SCENE THIRD.
The sacred grove around the temple of Apollo. The portico, supported by columns, and approached by a broad flight of steps, is seen among the trees in the background, on the left.
A number of people are rushing about in the grove with loud cries of terror. Far away is heard the music of the procession.
Women.
Mercy! The earth is quaking again!
A Man in Flight.
Oh horror! Thunder beneath our feet——!
Another Man.
Was it indeed so? Was it the earth that shook?
A Woman.
Did you not feel it? That tree there swayed so that the branches whistled through the air.
Many Voices.
Hark, hark, hark!
Some.
’Tis the roll of chariots on the pavements.
Others.
’Tis the sound of drums. Hark to the music——, the Emperor is coming!
[The procession of Apollo advances from the right through the grove, and stations itself amid music of flutes and harps, in a semicircle in front of the temple.
Julian.
[Turning towards the temple, with upstretched hands.] I accept the omen!——
Never have I felt myself in such close communion with the immortal gods.
The Bow-Wielder is among us. The earth thunders beneath his tread, as when of old he stamped in wrath upon the Trojan shore.
But ’tis not on us he frowns. ’Tis on those unhappy wretches who hate him and his sunlit realm.
Yes,—as surely as good or evil fortune affords the true measure of the gods’ favour towards mortals,—so surely is the difference here made manifest between them and us.
Where are the Galileans now? Some under the executioner’s hands, others flying through the narrow streets, ashy pale with terror, their eyes starting from their heads—a shriek between their half-clenched teeth—their hair stiffening with dread, or torn out in despair.
And where are we? Here in Daphne’s pleasant grove, where the dryads’ balmy breath cools our brows,—here, before the glorious temple of the glorious god, lapped in the melodies of flute and lyre,—here, in light, in happiness, in safety, the god himself made manifest among us.
Where is the God of the Galileans? Where is the Jew, the carpenter’s crucified son? Let him manifest himself. Nay, not he!
’Tis fitting, then, that we should throng the sanctuary. There, with my own hands, I will perform the services which are so far from appearing to me mean and unbecoming, that I, on the contrary, esteem them above all others.
[He advances at the head of the procession, through the multitude, towards the temple.
A Voice.
[Calling out in the throng.] Stay, ungodly one!
Julian.
A Galilean among us?
The Same Voice.
No further, blasphemer!
Julian.
Who is he that speaks?
Other Voices in the Crowd.
A Galilean priest. A blind old man. Here he stands.
Others again.
Away, away, with the shameless wretch!
[A blind Old Man, in priestly garments, and supported by two younger men, also dressed as priests, is pushed forward till he stands at the foot of the temple steps, facing the Emperor.
Julian.
Ah, what do I see? Tell me, old man, are not you Bishop Maris, of Chalcedon?
The Old Man.
Yes, I am that unworthiest servant of the Church.
Julian.
“Unworthiest,” you call yourself; and I think you are not far wrong. If I mistake not, you have been one of the foremost in stirring up internal strife among the Galileans.
Bishop Maris.
I have done that which weighs me still deeper down in penitence. When you seized the empire, and rumour told of your bent of mind, my heart was beleagured with unspeakable dread. Blind and enfeebled by age, I could not conceive the thought of setting myself up against the mighty monarch of the world. Yes,—God have mercy on me—I forsook the flock I was appointed to guard, shrank timidly from all the perils that gathered frowning around the Lord’s people, and sought shelter here, in my Syrian villa——
Julian.
In truth a strange story! And you, timid as you say you are, you, who formerly prized the Emperor’s favour so highly, now step forth before me and fling insults in my very face!
Bishop Maris.
Now I fear you no longer; for now has Christ fully possessed my heart. In the Church’s hour of need, her light and glory burst upon me. All the blood you shed,—all the violence and wrong you do—cry out to heaven, and, re-echoing mightily, ring in my deaf ears, and show me, in my night of blindness, the way I have to go.
Julian.
Get you home, old man!
Bishop Maris.
Not till you have sworn to renounce your devilish courses. What would you do? Would dust rise up against the spirit? Would the lord of earth cast down the Lord of heaven? See you not that the day of wrath is upon us by reason of your sins? The fountains are parched like eyes that have wept themselves dry. The clouds, which ought to pour the manna of fruitfulness upon us, sweep over our heads, and shed no moisture. This earth, which has been cursed since the morning of time, quakes and trembles under the Emperor’s blood-guiltiness.
Julian.
What favour do you expect of your God for such excess of zeal, foolish old man? Do you hope that, as of old, your Galilean master will work a miracle, and give you back your sight?
Bishop Maris.
I have all the sight I desire; and I thank the Lord that he quenched my bodily vision, so that I am spared from seeing the man who walks in a darkness more terrible than mine.
Julian.
Let me pass!
Bishop Maris.
Whither?
Julian.
Into the Sun-King’s house.
Bishop Maris.
You shall not pass. I forbid you in the name of the only God!
Julian.
Frantic old man!—Away with him!
Bishop Maris.
Ay, lay hands upon me! But he who dares to do so, his hand shall wither. The God of Wrath shall manifest himself in his might——
Julian.
Your God is no mighty God. I will show you that the Emperor is stronger than he——
Bishop Maris.
Lost creature!—Then must I call down the ban upon thee, thou recreant son of the church!
Hekebolius.
[Pale.] My lord and Emperor, let not this thing be!
Bishop Maris.
[In a loud voice.] Cursed be thou, Julianus Apostata! Cursed be thou, Emperor Julian! God the Lord hath spat thee forth out of his mouth! Cursed be thine eyes and thy hands! Cursed be thy head and all thy doings!
Woe, woe, woe to the apostate! Woe, woe, woe——
[A hollow rumbling noise is heard. The roof and columns of the temple totter, and are seen to collapse with a thundering crash, while the whole building is wrapped in a cloud of dust. The multitude utter shrieks of terror; many flee, others fall to the ground. There is breathless stillness for a while. Little by little the cloud of dust settles, and the temple of Apollo is seen in ruins.
Bishop Maris.
[Whose two conductors have fled, stands alone, and says softly.] God has spoken.
Julian.
[Pale, and in a low voice.] Apollo has spoken. His temple was polluted: therefore he crushed it.
Bishop Maris.
And I tell you it was that Lord who laid the temple of Jerusalem in ruins.
Julian.
If it be so, then the churches of the Galilean shall be closed, and his priests shall be driven with scourges to raise up that temple anew.
Bishop Maris.
Try, impotent man! Who has had power to restore the temple of Jerusalem since the Prince of Golgotha called down destruction upon it?
Julian.
I have the power! The Emperor has the power! Your God shall be made a liar. Stone by stone will I rebuild the temple of Jerusalem in all its glory, as it was in the days of Solomon.
Bishop Maris.
Not one stone shall you add to another; for it is accursed of the Lord.
Julian.
Wait, wait; you shall see—if you could see—you who stand there forsaken and helpless, groping in the darkness, not knowing where you next may place your foot.
Bishop Maris.
Yet I see the glare of the lightning that shall one day fall upon you and yours.
[He gropes his way out. Julian remains behind, surrounded by a handful of pale and terrified attendants.