’Tis late in the day, sire; will you not eat?
Julian.
Not yet, my Eutherius. ’Tis good for all men to mortify the flesh.
Yes, I tell you, we must make haste to become a new generation. I can do nothing with you as you are. If you would escape from the desert, you must lead a pure life. Look at the Galileans. We might learn more than one lesson from these men. There are none poverty-stricken and helpless among them; they live together as brethren and sisters,—and most of all now, when their obstinacy has forced me to chastise them. These Galileans, you must know, have something in their hearts which I could greatly desire that you should emulate. You call yourselves followers of Socrates, of Plato, of Diogenes. Is there one of you who would face death with ecstasy for Plato’s sake? Would our Priscus sacrifice his left hand for Socrates? Would Kytron, for Diogenes’ sake, let his ear be cut off? No, truly! I know you, whited sepulchres! Begone out of my sight;—I can do nothing with you!
[The philosophers slink away; the others also disperse, whispering anxiously. Only Oribases and Eutherius remain behind with the Emperor. Anatolus, the officer of the guard, still stands with his soldiers outside the tent.
Julian.
How strange! Is it not inconceivable, unfathomable? Oribases,—can you rede me this riddle?
Oribases.
What riddle do you mean, my Emperor?
Julian.