The face of Hepherion grew dark and he went away.
Gorgius smote his head and said—
"I am wasting time in gossip. The sun is up; the sacrifice must be performed. Come!"
"Wait," said the Emperor. "I wished to ask you something more. Have you ever heard that the Emperor Julian desired to restore to honour the worship of the old gods?"
"Yes, but ... what can he do, poor man? He will not succeed. I tell you—all's over!"
"Have you faith in the gods?" asked Julian. "Can the Olympians quit us so for ever?"
The old man sighed, and hanging his head—
"My son, you're young; although there are white hairs shining in your dark locks, and furrows on your brow already. But in the days when my hair was black and young girls used to look at me with favour, I remember sailing in a ship, near Thessalonica, and seeing Mount Olympus. Its base and its girdle melted into blue, and its snowy summit seemed hanging in the air, dominating sky and sea, golden and inaccessible. I mused 'Behold the dwelling of the gods!' and I was full of emotion. But on this same ship there was a scoffing old man who called himself an Epicurean. He pointed out Mount Olympus, and said to me: 'My friend, travellers have long ago climbed Olympus, and they saw that it was an ordinary mountain, like other mountains, on which there was nothing but snow, ice and stones!' And those words sank so deep into my heart that I shall remember them all my life."
The Emperor smiled—
"Old man, your faith is childish. Suppose there were no Olympus—why should not the gods exist above, in the kingdom of the eternal Ideas, in the realm of the soul's light?"