Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (145 page)

JULIAN.
[Standing close beside him.]
Your pardon, — is aught that a man may carry more precious than gold? —

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Can you buy back the fruits of your life for gold?

JULIAN.
True; true. But why, then, do you entrust them to the treacherous waters?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
The favour of man is more treacherous still.

JULIAN.
That word was wisdom. And whither do you sail with your treasures?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
To Athens.
[He is about to pass on.

JULIAN.
[With suppressed laughter.]
To Atheus! Then, oh man of wealth, you do not own your own riches.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
[Stops.] How so?

JULIAN.
Is it the part of a wise man to take owls to Athens?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
My owls cannot endure the church-lights here in the imperial city.
[To one of the young men.]
Give me your hand, Sallust. [Is
about to descend the steps.

SALLUST.
[Half — way down the steps, whispers.]
By the gods, it is he!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
He — ?

SALLUST.
On my life, ‘tis he! I know him; — I have seen him with Hekebolius.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Ah!
[He looks at
Julian
with furtive intentness; then goes a step towards him and says:
You smiled just now. At what did you smile?

JULIAN.
When you complained of the church-lights, I wondered whether it were not rather the imperial light of the lecture-halls that shone too bright in your eyes.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Envy cannot hide under the short cloak.

JULIAN.
What cannot hide shows forth.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
You have a sharp tongue, noble Galilean.

JULIAN.
Why Galilean? What proclaims me a Galilean?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Your court apparel.

JULIAN.
There is a philosopher beneath it; for I wear a very coarse shirt. — But tell me, what do you seek in Athens?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
What did Pontius Pilate seek?

JULIAN.
Nay, nay! Is not truth here, where Libanius is?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
[Looking hard at him.]
H’m! — Libanius? Libanius will soon be silent. Libanius is weary of the strife, my lord!

JULIAN.
Weary? He — the invulnerable, the ever victorious — ?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
He is weary of waiting for his peer.

JULIAN.
Now you jest, stranger! Where can Libanius hope to find his peer?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
His peer exists.

JULIAN.
Who? Where? Name him?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
It might be dangerous.

JULIAN.
Why?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Are you not a courtier?

JULIAN.
And what then?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
[In a lower voice.]
Would you be foolhardy enough to praise the Emperor’s successor?

JULIAN.
[Deeply shaken
.] Ah!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
[Hastily.]
If you betray me, I shall deny all!

JULIAN.
I betray no man; never fear, never fear! — The Emperor’s successor, you say? I cannot tell whom you mean; the Emperor has chosen no successor. — But why this jesting? Why did you speak of Libanius’s peer?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Yes or no — is there at the imperial court a youth who, by force and strict commandment, by prayers and persuasions, is held aloof from the light of the lecture-halls?

JULIAN.
[Hastily.]
That is done to keep his faith pure.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
[Smiling.] Has this young man so scant faith in his faith? What can he know about his faith? What does a soldier know of his shield until he has proved it in battle?

JULIAN.
True, true; — but they are loving kinsmen and teachers, I tell you —

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Phrases, my lord! Let me tell you this: it is for the Emperor’s sake that his young kinsman is held aloof from the philosophers. The Emperor has not the divine gift of eloquence. Doubtless the Emperor is great; but he cannot endure that his successor should shine forth over the empire —

JULIAN.
[In
confusion
.] And you dare to — !

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Ay, ay, you are wroth on your master’s account; but —

JULIAN.
Far from it; on the contrary — that is to say — Listen; my place is somewhat near that young prince. I would gladly learn ——

[Turns.]
Go apart, Agathon; I must speak alone with this man.
[Withdraws a few steps along with the stranger.
You said
“
shine forth”? “Shine forth over the empire?” What do you know, what can any of you know, of Prince Julian?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Can Sirius be hidden by a cloud? Will not the restless wind tear a rift in it here or there, so that —

JULIAN.
Speak plainly, I beg you.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
The palace and the church are as a double cage wherein the prince is mewed up. But the cage is not close enough. Now and then he lets fall an enigmatic word; the court vermin — forgive me, sir — the courtiers spread it abroad in scorn; its deep meaning does not exist for these gentlefolk — your pardon, sir — for most of them it does not exist.

JULIAN.
For none. You may safely say for none.

THE Philosopher. Yet surely for you; and at any rate for us. — Yes, he could indeed shine forth over the empire! Are there not legends of his childhood in Cappadocia, when, in disputation with his brother Gallus, he took the part of the gods, and defended them against the Galilean?

JULIAN.
That was in jest, mere practice in rhetoric —

THE PHILOSOPHER.
What has not Mardonius recorded of him? And afterwards Hekebolius! What art was there not even in his boyish utterances — what beauty, what grace in the light play of his thoughts!

JULIAN.
You think so?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Yes, in him we might indeed find an adversary to fear and yet to long for. What should hinder him from reaching so honourable an eminence? He lacks nothing but to pass through the same school through which Paul passed, and passed so unscathed that, when he afterwards joined the Galileans, he shed more light than all the other apostles together, because he possessed knowledge arid eloquence! Hekebolius fears for his pupil’s faith. Oh, I know it well; the fear is his. Does he forget then, in his exceeding tenderness of conscience, that he himself, in his youth, has drunk of those very springs from which he would now have his pupil debarred? Or think you it was not from us that he learned to use the weapons of speech which he now wields against us with such renowned dexterity?

JULIAN.
True, true; undeniably true!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
And what gifts has this Hekebolius in comparison with the gifts which declared themselves so marvellously in that princely boy, who, it is said, in Cappadocia, upon the graves of the slain Galileans, proclaimed a doctrine which I hold to be erroneous, and by so much the more difficult to instil, but which he nevertheless proclaimed with such fervour of spirit that — if I may believe a very widespread rumour — a multitude of children of his own age were carried away by him, and followed him as his disciples! Ah, Hekebolius is like the rest of you — more jealous than zealous; that is why Libanius has waited in vain.

JULIAN.
[seizes
him by the arm.]
What has Libanius said? Tell me, I conjure you, in the name of God?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
He has said all that you have just heard. And he has said still more. He has said:
“
Behold yon princely Galilean; he is an Achilles of the spirit.”

JULIAN.
Achilles!
[Softly.]
My mother’s dream! The PHILOSOPHER. There, in the open lecture-halls, lies the field of battle. Light and gladness encompass the fighters and the fray. Javelins of speech hurtle through the air; keen swords of wit clash in the combat; the blessed gods sit smiling in the clouds —

JULIAN.
Oh, away from me with your heathendom —

THE PHILOSOPHER.
 
— and the heroes go home to their tents, their arms entwined, their hearts untouched by rancour, their cheeks aglow, the blood coursing swiftly through every vein, admired, applauded, and with laurels on their brows. Ah, where is Achilles? I cannot see him. Achilles is wroth —

JULIAN.
Achilles is unhappy! — But can I believe it! Oh, tell me — my brain is dizzy — has Libanius said all this?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
What brought Libanius to Constantinople? Had he any other end than to achieve the illustrious friendship of a certain youth?

JULIAN.
Speak the truth! No, no; this cannot be true. How reconcile it with the scoffs and jibes that — ? Who scoffs at one whose friendship he would seek?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Wiles of the Galileans to build up a wall of wrath and hate between the two champions.

JULIAN.
Yet you will not deny that it was Libanius — ?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
I will deny everything to the uttermost.

JULIAN.
The lampoons were not his?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Not one of them. They have all been hatched in the palace, and spread abroad under his name —

JULIAN.
Ah, what do you tell me — ?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
What I will avouch before all the world. You have a sharp tongue. — who knows but that you yourself —

JULIAN.
I — ! But can I believe this? Libanius did not write them? Not one of them?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
No, no!

JULIAN.
Not even those infamous lines about Atlas with the crooked shoulders?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
No, no, I tell you.

JULIAN.
Nor that foolish and ribald verse about the ape in court dress?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Ha, ha; that came from the church, not from the lecture-hall. You disbelieve it? I tell you it was Hekebolius —

JULIAN.
Hekebolius! —

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Yes, Hekebolius, Hekebolius himself, to breed hatred between his enemy and his pupil —

JULIAN.
[Clenching his fists
.] Ah, if it were so!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
If that blinded and deceived young man had known us philosophers, he would not have dealt so hardly with us.

JULIAN.
Of what are you speaking?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
It is too late now. Farewell, my lord!
[Going.

JULIAN.
[Seizes his hand.]
Friend and brother, who are you?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
One who sorrows to see the God-born go to ruin.

JULIAN.
What do you call the God-born?

THE PHILOSOPHER.
The Uncreated in the Ever-changing.

JULIAN.
Still I am in the dark.

THE PHILOSOPHER.
There is a whole glorious world to which you Galileans are blind. In it our life is one long festival, amid statues and choral songs, foaming goblets in our hands, and our locks entwined with roses. Airy bridges span the gulfs between spirit and spirit, stretching away to the farthest orbs in space — I know one who might be king of all that vast and sunlit realm.

JULIAN.
[In dread.]
Ay, at the cost of his salvation!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
What is salvation? Reunion with the primal deeps.

JULIAN.
Yes, in conscious life. Reunion for me, as the being I am!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Reunion like that of the raindrop with the sea, like that of the crumbling leaf with the earth that bore it.

JULIAN.
Oh, had I but learning! Had I but the weapons to use against you!

THE PHILOSOPHER.
Take to yourself weapons, young man! The lecture-hall is the armoury of intellect and talent —