SCENE THIRD.
A narrow street in Constantinople.
A great concourse of people, all looking in one direction down the street. Noise, singing, and the music of flutes and drums is heard at some distance.
A Shoemaker.
[At his house-door, calls across the street.] What a foot, dear neighbour?
A Shopkeeper.
[In the house opposite.] They say ’tis some Syrian jugglers that have come to town.
A Fruit-seller.
[In the street.] No, no, ’tis a band of Egyptians going around with apes and dromedaries.
Eunapius the Barber.
[Poorly clad, trying in vain to slip through the crowd.] Make room, you fools! How the devil can any one chatter and play the fool on such a day of misfortune?
A Woman.
[At a small window.] Hist, hist, Eunapius! My comely master!
Eunapius.
How dare you speak to me in the open street, you procuress?
The Woman.
Slip in by the back way, sweet friend!
Eunapius.
Fie upon you! Am I in the humour for folly——
The Woman.
You shall soon be in the humour. Come, fair Eunapius; I had a consignment of fresh doves the day before yesterday——
Eunapius.
Oh sinful world! [Tries to pass.] Make room, there, in Satan’s name; let me pass!
Hekebolius.
[Clad for a journey, and followed by a couple of laden slaves, comes from a side-street.] Has the town turned into a madhouse? Everyone seeks to out-bellow his neighbour, and no one can tell me what is astir. Aha,—Eunapius, my pious brother!
Eunapius.
All hail to you, reverend sir! So you have come back to town?
Hekebolius.
This very moment;—I have consecrated the warm autumn months to quiet devotion, on my estate in Crete. And now pray tell me what is afoot here?
Eunapius.
Confusion and disaster. The new Emperor——
Hekebolius.
Yes, yes, I have heard strange rumours——
Eunapius.
The truth is ten times worse. All faithful servants are hunted out of the palace.
Hekebolius.
Is it possible?
Eunapius.
Alackaday; I myself was the first——
Hekebolius.
Terrible! Then, perhaps, I too——?
Eunapius.
Most certainly. All accounts are to be examined, all gifts resumed, all irregular perquisites——
Hekebolius.
[Turning pale.] God have mercy on us!
Eunapius.
The Lord be praised, I have a good conscience!
Hekebolius.
I too, I too; but nevertheless——! Then no doubt it is true that the Emperor has sacrificed to Apollo and Fortuna?
Eunapius.
Certainly; but who cares for such trifles?
Hekebolius.
Trifles? See you not, my short-sighted friend, that it is our faith, as good Christians, that he is persecuting?
Eunapius.
What do you say? God’s cross, is it possible?
Women.
[In the crowd.] There they come!
A Man.
[On a housetop.] I can see him!
Other Voices.
Who comes? Who, who?
The Man on the Housetop.
The Emperor Julian. He has vine-leaves in his hair.
People in the Street.
The Emperor!
Eunapius.
The Emperor!
Hekebolius.
Come, come, my godly brother!
Eunapius.
Let me go, sir. I am in no wise godly.
Hekebolius.
Not godly——?
Eunapius.
Who dares accuse me of——? Do you want to ruin me? Godly? When was I godly? I once belonged to the sect of the Donatists; that was years and years ago. Devil take the Donatists! [He knocks at the window.] Hi, Barbara, Barbara; open the door, old she-cat!
[The door is opened and he slips in.
The Multitude.
There he is! There he comes!
Hekebolius.
All irregular perquisites——! Accounts examined! Oh thunderbolt of disaster!
[He slips away, followed by his two slaves.
[The procession of Dionysus comes down the street. Flute-players go foremost; drunken men, some of them dressed as fauns and satyrs, dance to the measure. In the middle of the procession comes the Emperor Julian, riding on an ass, which is covered with a panther-skin; he is dressed as the god Dionysus, with a panther-skin over his shoulders, a wreath of vine-leaves round his head, in his hands a staff wreathed with green, and with a pine-cone fastened on its upper end. Half-naked, painted women and youths, dancers and jugglers, surround him; some carry wine-flagons and goblets, others beat tambourines, and move forward with wild leaps and antics.
The Dancers.
[Singing.]
Potions of fire drain from goblets o’erflowing!
Potions of fire!
Lips deeply sipping,
Locks unguent-dripping,
Goat-haunches tripping,
Wine-God, we hail thee in rapturous quire!
The Women.
[Singing.]
Come, Bacchanalians, while noontide is glowing—
Come, do not flee us—
Plunge we in love-sports night blushes at knowing!
There rides Lyaeus,
Pard-borne, delivering!
Come, do not flee us;
Know, we are passionate; feel, we are quivering!
Leaping all, playing all,
Staggering and swaying all—
Come, do not flee us!
Julian.
Make room! Stand aside, citizens! Reverently make way; not for us, but for him to whom we do honour!
A Voice in the Crowd.
The Emperor in the company of mummers and harlots!
Julian.
The shame is yours, that I must content myself with such as these. Do you not blush to find more piety and zeal among these than among yourselves?
An Old Man.
Christ enlighten you, sire!
Julian.
Aha, you are a Galilean! And you must put in your word? Did not your great Master sit at meat with sinners? Did he not frequent houses that were held less than reputable? Answer me that.
Eunapius.
[Surrounded by girls, in the doorway of Barbara’s house.] Yes, answer, answer if you can, you fool!
Julian.
What,—are not you that barber whom——?
Eunapius.
A new-made freeman, gracious Emperor! Make way, Bacchanalians; room for a brother!
[He and the girls dance into the ranks of the Bacchanalians.
Julian.
I like this well. Take example by this Greek, if you have a spark of your fathers’ spirit left in you. And this is sorely needed, you citizens; for no divinity has been so much misunderstood—ay, even rendered ridiculous—as this ecstatic Dionysus, whom the Romans also call Bacchus. Think you he is the god of sots? Oh ignorant creatures, I pity you, if that is your thought. Who but he inspires poets and prophets with their miraculous gifts? I know that some attribute this function to Apollo, and certainly not without a show of reason; but in that case the whole matter must be regarded in quite another aspect,—as I could prove by many authorities. But this I will not debate with you in the open streets. This is neither the place nor the time. Ay, mock away! Make the sign of the cross! I see it! You would fain whistle with your fingers; you would stone me, if you dared.—Oh, how I blush for this city, so sunk in barbarism that it knows no better than to cling to an ignorant Jew’s deluded fantasies!—Forward! Stand aside,—do not block the way!
The Dancers.
There rides Lyaeus,
Pard-borne, delivering!
The Women.
Know, we are passionate; feel, we are quivering;
Come, do not flee us!
[During the singing of the refrain the procession turns into a side-street; the crowd looks on in dumb astonishment.