Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (144 page)

THE YOUNG MAN.
Oh, do you not remember Agathon — ?

JULIAN.
Agathon! What say you? Agathon was a boy — : —

AGATHON.
Six years ago. — I knew you at once.
[Coming nearer.

JULIAN.
Agathon; — by the holy cross, but I believe it is!

AGATHON.
Look at me; look well —

JULIAN.
[Embracing and kissing him.]
Friend of my childhood! Playmate! Dearest of them all! And you are here? How wonderful! You have come all the long way over the mountains, and then across the sea, — the whole long way from Cappadocia?

AGATHON.
I came two days ago, by ship, from Ephesus. Oh, how I have sought in vain for you these two days. At the palace gates the guards would not let me pass, and —

JULIAN.
Did you speak my name to any one? or say that you were in search of me?

AGATHON.
No, I dared not, because —

JULIAN.
There you did right; never let any one know more than you needs must — . Come hither, Agathon; out into the full moonlight, that I may see you. — How you have grown, Agathon; — how strong you look.

AGATHON.
And you are paler.

JULIAN.
I cannot thrive in the air of the palace. I think it is unwholesome here.—’Tis far otherwise at Makellon. Makellon lies high. No other town in Cappadocia lies so high; ah, how the fresh snowwinds from the Taurus sweep over it — ! Are you weary, Agathon?

AGATHON.
Oh, in no wise.

JULIAN.
Let us sit down nevertheless. It is so quiet and lonely here. Close together; so!
[Draws him down upon a seat beside the balustrade.]
—” Can any good thing come out of Cappadocia,” they say. Yes — friends can come. Can anything be better? [L
ooks long at him.
How was it possible that I did not know you at once? Oh, my beloved treasure, is it not just as when we were boys — ?

AGATHON.
[
Sinking down before him.]
I at your feet, as of old.

JULIAN.
No, no, no — !

AGATHON.
Oh, let me kneel thus!

JULIAN.
Oh, Agathon, it is a sin and a mockery to kneel to me. If you but knew how sinful I have become. Hekebolius, my beloved teacher, is sorely concerned about me, Agathon. He could tell you — How thick and moist your hair has grown; and how it curls. — But Mardonius — how goes it with him? His hair must be almost white now?

AGATHON.
It is snow-white.

JULIAN.
How well Mardonius could interpret Homer! I am sure my old Mardonius has not his like at that. — Heroes embattled against heroes — and the gods above fanning the flames. I saw it all, as with my eyes.

AGATHON.
Then your mind was set on being a great and victorious warrior.

JULIAN.
They were happy times, those six years in Cappadocia. Were the years longer then than now? It seems so, when I think of all they contained — Yes, they were happy years. We at our books, and Gallus on his Persian horse. He swept over the plain like the shadow of a cloud. — Oh, but one thing you must tell me. The church — ?

AGATHON.
The church? Over the Holy Mamas’s grave?

JULIAN.
[Smiling faintly
.] Which Gallus and I built. Gallus finished his aisle; but I — ; mine never fully prospered. — How has it gone on since?

AGATHON.
Not at all. The builders said it was impossible as you had planned it.

JULIAN.
[Thoughtfully
.] No doubt, no doubt. I wronged them in thinking them incapable. Now I know why it was not to be. I must tell you, Agathon: — Mamas was a false saint.

AGATHON.
The Holy Mamas?

JULIAN.
That Mamas was never a martyr. His whole legend was a strange delusion. Hekebolius has, with infinite research, arrived at the real truth, and I myself have lately composed a slight treatise on the subject — a treatise, my Agathon, which certain philosophers are said, strangely enough, to have mentioned with praise in the lecturerooms — The Lord keep my heart free from vanity! The evil tempter has countless wiles; one can never know — . That Gallus should succeed and I fail! Ah, my Agathon, when I think of that church-building, I see Cain’s altar —

AGATHON.
Julian!

JULIAN.
God will have none of me, Agathon!

AGATHON.
Ah, do not speak so! Was not God strong in you when you led me out of the darkness of heathendom, and gave me light over all my days — child though you then were!

JULIAN.
All that is like a dream to me.

AGATHON.
And yet so blessed a truth.

JULIAN.
If only it were so now! — Where did I find the words of fire? The air seemed full of hymns of praise — a ladder from earth to heaven —
[Gazes straight before him
.] Did you see it?

AGATHON.
What?

JULIAN.
The star that fell; there, behind the two cypresses. [Is
silent a moment, then suddenly changes his tone.]
Have I told you what my mother dreamed the night before I was born?

AGATHON.
I do not recall it.

JULIAN.
No, no, I remember — I heard of it after we parted.

AGATHON.
What, did she dream?

JULIAN.
My mother dreamed that she gave birth to Achilles.

AGATHON.
[Eagerly.]
Is your faith in dreams as strong as ever?

JULIAN.
Why do you ask?

AGATHON.
You shall hear; it concerns what has driven me to cross the sea —

JULIAN.
You have a special errand here? I had quite forgotten to ask you —

AGATHON.
A. strange errand; so strange that I am lost in doubt and disquietude. There is so much I should like to know first — about life in the city — about yourself — and the Emperor —

JULIAN.
[Looks hard at him.]
Tell me the truth, Agathon — with whom have you spoken before meeting me?

AGATHON.
With no one.

JULIAN.
When did you arrive?

AGATHON.
I have told you — two days ago.

JULIAN.
And already you want to know — ? What would you know about the Emperor? Has any one set you on to — ?
[Embraces him
.] Oh, forgive me, Agathon, my friend!

AGATHON.
What? Why?

JULIAN.
[
Rises and listens
.] Hush! — No, it was nothing — only a bird in the bushes — I am very happy here. Wherefore should you doubt it? Have I not all my family gathered here? at least — all over whom a gracious Saviour has held his hand.

AGATHON.
And the Emperor is as a father to you?

JULIAN.
The Emperor is beyond measure wise and good.

AGATHON. [
Who has also risen
.] Julian, is the rumour true that you are one day to be the Emperor’s successor?

JULIAN.
[Hastily.]
Speak not of such dangerous matters. I know not what foolish rumours are abroad. — Why do you question me so much? Not a word will I answer till you nave told me what brings you to Constantinople.

AGATHON.
I come at the bidding of the Lord God.

JULIAN.
If you love your Saviour or your salvation, get you home again.
[Leans over the balustrade and
listens
.] Speak softy; a boat is coming in —
[Leads him over towards the other side.
What would you here? Kiss the splinter of the holy cross? — Get you home again, I say! Know you what Constantinople has become in these last fifteen months? A Babylon of blasphemy. — Have you not heard — do you not know that Libanius is here?

AGATIION.
Ah, Julian, I know not Libanius.

JULIAN.
Secluded Cappadocian! Happy region, where his voice and his teaching have found no echo.

AGATHON.
Ah, he is one of those heathen teachers of falsehood — ?

JULIAN.
This most dangerous of them all.

AGATHON.
Surely not more dangerous than Aedesius of Pergamus?

JULIAN.
Aedesius! — who now thinks of Aedesius of Pergamus? Aedesius is in his dotage ——

AGATHON.
Is he more dangerous than even that mysterious Maximus?

JULIAN.
Maximus? Do not speak of that mountebank. Who knows anything certain of Maximus?

AGATHON.
He avers that he has slept three years in a cave beyond Jordan.

JULIAN.
Hekebolius holds him an impostor, and doubtless he is not far wrong — No, no, Agathon — Libanius is the most dangerous. Our sinful earth has writhed, as it were, under this scourge. Portents foretold his coming. A pestilential sickness slew men by thousands in the city. And then, when it was over, in the month of November, fire rained from heaven night by night. Nay, do not doubt it, Agathon! I have myself seen the stars break from their spheres, plunge down towards earth, and burn out on the way. Since then he has lectured here, the philosopher, the orator. All proclaim him the king of eloquence; and well they may. I tell you he is terrible. Youths and men flock around him; he binds their souls in bonds, so that they must follow him; denial flows seductively from his lips, like songs of the Trojans and the Greeks —

AGATHON.
[In terror
.] Oh, you too have sought him Julian!

JULIAN.
[Shrinking back.]
I! — God preserve me from such a sin. Should any rumours come to your ears, believe them not. ‘Tis not true that I have sought out Libanius by night, in disguise. All contact with him would be a horror to me. Besides, the Emperor has forbidden it, and Hekebolius still more strictly. — All believers who approach that subtle man fall away and turn to scoffers. And not they alone. His words are borne from mouth to mouth, even into the Emperor’s palace. His airy mockery, his incontrovertible arguments, his very lampoons seem to blend with my prayers; — they are to me like those monsters in the shape of birds who befouled all the food of a pious wandering hero of yore. I sometimes feel with horror that my gorge rises at the true meat of the Word — [
With an irrepressible outburst
.] Were the empire mine, I would send you the head of Libunius on a charger!

AGATHON.
But how can the Emperor tolerate this? How can our pious, Christian Emperor — ?

JULIAN.
The Emperor? Praised be the Emperor’s faith and piety! But the Emperor has no thoughts for anything but this luckless Persian war. All minds are full of it. No one heeds the war that is being waged here, against the Prince of Golgotha. Ah, my Agathon, it is not now as it was two years ago. Then the two brothers of the Mystic Maximus had to pay for their heresies with their lives. You do not know what mighty allies Libanius has. One or other of the lesser philosophers is now and then driven from the city; on him no one dares lay a finger. I have begged, I have implored both Hekebolius and the Empress to procure his banishment. But no, no! — What avails it to drive away the others? This one man poisons the air for all of us. Oh, thou my Saviour, if I could but flee from all this abomination of heathendom! To live here is to live in the lion’s den —

AGATHON.
[
Eagerly
.] Julian — what was that you said?

JULIAN.
Yes, yes; only a miracle can save us?

AGATHON.
Oh, then listen! That miracle has happened.

JULIAN.
What mean you?

AGATHON.
You shall hear, Julian; for now I can no longer doubt that it is you it concerns. What sent me to Constantinople was a vision —

JULIAN.
A vision, you say!

AGATHON.
A heavenly revelation —

JULIAN.
Oh, for God’s pity’s sake, speak! — Hush, do not speak. Wait — some one is coming. Stand here, quite carelessly; — look unconcerned.
Both remain standing beside the balustrade. A
tall
handsome, middle-aged man, dressed, according to the fashion of the philosophers, in a short cloak, enters by the avenue on the left. A troop of youths accompanies him, all in girt-up garments, with wreaths of ivy in their hair, and carrying books, papers, and parchments. Laughter and loud talk among them as they approach.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Let nothing fall into the water, my joyous Gregory! Remember, what you carry is more precious than gold.