling the king of the lovers of wisdom! Ah, I will not deny that this vexes me. I did think, to tell the truth, that the Greeks should have been able to make a better choice, if they fixed their eyes a little more on those cultivators of wisdom and eloquence who in recent years –

Basil of Caesarea (comes from the right side).

Letters! Letters from Cappadocia!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

For me too?

Basil of Caesarea.

See here; from your mother.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

My pious mother!

Prince Julian (to Basil).

Is it your sister who writes?

Basil of Caesarea (who has come with his own letter open).

Yes, it is Macrina. She reports both heavy and strange tidings.

Prince Julian.

Which; which?

Basil of Caesarea.

First of your exalted brother Gallus. He exercises a stern rule in Antioch.

Prince Julian.

Yes, Gallus is hard. – Does Macrina write «stern rule»?

Basil of Caesarea (looks at him).

Macrina writes «bloody» –

Prince Julian.

Ah, I thought as much! Why did the emperor give him this dissolute widow, this Constantina, in marriage!

Gregory of Nazianzus (reading).

Oh, what unheard-of infamy!

Prince Julian.

What is it, friend?

Gregory of Nazianzus (to Basil).

Does Macrina mention nothing of what is going on in Antioch?

Basil of Caesarea.

Nothing more particular. What is it? You are pale –

Gregory of Nazianzus.

You knew, surely, the noble Clematius, the Alexandrian?

Basil of Caesarea.

Yes, yes; what is the matter with him?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

He is murdered, Basil!

Basil of Caesarea.

What do you say! Murdered?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I call it murdered; – they have executed him without law or judgment.

Prince Julian.

Who? Who has executed him?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Yes, who? How can I say who? My mother relates the circumstances thus: Clematius's mother-in-law had been inflamed with an impure love for her daughter's husband; but when she could get nowhere with him, she gained for herself, through a back door, admittance to the palace –

Prince Julian.

Which palace?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

My mother writes only the palace.

Prince Julian.

Well? And then –?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

One knows only that there she presented to a distinguished and powerful woman a very costly jewel, to bring about a death-sentence –

Prince Julian.

Ah, but that they did not get!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

They got it, Julian!

Prince Julian.

Oh, Jesus!

Basil of Caesarea.

Terrible! And Clematius –?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

The death-sentence was sent to the governor Honoratus. This weak man did not dare to oppose so high a command. Clematius was imprisoned and executed early the next morning, without his being able, as my mother writes, to open his mouth in defence.

Prince Julian (softly and pale).

Burn these dangerous letters; they can bring us all into misfortune.

Basil of Caesarea.

Such open violence; in the midst of a great city! Where are we; where are we?

Prince Julian.

Yes, well may you ask, where are we! A Christian murderer, a Christian harlot, a Christian –

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Complaints do not mend this matter. What do you intend to do?

Prince Julian.

I? I will go no more to Eleusis; I will break off all intercourse with the heathens, and thank the Lord my God that he took the temptation of power from me.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Good; but then?

Prince Julian.

I do not understand you –

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Then hear. You must not think the murder of Clematius is enough. This unheard-of deed of infamy has struck down like a plague over Antioch. All evil wakes up and swarms forth from its hiding-holes. My mother writes that it is as if a stinking abyss had opened. Wives denounce their husbands, sons denounce their fathers, the priests their own congregation-members –

Prince Julian.

This will spread further. The abomination will corrupt us all. – Oh, Gregory, if I could flee to the world's end –!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Your place is at the world's navel, Prince Julian!

Prince Julian.

What do you demand?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

You are this bloody Caesar's brother. Step forth before him, – he calls himself a Christian, after all. Cast his deed in his face; strike him to the ground in terror and remorse –

Prince Julian (shrinking back).

Madman, what are you thinking!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Do you hold your brother dear? Will you save him?

Prince Julian.

I held Gallus dear as no one else.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

You held –?

Prince Julian.

As long as he was only my brother. But now –; is he not Caesar? Gregory, – Basil, – oh you precious friends, – I tremble for my life, I breathe in dread of Caesar Gallus. And I should think of stepping before his eyes, I, whose mere existence is a danger to him!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Why did you come to Athens? You had it proclaimed with great pomp over the lands: Prince Julian travels from Constantinople to fight against the false wisdom, – to uphold the Christian truth against the lie of heathendom. What have you accomplished in that respect?

Prince Julian.

Oh, it was not here either that the battle was to be fought.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

No, it was not here; – not with phrase against phrase, not with book against book, not with the word's fencing game in the lecture-hall! No, Julian, it is out in life that you shall come forth, with life in your hands –

Prince Julian.

I see it; I see it!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Yes, as Libanius sees it! Him you mocked. He knew the essence and marks of all virtues; but the teaching was to him only a teaching. How much of what is yours belongs to God? How much dare the emperor demand?

Prince Julian.

You said yourself, it was blasphemy –

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Against whom? Against God or the emperor?

Prince Julian (quickly).

Very well; shall we go together?

Gregory of Nazianzus (declining).

I have my little circle; I have my kin to protect. Further than that goes neither my power nor my abilities.

Prince Julian (would answer; suddenly he listens toward the right and cries):

To the bacchanal!

Basil of Caesarea.

Julian!

Prince Julian.

To the bacchanal, you friends!

Basil of Caesarea (nearer).

Julian, will you hear me?

Prince Julian.

Look, look! They have led their new friends into the bath, – anointed their hair. See how they swing the cudgels; how they howl and beat on the cobblestones. What do you say, Pericles? I think I perceive your wrathful shade –

Basil of Caesarea.

Come, come!

Prince Julian.

Ah, see him whom they drive naked among them. Now come dancing-girls. Ah, do you see what –!

Basil of Caesarea.

Fie, fie; – turn your eye away!

Prince Julian (after a short silence).

Tell me, Basil, why was the heathen sin so beautiful?

Basil of Caesarea.

You err, friend; the heathen sin has been beautifully sung and told of; but it was not beautiful.

Prince Julian.

Oh, what do you say? Was Alcibiades not beautiful when, hot with wine, he stormed like a young god through the streets of Athens at night-time? Was he not beautiful in his defiance, when he mocked Hermes and hammered on the citizens' doors, – when he called out for their wives and daughters, while the women within trembled and in sighing breathless silence wished for nothing so much as to –

Basil of Caesarea.

Oh, I beg you imploringly, lend me your ear.

Prince Julian.

Was Socrates not beautiful at the symposium? And Plato and all the merry carousing brothers! And yet they did things that those Christian half-swine over there would swear before God they were innocent of, if anyone accused them of it. And think besides of Oedipus, Medea, Leda –

Basil of Caesarea.

Poetry, poetry; – you mix poetry and truth together.

Prince Julian.

Have not the minds and wills of poetry the conditions of created beings? And look then to our holy scriptures, both the older and the new. Was sin beautiful in Sodom and Gomorrah? Did not Jehovah's fire avenge what Socrates did not shrink back from? – Oh, when I live this life in storm and revel, then I often think on whether truth might be beauty's enemy.

Basil of Caesarea.

And in such an hour can you sigh after beauty? Have you so easily forgotten what you lately heard –?

Prince Julian (covers his ears).

Not a word more of those horrors! All that from Antioch we will shake off. – –

Tell me, what does Macrina write further? There was something else; I think you said –; what did you call the other tidings?

Basil of Caesarea.

Strange.

Prince Julian.

Yes, yes; – what was it?

Basil of Caesarea.

She writes of Maximus in Ephesus –

Prince Julian (animated)

The mystic?

Basil of Caesarea.

Yes, this enigmatic man. Now he has turned up again; this time in Ephesus. All the surrounding regions are in ferment. Maximus is named on all lips. Either he is a mountebank, or he stands in an ill-boding pact with certain spirits. Even Christians are strangely drawn by his blasphemous signs and deeds.

Prince Julian.

More, more; I beg you!

Basil of Caesarea.

There is no more of him. Macrina writes only that in Maximus's reappearance she sees a testimony that we are under the Lord's wrath. She believes that great tribulations lie before us for our sins' sake.

Prince Julian.

Yes, yes, yes! – Hear, Basil, she must surely be a rare woman, your sister.

Basil of Caesarea.

In truth, she is.

Prince Julian.

When you impart to me from her letter, then it is as if I perceived something whole and full, that I had long sighed after. Tell me, is she still minded to turn away from the world and to live in a desolate region?

Basil of Caesarea.

That thought stands always firm with her.

Prince Julian.

Truly? She, over whom all gifts seem to be strewn down? She, who is said to be both young and beautiful; she, who has riches in waiting and who commands a – for a woman to possess – most unusual learning! Do you know, Basil, that I burn to see her? – What does she want in the solitude?

Basil of Caesarea.

I have told you, after all, her bridegroom died. She holds him to be her waiting husband, to whom she owes all her thoughts and whom she is bound to meet pure.

Prince Julian.

Strange, how many are drawn toward the solitude in these times. – When you write to Macrina, you can tell her that I too –

Basil of Caesarea.

She knows it, Julian; but she does not believe it.

Prince Julian.

Why not? What does she write?

Basil of Caesarea.

I beg you, friend, spare me –

Prince Julian.

If you hold me dear, then you will not conceal a word of what she writes!

Basil of Caesarea (hands him the letter).

You will it; – read; it begins there.

Prince Julian (reads).

«Every time you write of the emperor's young kinsman, who is your friend, then my mind is filled with a great and radiant joy –». Oh, Basil, be you my eye; read on for me.

Basil of Caesarea (reads).

«Your account of all the confident certainty with which he came to Athens was to me like an image from the time of the old scriptures. Yes, I believe he is the reborn David, who shall strike down the heathens' champions. God's spirit be over him in the strife and all his days».

Prince Julian (grasps him by the arm).

Let that be enough of this! She too? What is it that you all, as if with one mouth, demand of me? Have I given you any bond of debt to wrestle with the lions of power –?

Basil of Caesarea.

Whence comes it that all believers in breathless expectation look toward you?

Prince Julian (walks a couple of times up and down in the colonnade, stops and reaches for the letter).

Give it here; let me see. (reads ) «God's spirit be over him in the strife and all his days». –

Oh, Basil, if I could –! But I feel myself like that Daedalus between heaven and sea. A dizzying height and an engulfing depth –. What meaning is there in these voices that cry to me from east and west that I shall save Christianity? Where is it, this Christianity that is to be saved? Is it with the emperor or with Caesar? I think their deeds cry out: no, no! Is it with the mighty and the distinguished, – with these lustful half-men of the court, who fold their hands over the sated belly and pipe: is the Son of God then created out of nothing? Or is it with the enlightened, with those who, like you and me, have drunk beauty and learning from the heathen springs? Do not most of these our brothers incline to the Arian heresy, for which the emperor himself has so great a fondness? And now the whole ragged rabble in the realm, – all those who rage against the temples, who murder heathens and heathens' kin! Is it for Christ's sake? Ha-ha! afterward they fall to blows among themselves over the slain ones' leavings. – You may ask Macrina whether Christianity is to be sought in the solitude, – on the pillar, where the pillar-saint stands on one leg. Or is it in the cities? Perhaps with those bakers in Constantinople, who lately fought with their fists to settle the question whether the Trinity consists of three persons or of three hypostases! – Which of all these would Christ care to take into his mouth, if he descended to earth again? – Forth with the lantern of Diogenes, Basil! Light up in this gloom of night. – Where is Christianity?

Basil of Caesarea.

Seek the answer there, where it was to be found in all frail times.

Prince Julian.

Do not close up the well of your knowledge! Slake my thirst, if you can. Where shall I seek and find?

Basil of Caesarea.

In the writings of the holy men.

Prince Julian.

The same answer of despair. Books, – always books! Came I to Libanius, then it rang out: books, books! Come I to you, – books, books, books! Stones for bread! I cannot use books; – it is life I hunger for, communion, face to face with the spirit. Was Saul made to see by a book? Was it not a flood of light that struck toward him, a vision, a voice –!

Basil of Caesarea.

Do you forget the vision and the voice that that Agathon from Macellum –?

Prince Julian.

An enigmatic message; an oracle-cry that I cannot interpret. Was I the chosen one? The realm's heir, it said. And which realm –? A thousand doubts brood over that matter. This only I know: the lion's den is not in Athens. But where, where? Oh, I grope like Saul in the night. If Christ wants something of me, then he must speak plainly. The finger in the nail-wound –

Basil of Caesarea.

And yet it is written –

Prince Julian (throws out his hand).

I know all that is written. This matter of the written word, it is not truth in the flesh. Do you not feel disgust and nausea, as if aboard a ship in a dead calm, tossed about between life, scripture, heathen wisdom and beauty? There must come a new revelation. Or a revelation of something new. It must, I say; – the time is at hand. – Yes, a revelation! Oh, Basil, could you pray it down over me! The blood-death, if so it must be –! The blood-death –, ah, I reel in its sweetness; the crown of thorns about my temple –! (he grasps his head with both hands, takes hold of the rose-wreath, which he tears off, collects himself a long while and says softly:) This one. I had forgotten it. (throws the wreath away.) One single thing have I learned in Athens.

Basil of Caesarea.

What, Julian?

Prince Julian.

The old beauty is no longer beautiful, and the new truth no longer true.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom (still at a distance).

Now we have him; now we have him!

Prince Julian.

Him? I thought you had them both.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Which two?

Prince Julian.

Milon's sons.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Ah, yes, them I have too. But we have him, my Julian!

Prince Julian.

Who, precious brother?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

He has caught himself in his own net!

Prince Julian.

Aha, – a wise man, then?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

The adversary of all wisdom.

Prince Julian.

Who, who, I ask?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Do you really not know it? Have you not heard the news of Maximus?

Prince Julian.

Of Maximus? Oh, have the goodness –

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

To that it had to come with this restless enthusiast, – step by step, into madness –

Prince Julian.

In other words: into the highest wisdom.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Yes, such may be said. But now it is a matter of acting and seizing the moment. You, our highly esteemed Julian, you are the man. You are the emperor's near kinsman. The hope of all true friends of wisdom is directed at you, both here and in Nicomedia –

Prince Julian.

Listen, o excellent Libanius, – inasmuch as I am not all-knowing –

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Then learn that Maximus has lately stepped forth openly with that which lies at the bottom of his teaching.

Prince Julian.

And for that you blame him?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

He has declared that he can command spirits and shades.

Prince Julian (seizes his cloak).

Libanius!

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

All on the ship were full of the most wondrous tales, and here (brings forth a letter) here my brother Eusebius writes in detail of the matter.

Prince Julian.

Spirits and shades –

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

In Ephesus Maximus has lately, in a great assembly, both of followers and of adversaries, practised forbidden arts with Hecate's statue. It happened in the goddess's temple. Eusebius writes that he himself was present, and was witness to everything, from first to last. It was raven-black night around them. Maximus spoke strange incantations; thereupon he sang a hymn that no one understood. Then the marble torch kindled itself in the statue's hand –

Basil of Caesarea.

Ungodly work!

Prince Julian (breathless).

And then –?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

And in the strong bluish light they all saw that the statue's face took life and smiled toward them.

Prince Julian.

What more?

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

Terror gripped the minds of most. All rushed toward the exit. Many have lain in sickness or delirium afterward. But he himself, – would you believe it, Julian? – in spite of the fate that struck both his brothers in Constantinople, presses on along his dangerous and offensive way.

Prince Julian.

Offensive? Do you call this way an offensive way? Does not the goal of all wisdom issue in this? Communion between spirit and spirit –

Basil of Caesarea.

Oh, precious erring friend –!

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

More than offensive, I say! What is Hecate? What are the gods at all to the understanding of the enlightened? Happily we do not live, after all, in the time of that old blind singer. Maximus ought to know better than that. Has not Plato – and after him the rest of us – cast the light of interpretation over the whole? Is it not offensive, now, in these our own days, again to want to wrap up in riddles and misty dreams this admirable, tangible and, I dare well say, laboriously erected edifice of concept and of exposition, which we, as the lovers of wisdom, as the school, as –

Prince Julian (impetuously).

Farewell, Basil! I glimpse a light on my way!

Basil of Caesarea (throws his arms about him).

I will not let you go; I hold you fast!

Prince Julian (twists himself free of him).

No one holds me; – kick not against the pricks –

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

What a fit of madness! Friend, brother, brother in the faith, where would you go?

Prince Julian.

There, there, where torches kindle and where statues smile!

Libanius the teacher of wisdom.

And that you could do! You, Julian, you, our pride, our light, our hope, – you would hasten to this blinded Ephesus to give yourself into a mountebank's power! Know that in the same moment that you abase yourself so deeply, in the same moment you have stripped from yourself the glorious renown for learning and for eloquence which you in these years both in Pergamon and in Nicomedia and especially here at the academy of Athens –

Prince Julian.

Oh, school, school! Stay you with your books; – now you have pointed out the man I was seeking.

Libanius the teacher of wisdom (looks a while after him).

This princely youth is dangerous to scholarship.

Basil of Caesarea (half to himself).

Prince Julian is dangerous to more.