Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (168 page)

JOVIAN.
My Emperor, — so that did not escape you?

JULIAN.
Did you think it would have escaped me?

JOVIAN.
Yes, sire; for it was a matter between me and the one true God.

JULIAN.
Galilean!

JOVIAN.
Sire, you yourself sent me to Jerusalem, and I was witness to all that happened there. I have pondered much since then; I have read the scriptures of the Christians, have spoken with many of them, — and now I am convinced that in their teaching lies the truth of God.

JULIAN.
Is this possible? Can it be possible? Thus does this infectious frenzy spread! Even those nearest me — my own generals desert me —

JOVIAN.
Place me in the van against your foes, sire, — and you shall see how gladly I render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.

JULIAN.
How much — ?

JOVIAN.
My blood, my life.

JULIAN.
Blood and life are not enough. He who is to rule must rule over the minds, over the wills of men. It is in this that your Jesus of Nazareth bars my way and contests nay power. Think not that I will punish you, Jovian! You Galileans covet punishment as a benefaction. And after it you are called martyrs. Have they not thus exalted those whom I have been obliged to chastise for their obduracy? Go to the vanguard! I will not willingly see your face again. — Oh, this treachery to me, which you veil in phrases about double duty and a double empire! This shall be altered. Other kings besides the Persian shall feel my foot on their necks. To the vanguard, Jovian!

JOVIAN.
I shall do my duty, sire!
[He goes out to the right.

JULIAN.
We will not have this morning darkened, which rose amid so many happy omens. This, and more, will we bear with an even mind. But my dream shall none the less be published through the army. You, Kytron, and you, my Priscus, and my other friends, will see that this is done in a becoming manner.

THE PHILOSOPHERS.
With joy, with unspeakable joy, sire!
[They take the roll and go out to the right.

JULIAN.
I beg you, Hormisdas, not to doubt my power, although it may seem as though stubbornness met me on every hand. Go; and you too, Nevita, and all the rest, each to his post; — I will follow when the troops are all gathered out on the plains.
[All except the
Emperor
and
Maximus
go out to the right.

MAXIMUS.
[After a time, rises from the stone where he has been seated and goes up to the Emperor
.] My sick brother!

JULIAN.
Rather wounded than sick. The deer that is pierced by the hunter’s shaft seeks the thicket where its fellows cannot see it. I could no longer endure to be seen in the streets of Antioch; — and now I shrink from showing myself to the army.

MAXIMUS.
No one sees you, friend; for they grope in blindness. But you shall be as a physician to restore their sight, and then they shall behold you in your glory.

JULIAN.
[Gazing down into the ravine.]
How far beneath us! How tiny they seem, as they wind their way forward, amid thicket and brushwood, along the rocky river-bed! When we stood at the mouth of this defile, all the leaders, as one man, made for the pass. It meant an hour’s way shortened, a little trouble spared, — on the road to death. And the legions were so eager to follow. No thought of taking the upward path, no longing for the free air up here, where the bosom expands with each deep draught of breath. There they march, and march, and march, and see not that the heaven is straitened above them, — and know not there are heights where it is wider. — Seems it not, Maximus, as though men lived but to die? The spirit of the Galilean is in this. If it be true, as they say, that his father made the world, then the son contemns his father’s work. And it is just for this presumptuous frenzy that he is so highly revered! How great was Socrates compared with him! Did not Socrates love pleasure, and happiness, and beauty? And yet he renounced them. — Is there not a bottomless abyss between not desiring, on the one hand, and, on the other, desiring, yet renouncing? Oh, this treasure of lost wisdom I would fain have restored to men. Like Dionysus of old, I went forth to meet them, young and joyous, a garland on my brow, and the fullness of the vine in my arms. But they reject my gifts, and I am scorned, and hated, and derided, by friends and foes alike.

MAXIMUS.
Why? I -will tell you why. Hard by a certain town where once I lived, there was a vineyard, renowned far and wide for its grapes; and when the citizens wished to have the finest fruits on their tables, they sent their servants out to bring clusters from this vineyard. Many years after I came again to that city; but no one now knew aught of the grapes that were once so renowned. Then I sought the owner of the vineyard and said to him,
“
Tell me, friend, arc your vines dead, since no one now knows aught of your grapes?” “No,” he answered,
“
but let me tell you, young vines yield good grapes but poor wine; old vines, on the contrary, bad grapes but good wine. Therefore, stranger,” he added,
“
I still gladden the hearts of my fellow citizens with the abundance of my vineyard, only in another form — as wine, not as grapes.”

JULIAN.
[Thoughtfully.]
Yes, yes, yes!

MAXIMUS.
You have not given heed to this. The vine of the world has grown old, and yet you think that you can still offer the raw grapes to those who thirst for the new wine.

JULIAN.
Alas, my Maximus, who thirsts? Name me a single man, outside our brotherhood, who is moved by a spiritual craving. — Unhappy I, to be born into this iron age!

MAXIMUS.
Do not reproach the age. Had the age been greater, you would have been less. The world soul is like a rich man with innumerable sons. If he share his riches equally, all are well to do, but none rich. But if he disinherit all but one, and give everything to him, then that one stands as a rich man amid a circle of paupers.

JULIAN.
No similitude could be less apt than this. — Am I like your single heir? Is not that very thing divided among many which the ruler of the world should possess in fuller measure than all besides — nay, which he alone should possess? Oh how is not power divided? Has not Libanius the power of eloquence in such fullness that men call him the king of orators? Have not you, my Maximus, the power of mystic wisdom? Has not that madman Apollinaris of Antioch the power of ecstatic song in a measure I needs must envy him? And then Gregory the Cappadocian! Has he not the power of indomitable will in such excess, that many have applied to him the epithet, unbecoming for a subject, of
“
the Great”? And — what is stranger still — the same epithet has been applied to Gregory’s friend, Basil, the soft-natured man with girlish eyes. And yet he plays no active part in the world; he lives here, this Basil — here in this remote region, wearing the habit of an anchorite, and holding converse with none but his disciples, his sister Makrina, and other women who are called pious and holy. What influence do they not exert, both he and his sister, through the epistles they send forth from time to time. Everything, even renunciation and seclusion, becomes a power to oppose my power. But the crucified Jew is still the worst of all.

MAXIMUS.
Then make an end of all these scattered powers! But dream not that you can crush the rebels, by attacking them in the name of a monarch whom they do not know. In your own name you must act, Julian! Did Jesus of Nazareth come as the emissary of another? Did he not proclaim himself to be one with him that sent him? Truly in you is the time fulfilled, and you see it not. Do not all signs and omens point, with unerring finger, to you? Must I remind you of your mother’s dream — ?

JULIAN.
She dreamed that she brought forth Achilles.

MAXIMUS.
Must I remind you how fortune has borne you, as on mighty pinions, through an agitated and perilous life? Who are you, sire? Are you Alexander born again, not, as before, in immaturity, but perfectly equipped for the fulfilment of the task?

JULIAN.
Maximus!

MAXIMUS.
There is One who ever reappears, at certain intervals, in the course of human history. He is like a rider taming a wild horse in the arena. Again and yet again it throws him. A moment, and he is in the saddle again, each time more secure and more expert; but off he has had to go, in all his varying incarnations, until this day. Off he had to go as the god-created man in Eden’s grove; off he had to go as the founder of the world empire; — off he must go as the prince of the empire of God. Who knows how often he has wandered among us when none have recognised him? How know you, Julian, that you were not in him whom you now persecute?

JULIAN.
[Looking far away
.] Oh unfathomable riddle — !

MAXIMUS.
Must I remind you of the old prophecy now set afloat again? It has been foretold that so many years as the year has days should the empire of the Galilean endure. Two years more, and ‘twill be three hundred and sixty-five years since that man was born in Bethlehem.

JULIAN.
Do you believe this prophecy?

MAXIMUS.
I believe in him who is to come.

JULIAN.
Always riddles!

MAXIMUS.
I believe in the free necessity.

JULIAN.
Still darker riddles.

MAXIMUS.
Behold, Julian, — when Chaos seethed in the fearful void abyss, and Jehovah was alone, — that day when he, according to the old Jewish scriptures, stretched forth his hand and divided light from darkness, sea from land, — that day the great creating God stood on the summit of his power. But with man arose will upon the earth. And men, and beasts, and trees, and herbs re-created themselves, each in its own image, according to eternal laws; and by eternal laws the stars roll through the heavenly spaces. Did Jehovah repent? The ancient traditions of all races tell of a repentant Creator. He had established the law of perpetuation in the universe. Too late to repent! The created will perpetuate itself — and is perpetuated. But the two one-sided empires war one against the other. Where, where is he, the king of peace, the twin-sided one, who shall reconcile them?

JULIAN.
[To himself.]
Two years? All the gods inactive. No capricious power behind, which might bethink itself to cross my plans — Two years? In two years I can bring the earth under my sway.

MAXIMUS.
You spoke, my Julian; — what said you?

JULIAN.
I am young and strong and healthy. Maximus — it is my will to live long.
[He goes out to the right.
Maximus
follows him.

SCENE SECOND
.

A hilly wooded region with a brook among the trees. On an elevation a little farm. It is towards sunset. Columns of soldiers pass from left to right at the foot of the slope. Basil of Caesarea, and his sister Makrina, both in the dress of hermits, stand by the wayside and offer water and fruits to the weary soldiers.

MAKRINA.
Oh, Basil, see — each paler and more haggard than the last!

BASIL.
And countless multitudes of our Christian brethren among them! Woe to the Emperor Julian! This is a cruelty more cunningly contrived than all the horrors of the torture-chamber. Against whom is he leading his hosts? Less against the Persian king than against Christ.

MAKRINA.
Do you believe this dreadful thing of him?

BASIL.
Yes, Makrina, it becomes more and more clear to me that ‘tis against us the blow is aimed. All the defeats he has suffered in Antioch, all the resistance he has met with, all the disappointments and humiliations he has had to endure on his ungodly path, he hopes to bury in oblivion by means of a victorious campaign. And he will succeed. A great victory will blot out everything. Men are fashioned so; they see right in success, and before might most of them will bend.

MAKRINA.
[Pointing out to the left
.] Fresh multitudes!
Innumerable, unceasing —
[A company of soldiers passes by; a young man in the ranks sinks down on the road from weariness.
A Subaltern.
[Beating him with a stick
.] Up with you, lazy hound!

MAKRINA.
[Hastening up.]
Oh, do not strike him!

THE SOLDIER.
Let them strike me; — I am so glad to suffer.

AMMIAN.
[Entering.]
Again a stoppage! — Oh, it is he. Can he really go no further?

THE SUBALTERN.
I do not know what to say, sir; he falls at every step.

MAKRINA.
Oh, be patient! Who is this unhappy man? — See, suck the juice of these fruits. — Who is he, sir?

AMMIAN.
A Cappadocian, — one of the fanatics who took part in the desecration of the temple of Venus at Antioch.

MAKRINA.
Oh, one of those martyrs — !

AMMIAN.
Try to rise, Agathon! I am sorry for this fellow. They chastised him more severely than he could bear. He has been out of his mind ever since.

AGATHON.
[Rising.] I can bear it very well, and I am in my right mind, sir! Strike, strike, strike; — I rejoice to suffer.

AMMIAN.
[To the Subaltern
.] Forward; we have no time to waste.

THE SUBALTERN.
[To the soldiers
.] Forward, forward!

AGATHON.
Babylonius fell; — soon shall the Babylonian whoremonger fall likewise The lion of Zaita was slain — the crowned lion of the earth is doomed!
[The soldiers are driven out to the right.

AMMIAN.
[To
Basil
and
Makrina.] You strange people; — you go astray and yet you do good. Thanks for your refreshment to the weary; and would that my duty to the Emperor permitted me to treat your brethren as forbearingly as I should desire.
[He goes off to the right.

BASIL.
God be with you, noble heathen!

MAKRINA.
Who may that man be?

BASIL.
I know him not.
[He points to the left.
Oh see, see — there he is himself!

MAKRINA.
The Emperor? Is that the Emperor?

BASIL.
Yes, that is he.
The
Emperor Julian
with several of his principal officers, escorted by a detachment of guards, with their captain
Anatolus,
enters from the left.

JULIAN.
[To
his retinue.]
Why talk of fatigue? Should the fall of a horse bring me to a standstill? Or is it less becoming to go on foot than to bestride an inferior animal? Fatigue! My ancestor said that it befits an Emperor to die standing. I say that it befits an Emperor, not only in the hour of death, but throughout his whole life, to set an example of endurance; I say — Ah, by the great light of heaven! do I not see Basil of Caesarea before my eyes?

BASIL.
[Bowing deeply
.] Your meanest servant, oh most mighty lord!

JULIAN.
Ah, I know what that means! Truly you serve me well, Basil!
[Approaching.
So this is the villa that has become so renowned by reason of the epistles that go forth from it. This house is more talked of throughout the provinces than all the lecture-halls together, although I have spared neither care nor pains to restore their glory. Tell me — is not this woman your sister, Makrina?

BASIL.
She is, sire!

JULIAN.
You are a fair woman, and still young. And yet, as I hear, you have renounced life.

MAKRINA.
Sire, I have renounced life in order truly to live.

JULIAN.
Ah, I know your delusions very well. You sigh for that which lies beyond, of which you have no certain knowledge; you mortify your flesh; you repress all human desires. And yet I tell you this may be a vanity, like the rest.

BASIL.
Think not, sire, that I am blind to the danger that lurks in renunciation. I know that my friend Gregory says well when he writes that he holds himself a hermit in heart, though not in the body. And I know that this coarse clothing is of small profit to my soul if I take merit to myself for wearing it. But that is not my case. This secluded life fills me with unspeakable happiness; that is all. The wild convulsions through which, in these days, the world is passing, do not here force themselves, in all their hideousness, upon my eyes. Here I feel my body uplifted in prayer, and my soul purified by a frugal life.

JULIAN.
Oh my modest Basil, I fear you are ambitious of more than this. If what I hear be true, your sister has gathered round her a band of young women whom she is training up in her own likeness. And you yourself, like your Galilean master, have chosen twelve disciples. What is your purpose with them?

BASIL.
To send them forth into all lands, that they may strengthen our brethren in the fight.

JULIAN.
Truly! Equipped with all the weapons of eloquence, you send your army against me. And whence did you obtain this eloquence, this glorious Greek art? From our schools of learning. What right have you to it? You have stolen like a spy into our camp, to find out where you can most safely strike at us. And this knowledge you are now applying to our greatest hurt! Let me tell you, Basil, that I have no mind to suffer this scandal any longer. I will strike this weapon out of your hands. Keep to your Matthew and Luke, and other such unpolished babblers. But henceforth you shall not be permitted to interpret our ancient poets and philosophers; for I hold it unreasonable to let you suck knowledge and skill from sources in the truth of which you do not believe. In like manner shall all Galilean scholars be forbidden our lecture-halls; for what is their business there? To steal our weapons and use them against us.

BASIL.
Sire, I have already heard of this strange determination. And I agree with Gregory in maintaining that you have no exclusive right either to Grecian learning or to Grecian eloquence. I agree with him when he points out that you use the alphabet which was invented by the Egyptians, and that you clothe yourself in purple, although it first came into use among the people of Tyre. Ay, sire — and more than that. You subdue nations, and make yourself ruler over peoples, whose tongues are unknown and whose manners are strange to you. And you have a right to do so. But by the same right whereby you rule the visible world, he whom you call the Galilean rules the invisible —

JULIAN.
Enough of that! I will no longer listen to such talk. You speak as though there were two rulers of the world, and on that plea you cry halt to me at every turn. Oh fools! You set up a dead man against a living one. But you shall soon be convinced of your error. Do not suppose that amid the cares of war I have laid aside the treatise I have long been preparing against you. Perhaps you think I spend my nights in sleep? You are mistaken! For “The Beard-Hater” I reaped nothing but scorn, — and that from the very people who had most reason to lay certain truths to heart. But that shall in nowise deter me. Should a man with a cudgel in his hand shrink from a pack of yelping dogs? — Why did you smile, woman? At what did you laugh?

MAKRINA.
Why, sire, do you rage so furiously against one who, you say, is dead?

JULIAN.
Ah, I understand! You mean to say that he is alive.

MAKRINA.
I mean to say, oh mighty Emperor, that in your heart you feel of a surety that he lives.

JULIAN.
I? What next!
I
feel — !

MAKRINA.
What is it that you hate and persecute? Not him but your belief in him. And does he not live in your hate and persecution, no less than in our love?

JULIAN.
I know your tortuous tricks of speech. You Galileans say one thing and mean another. And that you call rhetoric! Oh mediocre minds! What folly!
I
feel that the crucified Jew is alive! Oh what a degenerate age, to find satisfaction in such sophistries! But such is the latter-day world. Madness passes for wisdom. How many sleepless nights have I not spent in searching out the true foundation of things? But where are my followers? Many praise my eloquence, but few, or none, are convinced by it. But truly the end is not yet. A great astonishment will come upon you. You shall see how all the scattered forces are converging into one. You shall see how, from all that you now despise, glory shall issue forth — and out of the cross on which you hang your hopes I will fashion a ladder for One whom you know not of.

MAKRINA.
And I tell you, Emperor Julian, that you are nought but a scourge in the hand of God — a scourge foredoomed to chasten us by reason of our sins. Woe to us that it must be so! Woe to us for the discords and the lovelessness that have caused us to swerve from the true path! There was no longer a king in Israel. Therefore has the Lord stricken you with madness, that you might chastise us. What a spirit has he not darkened, that it should rage against us! What a blossoming tree has he not stripped to make rods for our sin-laden shoulders! Portents warned you, and you heeded them not. Voices called you, and you heard them not. Hands wrote in letters of fire upon the wall, and you rubbed out the writing ere you had deciphered it.

JULIAN.
Basil — I would I had known this woman before to-day.

BASIL.
Come, Makrina!

MAKRINA.
Woe is me that ever I saw those shining eyes! Angel and serpent in one; the apostate’s longing wedded to the tempter’s guile! Oh, how have our brethren and sisters borne their hope of victory so high, in the face of such an instrument of wrath? In him dwells a greater than he. Do you not see it, Basil — in him will the Lord God smite us even to death.

JULIAN.
You have said it!

MAKRINA.
Not I!

JULIAN.
First-won soul!

MAKRIKA.
Avaunt from me!

BASIL.
Come — come!

JULIAN.
Stay here! — Anatolus, set a guard about them!—’Tis my will that you shall follow the army — both you and your disciples, — youths and women.

BASIL.
Sire, you cannot desire this!

JULIAN.
‘Tis not wise to leave fortresses in our rear. See, I stretch forth my hand and quench the burning shower of arrows which you have sent forth from yonder villa.

BASIL.
Nay, nay, sire — this deed of violence —

MAKRINA.
Alas, Basil — here or elsewhere — all is over.

JULIAN.
Is it not written
“
Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s”? I require all aid in this campaign. You can tend my sick and wounded. In that you will be serving the Galilean as well; and if you still think that a duty, I counsel you to make good use of your time. His end is near!
[Some soldiers have surrounded
Basil
and
Makrina,
others hasten through the thicket towards the house.

MAKRINA.
Sunset over our home; sunset of hope and of light in the world! Oh Basil! that we should live to see the night!

BASIL.
The light is.

JULIAN.
The light shall be. Turn your backs to the sunset, Galileans! Your faces to the east, to the east, where Helios lies dreaming. Verily I say unto you, you shall see the Sun-King of the world.
[He goes out to the right; all follow him.