ACT THREE.

Heracleus the poet.

This mode of life I cannot endure long. To rise with the sun, go into a cold bath, and run and fence oneself weary afterward –

Oribases the Royal Physician.

Yet it is all of it quite healthy.

Heracleus the poet.

Is it healthy too to eat seaweed and raw fish?

A courtier.

Is it healthy to have to swallow meat in great lumps, quite bloody, as it comes from the butcher?

Heracleus the poet.

Meat I have not seen much of in the last week. Most of it goes to the sacrifices. I believe that before long one will be able to say of the most venerable gods that they are the only meat-eaters in Antioch.

Oribases the Royal Physician.

You are still the old mocker, O Heracleus!

Heracleus the poet.

Why, what are you thinking, friend! Far be it from me to mock the emperor's wise ordinances. Blessed be Emperor Julian! Does he not tread in the immortals' footsteps? For, tell me, does there not seem to have been introduced a certain thrift in the divine household too?

A courtier.

Ha-ha-ha; you are not so wholly wrong.

Heracleus the poet.

Just look at Cybele, this goddess once so abundant, whose image the emperor lately recovered in an ash-pit –

Another courtier.

It was in a dung-heap –

Heracleus the poet.

Likely enough; Cybele has to do with the making-fruitful, after all. But just look at this goddess, I say; – despite her hundred breasts, she flows with neither milk nor honey.

Heracleus the poet (continuing).

Yes, it really seems that this world's nurse has grown barren. One would almost believe she had passed the age when women –

A courtier (who has caught sight of the emperor).

Fie, fie, Heracleus, – for shame!

Emperor Julian (gives the courtier a sign that he should be silent).

Heracleus the poet (continues).

So let her be. But does it not go the same with Ceres? Does she not display a most sorrowful – I could almost call it imperial – stinginess? Yes, believe me, had we a little more intercourse with high Olympus nowadays, we should get to hear many such things. I dare swear that nectar and ambrosia are measured out as sparingly as may well be. O Zeus, how gaunt you must have grown! Oh, you roguish Dionysus, how much is now left of the fullness of your loins? Oh, you lustful, lightly-blushing Venus, – oh, you Mars who press so close upon all husbands –!

Emperor Julian (in full wrath).

Oh, you most insolent Heracleus! Oh, you base, gall-spewing venom-mouth –

Heracleus the poet.

Ah, my gracious emperor!

Emperor Julian.

Oh, you impudent reviler of all exalted things! So this, then, was to befall me, – to have to hear your croaking tongue in the very moment I step from my book-hall out into the fresh morning air!

Do you know what I hold here under my left arm? No, you do not know it. It is a polemic against you, you blasphemous and ludicrous Heracleus!

Heracleus the poet.

What, my emperor, – against me?

Emperor Julian.

Yes, a polemic against you. A polemic which I have composed this night in wrath. Or was I perhaps not to be kindled to wrath over your most unseemly conduct yesterday? What was it you allowed yourself in the lecture-hall in the hearing of me and many other earnest men? Did we not for several hours together have to endure those shameful fables about the gods which you served up? How dared you come forward with such inventions? Was it not all of it lies from first to last?

Heracleus the poet.

Alas, my emperor, if you call that lying, then both Ovid and Lucian have lied.

Emperor Julian.

What else? Oh, I cannot express what indignation seized me when I perceived whither your shameless talk was tending. «Man, let nothing surprise you,» so was I tempted, with the comedy-writer, to exclaim, when I heard you, like a shaggy peasant's cur, bark out – not cries of thankfulness, but certain absurd nursery-tales, which were, moreover, foolishly composed. For your verses were bad, Heracleus; – I have shown it here in the writing.

Yes, what a desire I felt to rise from my seat and go away, when I saw you set forth both Dionysus and that great immortal after whom you are named, as though on a stage. But when I mastered myself and remained seated, I can assure you that it happened less out of regard for the poet than for the players – if I may dare to call them so. Yet it happened most of all out of regard for myself. For was I not to fear that it would look as though I were fleeing like a startled dove? See, therefore I let nothing be noticed, but held before myself in silence that verse of Homer:

Yes, we must surely endure this and more. The time is no better than this. Show me the happy man to whom it was granted to keep his eyes and ears undefiled in this age of iron!

Oribases the Royal Physician.

I beg you, my noble lord, do not work yourself up. Let it be a comfort to you that we all heard this man's follies with distaste.

Emperor Julian.

That is by no means true! I noticed on most faces something quite other than distaste, each time this shameless buffoon babbled out his indecencies and withal looked round the circle with a smug smile, just as though he had done something to be proud of.

Heracleus the poet.

Alas, my emperor, I am most unhappy –

Emperor Julian.

Yes, so you may well be; for this is in truth no small matter. Or have the tales about the gods perhaps not a great purpose and an important aim? Have not these tales come into being with the design of leading the human spirit by a way both pleasant and easy upward to the mysterious dwellings where the highest god reigns, – and thereby making souls fit to be united with him? What else? Is it not for this reason that the ancient poets invented such tales, and is it not therefore that both Plato and others repeated them, or even increased their number? I tell you that outside this aim those tales are of use only to children and barbarians, – yes, scarcely even that. But was it then children and barbarians you had before you yesterday? Whence do you take the boldness to speak to me as though I were a child? Do you think that you have become a sage and have gained the right to the sage's free speech, because you have put on a tattered cloak and taken the beggar's staff in hand?

A courtier.

Oh, how truly said, my emperor! No, no, there surely belongs more to it than that.

Emperor Julian.

So? Does there really? And what, then? Perhaps to let the hair grow and never to clean one's nails? Oh, you hypocritical Cleon! But I know you all together. Here in the writing I have given you a name which –; now you shall hear it –

Oribases the Royal Physician (in a low voice).

Ah, what luck that you have come, highly honoured Libanius!

Emperor Julian (still turning over the pages).

Where does it stand, now –?

Libanius the orator (to Oribases).

What luck do you mean, friend?

Oribases the Royal Physician.

The emperor is in great wrath; your coming will soften him.

Emperor Julian.

Ah, see, here I have it –

What does that person want?

Oribases the Royal Physician.

Lord, it is –

Emperor Julian.

Good, good, good! Now you shall hear whether I know you or not. There are among the unhappy Galileans a number of frenzied ones who call themselves penitents. These reject all earthly goods, yet demand great gifts of all the foolish who honour them as holy and almost worthy of worship. See, these folk resemble you, save that I give you nothing. For I am not so foolish as they. Yes, yes, if I were not firm on that point, you would soon overrun the court with your insolence. Or do you not do so already? Are there not many among you who would come again, even if I drove them away? Oh, my dear friends, what is this to lead to? Are you lovers of wisdom? Are you followers of Diogenes, whose garb and manners you have assumed? In truth, one does not see you nearly so often in the lecture-halls as at my treasurer's. Oh, how wisdom has become a wretched and contemptible thing for your sake! Oh, you hypocrites and most ignorant orators! Oh, you – – but what does that fat man over there want?

Oribases the Royal Physician.

Lord, it is the city-governor –

Emperor Julian.

The city-governor may wait. The matters here dealt with take precedence over all lesser things. Or what? This man has so impatient an air. Is it then so important –?

Libanius the orator.

By no means, lord; I can come again another day.

Oribases the Royal Physician.

Lord, do you not recognize this excellent man? It is Libanius the teacher of eloquence.

Emperor Julian.

What? Libanius? Impossible. Libanius – the incomparable Libanius – to be here? How is it conceivable?

Libanius the orator.

I thought the emperor knew that the citizens of Antioch had chosen me as chairman of the city-governors.

Emperor Julian.

Surely I knew it. But when I made my entry into the city and the governors came to meet me to greet me with a speech, I looked round in vain for Libanius. Libanius was not among them.

Libanius the orator.

The emperor had expressed no wish to hear Libanius speak on that occasion.

Emperor Julian.

Libanius the orator ought to know what the emperor wishes in such a matter.

Libanius the orator.

Libanius did not know what time and separation might have wrought. Libanius therefore found it most seemly to place himself among the crowd. There he stood in a place certainly not inconspicuous; but it did not please the emperor to let his eyes fall upon him.

Emperor Julian.

Yet I thought that the day after you received my letter –?

Libanius the orator.

Priscus, your new friend, brought it to me.

Emperor Julian.

And nonetheless – or perhaps therefore – you kept away –?

Libanius the orator.

Headache and important occupations –

Emperor Julian.

Alas, Libanius, of old you did not make yourself so hard to get.

Libanius the orator.

I come when I am invited. Should I be intrusive? Should I stand in the way of Maximus, so highly honoured by the emperor?

Emperor Julian.

Maximus never shows himself at court.

Libanius the orator.

Reasonable enough. Maximus holds court himself. The emperor has, after all, granted him a whole palace.

Emperor Julian.

Oh, my Libanius, have I not granted you my heart? How then can you envy Maximus his palace?

Libanius the orator.

I envy no one. I do not even envy my fellow-brethren Themistius and Mamertinus, though you have shown them such great proofs of your favour. Neither do I envy Hecebolius, whose possessions you have increased with such considerable gifts. Yes, I am even glad that I am the only one to whom you have given nothing. For I grasp well the reason for this exception. You have willed that the cities of your empire should have abundance of everything, and chiefly of eloquence, well knowing that this is the distinction which separates us from the barbarians. Now you have feared that I – like certain others – should grow lukewarm in my art, if you gave me riches. The emperor has therefore preferred to let his boyhood teacher remain poor, so that he might be bound the more firmly to his calling. It is in this way that I interpret a conduct which has astonished some whose names I would rather pass over in silence. It is for the sake of the state's honour and welfare that you have given me nothing. You wish that I should lack riches so that I may have abundance of eloquence.

Emperor Julian.

And I, my Libanius, have also grasped the reason why my boyhood teacher has let me remain here in Antioch for several months without presenting himself. Libanius has probably thought that the services which his former pupil may have rendered to the gods and the state or to science were not great enough rightly to deserve the praise of the man who is called the king of the teachers of eloquence. Libanius has doubtless thought that lesser orators were best suited for such mediocre matters. Besides, Libanius has surely omitted all this out of concern for the equilibrium of my mind. Yes, you have surely feared to see the emperor intoxicated with pride, reeling, like one who in thirst has drunk with all too great eagerness from a leaf-wreathed wine-bowl, if you lavished upon him any of that art which all Greeks admire in you, and thereby in a certain manner raised him to the height of the gods by pouring out for him so costly an offering.

Libanius the orator.

Alas, my emperor, if I could believe that my speech held such a power –

Emperor Julian.

And that you could not believe, you incomparable friend? Oh, go from me. I am angry with you, Libanius! But it is the lover's anger toward the one he loves.

Libanius the orator.

Is it really so? Oh, my crowned brother, let me then tell you that since your arrival not a day has come to an end without my having cursed the steadfastness that would not let me take the first step. My friends gave to understand – not without a certain show of right – that you had undertaken this long journey chiefly to see me and to hear me speak. But Julian himself gave no sign. What was I then to do? Should I flatter the emperor, whom I loved as a man?

Emperor Julian (embraces and kisses him).

My Libanius!

Libanius the orator (kisses Emperor Julian in return).

My friend and brother!

Oribases the Royal Physician.

How honouring for both!

Courtiers and teachers (clapping their hands).

How beautiful! How exalted!

Emperor Julian.

Oh, Libanius, you wicked friend, – how could you find it in your heart to withhold from me this joyful moment for so long a time? In the weeks and months I waited for you, my countenance was shrouded in a Scythian gloom.

Libanius the orator.

Alas, you were yet better placed than I; for you had at least some with whom you could speak of your absent friend.

Emperor Julian.

Do not say so. I had only the poor lovers' comfort; namely, sorrowfully to repeat your name and cry out: Libanius, Libanius!

Libanius the orator.

Ah, while you spoke thus to the empty air, I spoke to the four walls of my chamber. Most of the day's hours I spent in bed, picturing to myself who was now with you, – now this one, now that. Of old it was otherwise, I said to myself, – then it was I who had Julian's ear.

Emperor Julian.

And meanwhile you let me pine away with longing. Look at me. Have I not grown a century older?

Libanius the orator.

Oh, have I not then undergone as great a change? You did not know me again, after all.

Emperor Julian.

This meeting has for us both been a bath, from which we rise up healed.

And now, my heartily beloved, now you shall tell me what has driven you here today; for I cannot doubt that you come on a particular errand.

Libanius the orator.

My longing apart – it is so. Would that another had been sent out in my stead! But the place of honour to which the citizens' trust has called me makes it my duty to bear the one thing as the other.

Emperor Julian.

Speak, my Libanius, and say wherein I can serve you.

Libanius the orator.

Let me then begin by telling you that this city's inhabitants are sunk in sorrow because you have withdrawn your grace from them.

Emperor Julian.

Hm –!

Libanius the orator.

And this sorrow has been coupled with fear and unrest since Alexander, the new governor, took up his office.

Emperor Julian.

Aha; so!

Libanius the orator.

This elevation of such a man came to us assuredly unexpected. Alexander has hitherto administered only minor offices, and that in a manner which could not win him the citizens' respect or love.

Emperor Julian.

I know it well, Libanius!

Libanius the orator.

Alexander is violent in all his dealings, and justice counts for little in his eyes –

Emperor Julian.

I know it; I know it all. Alexander is a coarse man without manners and without eloquence. Alexander has by no means deserved so great an elevation. But you may tell Antioch's citizens that they have deserved Alexander. Yes, they had, if possible, deserved a still worse ruler, the miserly and unteachable people.

Libanius the orator.

It is, then, what we feared; it is a punishment –

Emperor Julian.

Hear me, Libanius! How did I come here? With confidence in this city's inhabitants. Antioch, which the Sun-King has especially chosen for his seat, should help me to make good again all the wrong and ingratitude which has so long been done to the immortals. But how have you met me? Some with defiance, others with lukewarmness. What must I not experience here? Does not that Cappadocian, Gregory of Nazianzus, still roam about the city and incite the ignorant Galileans with his reckless speeches? Has there not arisen a poet among them – a certain Apollinaris – who increases their errors even to madness with his wild songs?

And what must I not learn from elsewhere? Have they not in Caesarea made good their threat! Pulled down the temple of Fortuna! Oh, shame and disgrace! Where were the goddess's worshippers meanwhile? Did they perhaps prevent it? No, they calmly let it happen, Libanius, though they should have sacrificed their lives to defend the sanctuary.

But wait, wait! The Galileans in Caesarea shall pay with their blood and the whole city shall go up in flames, as soon as I have time somewhat at my disposal.

Libanius the orator.

Lord and friend, – if you would permit me –

Emperor Julian.

Permit me first. Yes, say yourself whether I ought to endure this? Say whether my zeal can put up with such insults against the divine ones, who place themselves shielding behind me and over me? But what am I to resort to? Have I not through long nights written against these unhappy errors, – written, Libanius, so that my eyes have grown red and my fingers black with ink? And what do you think it has availed? Mockery I have got in thanks, not only from the erring ones themselves, but even from those who say they share my opinions. Yes, and as the crown of all these vexations I must today experience seeing you here as spokesman for certain citizens who bring complaint against Alexander, of whom it must yet be said that he does his best to keep the Galileans in check.

Libanius the orator.

Oh, my exalted friend, – that he does so is precisely our ground for complaint.

Emperor Julian.

What must I hear from you!

Libanius the orator.

It is not of my own good will that I go on the city's errand. In the assembly I urged upon the citizens that for this charge they should choose the city's most distinguished man, thereby making known that I did not wish to be chosen. Despite this hint the choice fell nonetheless on me, who assuredly do not –

Emperor Julian.

Good, good, good! But that from your mouth, O Libanius, I must hear –!

Libanius the orator.

I beg my crowned brother to consider that I speak in the city's name. As for myself, I prize the immortal gods as highly as any. What would the art of eloquence be without the tales which the poets of bygone times left us? Are not these tales to be likened to a precious mine, from which a cultivated orator can forge himself both weapons and ornaments, when he understands how to use the metal with discernment? Yes, how flat and unsavoury would the rules of wisdom fall, were they to be expressed without images and similes drawn from the supernal?

But say, O friend, – can you hope to find this way of seeing among the crowd, particularly in an age like ours? I assure you, in Antioch at any rate things do not stand so well. The citizens here – both the Galileans and the better enlightened – have in recent years lived with one another without heeding such things much. There is scarcely a household in the city where differing opinions about the divine do not prevail. But this has, until a short time ago, not disturbed the good relations.

Now it has become otherwise. People have begun to dispute doctrine against doctrine. Discord has come between the nearest kinsfolk. Yes, lately a citizen, whose name I would rather not mention, has disinherited his son, because the young man renounced the Galileans' community. Trade and daily life suffer under all this, doubly perceptibly now, when high prices prevail and famine stands at the door.

Emperor Julian.

Enough, enough, – more than enough, Libanius! You complain of high prices. But tell me whether extravagance has ever flourished more than now? Does the theatre stand empty any day, when it is rumoured that a new lion has come from Africa? When last week there was talk of expelling from the city, because of the high prices, all idlers and loafers, did not the citizens demand with loud cries that an exception should be made for the gladiators and the dancing-girls; for them, it was held, one could not do without!

Alas, well may the gods withdraw their hand from you in wrath at your folly! There are teachers of wisdom enough in this city; but where is wisdom? Why do so few tread in my footsteps? Why do people stop at Socrates? Why do people not go a little further and follow Diogenes or – if I may dare say so – me, since we lead you to happiness? For is not happiness the aim of all teaching of wisdom? And what is happiness other than to be in agreement with oneself? Does the eagle crave feathers of gold? Does the lion wish itself claws of silver? Or does the pomegranate-tree covet to bear fruits of sparkling stones? I tell you that no man has the right to enjoy before he has shown himself hardened enough to bear the lack of enjoyment. Yes, he may not even touch enjoyment with his fingertip before he is able to tread it under foot.

Ah, truly, there is a long way to go. But I will lay all my strength on this. For the sake of these things I will give up others which are also important. The Persian king has – alarmed at my approach – made me offers of peace. These I think of accepting so as to get free hands to enlighten and improve you, you unteachable ones! As for the rest, it stays as it is. Alexander you shall keep. See to it that you come to terms with him.

Yet, my Libanius, I will not have it said that I have let you go from me in disfavour –

Libanius the orator.

Ah, my emperor –

Emperor Julian.

You spoke with a certain bitterness of my having given Themistius and Mamertinus much. But did I not also take something from them? Did I not take from them my daily company? To you I intend to give something more than to them.

Libanius the orator.

Alas, what do you say, my exalted brother!

Emperor Julian.

I do not intend to give you gold or silver. So foolish was I only at first, until I saw how people thronged about me, like thirsty harvesters about a spring, all pushing and jostling one another, all holding out the hollow hand to have it filled first and filled highest to the brim. I have grown wiser since. In particular I think it must be said that the goddess of wisdom has not withheld from me her assistance in the actions I have undertaken for this city's good.

Libanius the orator.

Surely, surely!

Emperor Julian.

Therefore I entrust to you, O my Libanius, the composing of a panegyric upon me.

Libanius the orator.

Ah, what an honour –!

Emperor Julian.

You shall compose it with especial regard to the benefactions for which Antioch's citizens owe me gratitude. I hope you will compose it so that it becomes worthy both of the orator and of the subject. This charge, my Libanius, be my gift to you. I know nothing better to give a man like you.

Libanius the orator.

Oh, my crowned friend, what exceeding grace!

Emperor Julian.

And now let us go to the fencing-hall. Thereafter, my friends, we walk through the streets to give these puffed-up natives a wholesome example of frugality in dress and moderation in manners.

Oribases the Royal Physician.

Through the streets, lord? Alas, in this midday heat –

A courtier.

Oh, lord, excuse me, but I feel most unwell –

Heracleus the poet.

I too, most gracious lord! All this morning I have battled with a nausea in my stomach –

Emperor Julian.

Then take an emetic, and see that you vomit up your ignorance at the same time.

Oh, Diogenes, – what followers you have! They are ashamed to wear your cloak on the open street.

Women (run up and hold him fast by his garment).

Alas, Gregory, Gregory, – speak to us! Comfort us in this anguish.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Only one can comfort here. Hold fast to him. Keep close to the Lord and shepherd.

A woman.

Oh, do you know it, you man of God, – the emperor has commanded that all our holy scriptures shall be burned!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I have heard it; but I cannot believe in such folly.

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

It is true. Alexander, the new governor, has sent out soldiers who search our brethren's houses. Even women and children are whipped till they bleed, if they are suspected of keeping books hidden.

Cyril the teacher.

The emperor's decree does not concern Antioch alone, – not Syria alone; it concerns the empire and the whole earth. Every written jot that treats of Christ shall be blotted out of existence and out of the believers' memory.

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

Oh, you mothers, weep over yourselves and over your children!

The time will come when you shall wrangle with those you now carry in your arms about what rightly stood in the lost Word of God. The time will come when your grandchildren shall mock at you and not know who and what Christ was.

The time will come when it shall be blotted out of hearts that the world's saviour once suffered and died.

The last believer shall go blind into his grave, and from that hour Golgotha shall be blown away from the earth, even as the place where the garden of Eden lay.

Woe, woe upon the new Pilate! He is not content, as that one was, to slay the saviour's body. He murders the word and the doctrine!

The women (tear their hair and rend their clothes).

Woe, woe, woe!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

And I tell you, be comforted! God does not die. It is not from Julian that the danger comes. The danger has been there, long before him, in the weakness and dissension of our hearts.

Cyril the teacher.

Oh, Gregory, how dare you demand that we should be steadfast in the midst of these horrors? – Brothers and sisters, – do you know what has happened in Arethusa? The unbelievers have maltreated Marcus, the old bishop, dragged him by the hair through the streets, cast him into the sewers, hauled him up again befouled and bleeding, smeared him over with honey and hoisted him up in a tree, exposed to the stings of wasps and venomous flies.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

And has not God's power revealed itself right gloriously in Marcus? What was Marcus formerly? A man of doubtful faith. Yes, when the disturbances broke out in Arethusa, he even fled from the city. But see, – scarcely had he in his hiding-place learned that the frenzied people were avenging the bishop's flight upon guiltless brethren, before he returned of his own free will. And how did he not bear the torments, which so appalled his own tormentors that they, in order to be able to withdraw with a kind of honour, offered to release him in return for paying an utterly trifling sum? Was not his answer: no, – and no, and again no? The Lord God was with him. He neither died nor gave in. His face showed neither horror nor impatience. In the tree where he hung, he counted himself happy, because he was raised some steps nearer toward heaven, while the others, as he said, crawled about on the flat earth.

Cyril the teacher.

A miracle must have happened to this steadfast old man. Had you, like me, heard the screams from the prison that day in summer, when Hilarion and the others were tortured –! They resembled no other screams, – involuntary, roaring, mingling with a hissing sound, each time the iron, white-hot, dug itself into the flayed flesh.

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

Oh, Cyril, do you forget the song that took over from the screams? Did not Hilarion sing in death? Did not that heroic Cappadocian lad sing, until he gave up his spirit under the torturers' hands? Did not Agathon, this child's brother, sing, until a swoon overcame him and he woke up in madness?

Truly I say to you, as long as the song resounds over our distress, so long shall Satan not triumph!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Be comforted. Love one another and suffer for one another, as Serapion in Doristora lately suffered for his brethren, when for their sake he let himself be scourged and cast alive into the smelting-furnace.

See, see, – has not the Lord's avenging hand already clenched itself against the ungodly? Or have you not heard the tidings from Heliopolis under Lebanon?

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

I know it. In the midst of the festival of Aphrodite's indecencies the heathens broke into our holy sisters' house, violated the women, murdered them under torments that cannot be told –

The women.

Woe, woe!

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

– yes, there were some of the wretches who opened one of the martyrs' bodies, tore out the entrails and ate the liver raw!

The women.

Woe, woe, woe!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

The God of wrath seasoned the meal. How has it agreed with them? Travel to Heliopolis, and you may see those men with the poison of putrefaction in all their veins, with their eyes and teeth fallen out, robbed of the use of speech and of reason. Terror has struck the city. Many heathens have converted since that night.

Therefore I do not fear this ill-boding beast either, which has risen against the church; I do not fear this crowned hireling of hell, who plots to complete the arch-enemy's work. Let him fall upon us with fire, with sword, with wild beasts in the arena! Yes, should his madness drive him even further than has happened to this day, – what does that matter? Against all this there is a remedy and a way to victory!

The women.

Christ, Christ!

Other voices.

There he is! There he comes!

Some.

Who?

Others.

The emperor! The murderer! The enemy of God!

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Quiet! Let him pass by in silence.

A woman (softly to the others).

See, see, he has wrapped himself in rags, like a beggar.

Another woman.

He must be beside himself.

A third woman.

God has already smitten him.

A fourth woman.

Hide your children at your breast. Let not their eyes see the terror.

Emperor Julian.

Well, well, are these not all of them Galileans? What are you doing here in the sunshine, on the open street, you brood of darkness?

Gregory of Nazianzus.

You have closed our churches; therefore we stand outside and praise the Lord our God.

Emperor Julian.

See, it is you, Gregory? Yes, you still roam about here. But beware; I shall not endure it long.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

I do not seek death by blood; nay, I do not even desire it; but if it is allotted to me, then I set my honour in dying for Christ.

Emperor Julian.

Your turns of phrase weary me. I will not see you here. Why do you not keep to your stinking dens? Go home, I say!

A woman.

Oh, emperor, where are our homes?

Another woman.

Where are our houses? The heathens have plundered them and driven us out.

Voices in the crowd.

Your soldiers have taken our property from us!

Other voices.

Oh, emperor, emperor, why have you taken our property?

Emperor Julian.

You ask about that? I shall tell you, you ignorant people! If your property has been taken from you, it has been done out of concern for the welfare of your souls. Has not the Galilean said that you shall not own silver or gold? Has not your master promised you that you shall one day ascend to heaven? Should you not then thank me for making your journey as easy as possible?

The friends of wisdom.

Oh, incomparably said!

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

Lord, you have taken from us that which is more than silver and gold. You have taken from us God's own word. You have taken from us our holy scriptures.

Emperor Julian.

I know you well enough, you hollow-eyed hymn-singer! You are Apollinaris, are you not? And I hold that if I take your absurd books from you, you will soon be man enough to string together something just as absurd. But I tell you that you are a wretched book-scribbler and verse-maker! By Apollo, no true Greek would take your verses in his mouth. The writing you lately sent me, and which you have been impudent enough to call «The Truth,» that I may let you know I have read, understood and condemned.

Apollinaris the hymn-writer.

It is possible that you have read it; but you have not understood it; for had you understood, you would not have condemned it.

Emperor Julian.

Ha-ha; the rejoinder I have in hand shall show that I have understood. – But as concerns those books, whose loss you now howl and lament over, I may tell you that before long you shall come to esteem them the less, since it will be shown that that Jesus of Nazareth was a liar and deceiver.

The women.

Woe to us; woe to us!

Cyril the teacher (steps forward from the crowd).

Emperor, – what did you say there?

Emperor Julian.

Has not the crucified Jew proclaimed that the temple of Jerusalem shall lie in ruins to the end of days?

Cyril the teacher.

So it shall come to pass!

Emperor Julian.

Oh, you fools! At this moment Jovian the Commander stands with two thousand workers in Jerusalem and raises the temple in all its glory. Wait, wait, you stiff-necked doubters, – you shall learn who is mightiest, the emperor or the Galilean.

Cyril the teacher.

Lord, that you shall to your terror learn for yourself. I kept silent until you blasphemed the holy one and called him a liar; but now I will tell you that not a whit can you avail against the crucified one!

Emperor Julian (controlling himself).

Who are you, and what is your name?

Cyril the teacher (coming nearer).

That you shall hear. First and foremost I am called a Christian, and that is a most honourable name; for it shall never be blotted out from the earth.

Next I bear also the name Cyril, and under that name I am known among brothers and sisters.

But if I keep the first name unstained, then I reap an eternal life as my reward.

Emperor Julian.

You are mistaken, Cyril! You know I am acquainted with something of the mysterious things in your doctrine. Believe me, – he in whom you put your trust is not such as you imagine. He himself died, and truly died, at the time when the Roman Pontius Pilate was governor in Judea.

Cyril the teacher.

I am not mistaken. It is you yourself, emperor, who err in this. It is you who have renounced Christ in the very moment he gave you the dominion over the earth.

Therefore I proclaim to you in his name that he will soon take from you both the dominion and your life, and then you shall too late acknowledge how strong he is, he whom you in your blindness despise.

Yes, as you have forgotten his benefactions, so shall he not give his love free rein, when he rises up to punish you.

You have overthrown his altars, – he shall cast you down from your imperial throne. You have found your joy in treading his law under foot, the same law which you yourself once proclaimed to the believers. In the same way shall the Lord tread you under his heel. Your body shall be blown away on the wild winds, and your soul shall go down there, where there are greater torments than those you can devise for me and mine!

Emperor Julian.

I would gladly have spared you, Cyril! The gods are my witnesses that I do not hate you for your faith's sake. But you have insulted my imperial power and authority, and that I must punish.

Fromentinus, take this man to prison, and let the executioner Typhon give him as many lashes as are needful to make him declare that the emperor and not the Galilean has all power on earth.

Gregory of Nazianzus.

Be strong, my brother Cyril!

Cyril the teacher (with uplifted hands).

I, blessed one, who am granted to suffer for the Lord's honour!

The women (in weeping and lament).

Woe to us! Woe, woe upon the denier!

Emperor Julian.

Drive them apart, these frenzied ones! Let them be driven out of the city as rebels. I no longer endure this defiance and abomination!

A soldier (pokes at him with the lance-shaft).

Up, up; be off with you!

The man (looks up).

Tread under foot this savourless salt, which is cast off by the Lord's hand!

Emperor Julian.

Oh, eternal gods, – Hecebolius –!

The courtiers.

Ah, in truth, – Hecebolius!

Hecebolius the teacher.

I am not called so any more! I am nameless. I have betrayed the baptism that gave me my name!

Emperor Julian.

Rise up, friend! Your mind is sick –

Hecebolius the teacher.

Judas's brother is plague-stricken. Depart from me –

Emperor Julian.

Oh, you fickle man –

Hecebolius the teacher.

Depart from me, tempter! Take back your thirty pieces of silver! Is it not written: you shall leave wife and children for the Lord's sake? And I –? For wife's and children's sake I have betrayed the Lord, my God! Woe, woe, woe!

Emperor Julian.

Such fire of madness do these scriptures kindle over the earth.

And should I not burn them?

Wait! Before a year is out, the Temple of the Jews shall stand raised again on Mount Zion, – shining with the splendour of its golden roof over the lands and bearing witness: liar, liar, liar!

Phocion the dyer.

Why, look, – my friend Eunapius in full court-dress!

Eunapius the barber.

Shame on you, that you mock a poor man.

Phocion the dyer.

Do you call that mockery? I meant it for the highest honour.

Eunapius the barber.

You may well say so. It has become an honour now to go about in rags, particularly if they have lain a very long time in a gutter.

Phocion the dyer.

How do you think all this will end?

Eunapius the barber.

That I do not care to think about. I know how it has ended with me, and that is enough.

Phocion the dyer.

Are you no longer in the emperor's service?

Eunapius the barber.

What would Emperor Julian do with a barber? Does he have his hair cut? Or does he have his beard trimmed, do you think? He does not even comb it. But how goes it with you? You do not look very happy either.

Phocion the dyer.

Alas, Eunapius, the time of the purple-dyers is past.

Eunapius the barber.

Yes, right; now only Christian backs are dyed. But what is that you are dragging along?

Phocion the dyer.

A bundle of willow-bark. I am to dye fools' cloaks for the friends of wisdom.

Phocion the dyer (to one of the men at the water-basin).

What does this mean?

The man.

The stone image is to be fed again.

Phocion the dyer.

Will the emperor sacrifice here this evening?

Another man.

Does he not sacrifice both morning and evening, – now yonder, now here?

A woman.

It is a misfortune for poor folk that the new emperor is so fond of the gods.

Another woman.

Why, Dione, do not say so. Should we not all of us be fond of the gods?

The first woman.

Yes, that may be; but it is a misfortune all the same –

One of the men (pointing out to the right).

Will you look, – there he comes.

One of the newcomers.

Over there stands the goddess. Now you shall see some fun.

An elderly man.

Do you call that fun? How many hungry mouths could not be filled with what here goes to waste?

Emperor Julian (goes toward the image).

Oh, this sight! It fills my heart with rapture and my eyes with tears of melancholy.

Yes, verily I must weep when I think that the image of this awe-inspiring goddess – overthrown by impious and reckless hands – has for so long a time lain as though in a sleep of oblivion, – and that, moreover, in a place which I loathe to describe.

Emperor Julian (turns sternly).

But I feel no less rapture when I consider that it was I to whom it was granted to deliver the divine mother from so unworthy a condition.

And should I not be enraptured by this thought? – People say of me that I have won some battles against the barbarians and praise me for it. As for me, I set greater store by what I accomplish for the gods' good; for to them we owe all our powers and all our care.

(to those at the water-basin.)

For the rest, it gratifies me that there are yet some in this stubborn city who do not show themselves deaf to my exhortations, but present themselves, as seemly piety enjoins, – and I do not doubt that you have brought decent offerings with you.

What do I see there? A single old man! Where are your temple-brethren?

The old priest.

Lord, there is none of them alive but I.

Emperor Julian.

Died out. The highway laid in unfitting nearness past the sanctuary. The venerable grove felled. –

Old man, – where are the offerings?

The old priest (pointing at the basket).

Here, lord!

Emperor Julian.

Good, good. But the rest?

The old priest.

This is all.

Emperor Julian.

A goose! So this goose is all?

The old priest.

Yes, lord!

Emperor Julian.

And who was the pious man who remembered us with so open-handed a gift?

The old priest.

I myself have brought it. Oh, lord, be not wroth; I had no more than the one.

Subdued voices.

It is enough. A goose is more than enough.

Emperor Julian.

Oh, Antioch, – you put my patience to a hard test!

A man in the crowd.

First bread, then offerings!

Phocion the dyer (nudges him in the side).

Well said; well said!

Another man.

Give the citizens to eat; the gods must help themselves as they can.

A third man.

We were better off here under Chi and Kappa!

Emperor Julian.

Fie, you impudent bawlers! You with your Chi and Kappa! You perhaps do not think I know whom you mean by Chi and Kappa? Ho-ho, I know it well. It has become a common byword among you. You mean Christ and Constantius. But their dominion is over, and I shall surely find means to bend the defiance and the ingratitude which you show both toward the gods and toward me. You take offence that I render the gods the due sacrifices. You mock at my putting on a plain garment and letting my beard grow uncut. Yes, this beard is truly a thorn in your side! You call it, without all reverence, a goat's beard. But I tell you, you fools, that it is a sage's beard. Yes, I am not ashamed to let you know that this beard harbours vermin, even as the willow-thicket harbours game, – and yet I bear this scorned beard of mine with greater honour than you your smooth-shaven chins!

Eunapius the barber (half aloud).

Ill spoken; most unreasonable!

Emperor Julian.

But do you think I let these mockeries pass without answering? No, no, you shall come to know otherwise. Only wait; you shall hear from me sooner than you think. I am at this time working out a writing which is called «The Beard-Hater». And do you know against whom this writing is directed? It is directed against you, you citizens of Antioch, – yes, against you, whom in the writing I call «the ignorant dogs». There you shall get my reasons both for the one thing and for the other which now seems strange to you in my conduct.

Fromentinus the captain (comes from the right).

Noble emperor, I have a joyful message to bring. Cyril has already given in –

Emperor Julian.

Ah, I thought as much.

Fromentinus the captain.

Typhon also did his work excellently. The prisoner was bound naked by the wrists so high beneath the roof that his toe-tips just touched the ground; then Typhon whipped him from behind with a scourge of ox-sinews, so that the blows struck round about his breast.

Emperor Julian.

Oh, the vicious ones, who compel us to use such means!

Fromentinus the captain.

In order not to rob him of his life we had at last to release the obstinate man. Then he was for a while quite still and seemed to reflect; but suddenly he nevertheless demanded to be brought before the emperor.

Emperor Julian.

This is most welcome to me. And you bring him here?

Fromentinus the captain.

Yes, lord, – there they come with him.

Emperor Julian.

Ah, my good Cyril, – you are not quite so cocksure as last time, I see.

Cyril the teacher.

Have you perhaps in the entrails of a beast or a bird found out what I have to say to you?

Emperor Julian.

Well, I think that I, without omens, may believe you have come to your senses, that you give up your errors about the Galilean's power, and that you now acknowledge both the emperor and our gods to be greater than he.

Cyril the teacher.

Do not imagine such a thing. Your gods are powerless; and if you hold fast to these stone images, which can neither see nor hear, you will soon be as powerless as they.

Emperor Julian.

Cyril, – is this what you have to say?

Cyril the teacher.

No; I come to thank you. Before, I trembled before you and your torments. But in the hour of anguish I won the spirit's victory over the corruptible. Yes, emperor, when your hirelings thought I hung in agony beneath the prison-roof, – then I lay, blessed as a child, in my saviour's arms; and when your executioners fancied that they tore strips from my body, then the Lord stroked with his soothing hand over the wounds, took away the crown of thorns and set upon me the crown of life.

Therefore I thank you; for no man has shown me so great a benefaction as you.

And that you may not believe I fear you henceforth, then see –

– see, see; – glut yourself with my blood, for which you thirst! But of me you shall know that I glut myself with Jesus Christ.

Several voices.

This brings misfortune upon us all!

Emperor Julian (who has drawn back).

Hold this madman, that he lay not hands on us!

Emperor Julian.

See yonder, Fromentinus, – what strange procession is that –?

Fromentinus the captain.

Most gracious emperor, it is the women hymn-singers –

Emperor Julian.

Ah, that league of frenzied women –

Fromentinus the captain.

The governor Alexander has taken from them some writings which they hold to be holy. Now they are marching out of the city to weep on the Christian graves.

Emperor Julian (with clenched hands).

Defiance; defiance – both from women and men!

Old Publia (sings).

Chorus of the women.

Publia.

Chorus of the women.

Publia (catches sight of the emperor).

There he stands! Woe upon the ungodly one who has burned the Lord's word! Do you think you can burn up the Lord's word? I shall tell you where the word burns.

Here burns the word. Burn our books, then. The word shall burn in the hearts of men until the last day!

The women (singing with rising wildness).

People at the well.

Woe to us; the Galileans' god is the strongest!

Other voices.

What can all our gods do against this one?

Yet others.

No sacrifice! No worship! It will provoke the terrible one against us.

Emperor Julian.

Oh, you fools! You fear to provoke one who is long since dead, – a false preacher; – yes, you yourselves shall see. He is a liar, I tell you! Only have patience a little while yet. Every day, every hour I may expect a message from Jerusalem –

Jovian the Commander (in dusty clothes, comes hastily from the right with some attendants).

Most gracious emperor, forgive that your servant seeks you here.

Emperor Julian (with a cry of joy).

Jovian! Oh, joyful tidings –!

Jovian the Commander.

I come straight from Judea. At the palace I heard you were out here –

Emperor Julian.

Oh, you praiseworthy gods, – so the sinking sun shall not go down over the lie after all! How far are we? Speak, my Jovian!

Jovian the Commander (with a glance at the crowd).

Lord, – shall I tell everything?

Emperor Julian.

Everything, everything, – from first to last!

Jovian the Commander.

I came to Jerusalem with the master-builders and the soldiers and the two thousand workers. We set to work at once clearing the ground. Mighty remnants of walls still stood. They fell before our picks and crowbars, easily, as though an invisible power helped us to efface them –

Emperor Julian.

You see; do you see!

Jovian the Commander.

While this was going on, immense heaps of lime were dragged together for the new building. Then quite unexpectedly a whirling storm arose, which scattered the lime like a cloud out over the whole region.

Emperor Julian.

Further; further!

Jovian the Commander.

That same night the earth shook repeatedly.

Voices in the crowd.

Do you hear? The earth shook.

Emperor Julian.

Further, I say!

Jovian the Commander.

We did not, however, let our courage be cast down by this strange occurrence. But when we had pressed deeper down into the ground and had opened the underground vaults, and the stone-breakers went into them to work by torchlight –

Emperor Julian.

Jovian, – what then?

Jovian the Commander.

Lord, then a terrible, a monstrous stream of fire broke out of the caverns. A thundering rumble shook the whole city. The vaults were blasted asunder, hundreds of workers were killed down there, and the few who saved themselves fled with mangled limbs.

Whispering voices.

The Galileans' god!

Emperor Julian.

Can I believe all this? Did you see it?

Jovian the Commander.

I was myself present. We began anew. Lord, in the presence of many thousands – terrified, kneeling, exulting, praying – the same wonder repeated itself twice.

Emperor Julian (pale and trembling).

And then –? In one word, – what has the emperor accomplished in Jerusalem?

Jovian the Commander.

The emperor has fulfilled the Galilean's prophecy.

Emperor Julian.

Fulfilled –

Jovian the Commander.

Through you that word became full truth: not a stone upon a stone shall be left behind.

Men and women.

The Galilean has triumphed over the emperor! The Galilean is greater than Julian!

Emperor Julian (to Cybele's priest).

You may go home, old man! And take your goose with you. We will make no sacrifice this evening.

I heard someone here say that the Galilean has triumphed. It might seem so; but I tell you, it is an error. You ignorant ones; you contemptible dolts, – you may believe me: it shall not be long before the tide has turned! I shall –; I shall –! Yes, only wait! I am already preparing a writing against the Galilean. It shall be in seven chapters; and when his followers get that to read, – and when besides «The Beard-Hater» – –

Take my arm, Fromentinus! This resistance has wearied me.

Set Cyril free!

The crowd at the well (shouting after him with jeering laughter).

There goes the sacrifice-butcher! – There goes the shaggy bear! – There goes the ape with the long arms!

Maximus the mystic.

Whither, my brother?

Emperor Julian.

Where it is most solitary.

Maximus the mystic.

But here – in the abomination? In the midst of heaps of rubble –?

Emperor Julian.

Is not the whole world a heap of rubble?

Maximus the mystic.

Yet you have shown that what has fallen can be raised again.

Emperor Julian.

Mocker! In Athens I saw a cobbler who had set himself up a little workshop in the temple of Theseus. In Rome, I hear, a corner of the Julian basilica has been made serviceable as a buffalo-stall. Call that too raising up again!

Maximus the mystic.

Why not? Do not all things happen piecemeal? What is the whole other than the full sum of all the pieces?

Emperor Julian.

Poor wisdom!

See this noseless head. See this shattered elbow, – these splintered loins. Is the sum of all these deformities the whole full divine beauty of old?

Maximus the mystic.

Whence do you know that that beauty of old was beautiful – in and for itself – except in the beholder's imagination?

Emperor Julian.

Alas, Maximus, there is precisely the kernel. What is in and for itself? I know nothing to name after this day.

Have you at any time been mightier in yourself?

Strange, Maximus, that there can lie strength in error. Look at the Galileans. And look at me of old, when I held it possible to raise up again the fallen world of beauty.

Maximus the mystic.

Friend, – if error is a necessity to you, then go back to the Galileans. They will receive you with open arms.

Emperor Julian.

You know well that this is not feasible. Emperor and Galilean! How reconcile the contradiction?

Yes, this Jesus Christ is the greatest rebel that ever lived. What was Brutus, – what was Cassius against him? They murdered only the one Julius Caesar; but he murders Caesar and Augustus altogether. Or is there any thinking of reconciliation between the Galilean and the emperor? Is there room for the two of them together on earth? And he lives on earth, Maximus, – the Galilean lives, I tell you, however thoroughly both Jews and Romans imagined they had slain him; – he lives in the rebellious minds of men; he lives in their defiance and scorn of all visible power.

«Render to the emperor what is the emperor's, – and to God what is God's!» – Never has the mouth of man uttered a more insidious word than this. What lies behind it? What and how much belongs to the emperor? This word is like a war-club that strikes the crown from the emperor's head.

Maximus the mystic.

Yet the great Constantine knew how to come to terms with the Galilean, – and your predecessor likewise.

Emperor Julian.

Yes, one who could be content, like those. But do you call that ruling the earth's realm? Constantine extended the boundaries of his dominion. But did he not draw the boundaries narrowly together about his spirit and his will? You place that man too high, when you call him the great. My predecessor I will not even speak of; he was more slave than emperor, and I cannot linger at the name.

No, no, there is no thinking of a settlement in these things. And yet – to have to give in! Oh, Maximus, after these defeats I cannot go on being emperor, – and neither can I renounce being it.

Maximus, you who can interpret omens whose enigmatic meaning is hidden from all others, – you who can read in the book of the eternal stars, – can you tell me the outcome of this strife?

Maximus the mystic.

Yes, my brother, I can tell you the outcome.

Emperor Julian.

You can? Then tell it! Who shall triumph, the emperor or the Galilean?

Maximus the mystic.

Both the emperor and the Galilean shall go under.

Emperor Julian.

Go under –? Both –?

Maximus the mystic.

Both. Whether in our times, or in hundreds of years, I do not know; but come to pass it shall when the right one comes.

Emperor Julian.

And who is the right one?

Maximus the mystic.

He who shall swallow up both the emperor and the Galilean.

Emperor Julian.

You solve the riddle with a yet darker riddle.

Maximus the mystic.

Hear me, friend of truth and brother! I say, they shall both go under – but not perish.

Does not the child go under in the youth, and the youth again in the man? But neither the child nor the youth perishes.

Oh, you my most beloved pupil, – have you forgotten our conversations in Ephesus about the three empires?

Emperor Julian.

Ah, Maximus, there lie years between. Speak!

Maximus the mystic.

You know, I have never approved of what you, as emperor, have undertaken. You have wished to make the youth over into a child again. The empire of the flesh is swallowed up by the empire of the spirit. But the empire of the spirit is not the final one, just as little as the youth is. You have wished to hinder the youth's growth, – to hinder him from becoming a man. Oh, you fool, who have drawn the sword against that which is to come, – against the third empire, where the twofold one shall reign!

Emperor Julian.

And this one –?

Maximus the mystic.

The Jewish people has a name for him. They call him the Messiah, and they wait for him.

Emperor Julian (slowly and thoughtfully).

Messiah? – Neither emperor nor redeemer?

Maximus the mystic.

Both in one and one in both.

Emperor Julian.

Emperor-god; – god-emperor. Emperor in the empire of the spirit – and god in that of the flesh.

Maximus the mystic.

That is the third empire, Julian!

Emperor Julian.

Yes, Maximus, that is the third empire.

Maximus the mystic.

In that empire the provisional one's word of rebellion has become truth.

Emperor Julian.

«Render to the emperor what is the emperor's, – and to God what is God's.» Yes, yes, – then the emperor is in God, and God in the emperor. – Ah, dreams, dreams; – who breaks the Galilean's power!

Maximus the mystic.

Wherein lies the Galilean's power?

Emperor Julian.

I have brooded on it in vain.

Maximus the mystic.

It stands written somewhere: «you shall have no strange gods before me.»

Emperor Julian.

Yes – yes – yes!

Maximus the mystic.

The Seer of Nazareth proclaimed neither this god nor that; he said: God am I; – I am God.

Emperor Julian.

Yes, this beyond –! Therefore the emperor is powerless.

The third empire? The Messiah? Not the Jewish people's, but the Messiah of the empire of the spirit and of the empire of the world –?

Maximus the mystic.

The god-emperor.

Emperor Julian.

The emperor-god.

Maximus the mystic.

Logos in Pan – Pan in Logos.

Emperor Julian.

Maximus, – how does he come to be?

Maximus the mystic.

He comes to be in the one who wills himself.

Emperor Julian.

My beloved teacher, – I must leave you.

Maximus the mystic.

Where are you going?

Emperor Julian.

To the city. The Persian king has made me offers of peace, which in rashness I accepted. My envoys are already on the way. They shall be overtaken and called back.

Maximus the mystic.

You will open the war against King Sapor anew?

Emperor Julian.

I will what Cyrus dreamed of and what Alexander attempted –

Maximus the mystic.

Julian!

Emperor Julian.

I will possess the world. – Good night, my Maximus!

Chorus of the women hymn-singers (far away on the martyr-graves).