 | Julian The Apostate |  |
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Julian on a couch in the back ground.
Enter Maximus.
MAXIMUS
(gazes some time on JULIAN.)
O paltry human nature! What, must I mount
By such poor things as these? Thou woman-hearted!
Thy veins run milk—not blood. Would 'twere slow poison,
So might'st thou be short prologue to my drama!
Shrink'st thou from crimes that other hands commit?
Ere I have done with thee, thy soul shall drink
Deep of that draught! Thy lips shall smack of blood!
That hand shall smell of slaughter! that weak heart
Pant in the hot chains of an evil conscience!
Oh! I shall link thee with the dæmons yet,
And make thee all infernal! What if he fail?
What if I lose this goodly stake? Why then,
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(Aloud.
Lord Julian! be a man; awake, arise!
(Julian slowly raises himself on his elbow, surveys Maximus, waves him to depart, and sinks down again.)
MAXIMUS.
How shall we rouse him from this lethargy?
The tide of opportunity ebbs quickly.
Who waits there? Ho!
(Enter a Soldier.
Know'st thou the Lord Nevitta?
SOLDIER.
Ay, my good Lord.
MAXIMUS.
The Cæsar needs his presence.
(Exit Soldier.
My plot hath been well weighed, well timed, and hath
Conspiring agents in thy breast, Constantius.
But, ere thou diest, thy own rash choice must give
A colourable motive and just purpose
To such bold actions. Thus we reconcile,
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Enter Nevitta.
Nevitta, brave Nevitta! souls like thine
Spurn the delays of cautious policy.
In truth it irketh me too. But Nevitta,
Lives must be spared: we shed no innocent blood;
And therefore plot before we strike.
NEVITTA.
Good Priest,
I am a soldier, rough of soul and limb,
And, in a good cause, care not where I strike.
The skilful leech spares not his probe.
MAXIMUS.
'Tis true.
And yet, we must be scrupulous, if only
For virtue's sake; nor incompatible
With valour and the law of soldiership:
And therefore have we plotted ere we strike.
The messengers from that poor cozened fool
Constantius must arrive soon. That will rouse
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Hast thou sent airy Fame forth through our camp
To blow strange rumours in affrighted ears?
NEVITTA.
Even so: a trusty representative;
A tall, gaunt soldier, with a querulous eye,
That ever spies round discontentedly;
Restless of limb, and restless in his tongue:
A man too modest for the naked truth.
In short, a very poet, who can make
Marvels seem facts, and all facts marvellous.
MAXIMUS.
Right, right. This sows the seeds of discontent
Coming events shall ripen. What's his name?
NEVITTA.
An old centurion, Mutius.
MAXIMUS.
'Tis well.
Enter an Officer.
How goes the camp? Thy steps are hasty.
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Sir,
A sudden mutiny has ta'en men's minds,
I know not wherefore.
MAXIMUS.
Well, we have heard some rumour;
What hast thou seen, what heard?
OFFICER.
Some, with wild cries,
Run to their arms; some, like men roused from sleep,
Half-naked, spring on their unharnessed horses:
Here 's one, on the sudden snatches a trumpet up,
And sends a dissonant blast through its hoarse throat,
Then bellows ‘Treason.’ There, on a heap of armour,
With looks of lean dismay, a night-worn sentinel
Limps up and plays the demagogue, thick crowds
Hemming him round with their up-gaping faces.
MAXIMUS.
Hear'st thou, Nevitta? Thou hast loosed a mad dog
Amongst our sober legion'ries.
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Brave Mutius!
It is in truth a cunning hound, and keen too;
No nose like his to hunt a cool scent up;
He hath the natural aptitude.
Enter another Officer.
2D OFFICER.
My Lords,
The camp is all in motion: hither tending
Some unexpected pageant. Legates, they say,
From the Emperor.
MAXIMUS.
So soon, so very soon?
The Gods promote our enterprise. Nevitta,
To thy post: be circumspect.
NEVITTA.
I say, be bold.
(Exeunt Nevitta and Officers.
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MAXIMUS
(aside.)
True, yet my mind misgives me.
(Glancing at Julian's couch.
He's not himself now:
These moments are as ages!
(Aloud, as if on the sudden perceiving them.
Ha! dear friends,
Lord Prefect Jovian—Prince Hormisdas.—Thou too,
Most reverend Mark of Arethusa! Welcome.
We had some foretaste of your coming: men
Cooped up in idle camps, having quick ears,
Catch the faint echo of approaching footsteps.
JOVIAN.
Thanks, Maximus, and many greetings. Truly,
Our coming seemed to stir men's minds: methought
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We men of peace half liked it not.
MAXIMUS.
Regard them
As wild beasts—but in bondage: they were beneath
The keeper's eye, and knew it.
MARK.
'Twas our surety.
But say, Sir, is the Prince well?
MAXIMUS.
Holy prelate,
Your presence is a cordial which he needs.
Doubtless ye come kind messengers; and trust me,
'Tis best so: he's much changed. But, pardon me,
Your presence comes so gratefully upon us,
Cheering our faintness like a spring i' th' desert,
That I forget my duties, and postpone
My customed loyal thoughts to courtesy.
How is my much-loved and imperial Master?
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Well—yet not well: and, Maximus, it grieves me
To see the Cæsar thus: much do I fear
My errand—
MAXIMUS.
Soft, 'tis right he be apprised
(And quickly, or he'll chafe else) of your mission.
Excuse me, Sirs.
(He approaches Julian's couch.
My Lord! Here 's news of one
You value much, Constantius.
JULIAN
(starting up violently.)
Say'st thou so?
Is the deed done? Let 's see thy hands: they have
No stain: they want the livery of slaughter.
Go, go. Thou tempest me, I am a man yet,
A slave—but yet a man, a guiltless man!
MAXIMUS.
My Lord, you do mistake.
JULIAN.
Ay, 'tis gone forth,
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Hath had its consummation in the will!
Oh that the thoughts were sealed, or had no record!
MAXIMUS.
Sir, this is not a time for idle qualms;
Arouse your mind. Behold what eyes are on you.
JULIAN
(stepping fiercely forward.)
Whom have we here unbidden? I did abjure
The presence of my species. I have no kindred
Feeling with any of your race: my heart
Dwells lonely in its scorn of earth and man:
Why am I thus intruded on? Away!
MARK.
Julian,
Not all ignoble pilgrims, to a shrine
Of many noble attributes we journey
On a forced errand.
JULIAN.
Ha! what voice is that?
It hath the spell of oracles; it wakes
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Within my anxious brain! Thou good old man,
What dost thou here? Alas, this is no home
For piety and virtue. Why art thou here?
Eyes should not meet, when hearts are far asunder.
MAXIMUS
(aside.)
This must not be: there 's danger in these thoughts.—
My Lords, our conference must close. Some rumours
Have got into this busy heart, our camp,
Doubtless of weak invention, yet sufficing
To peril the realm's peace. Ambassadors,
You may perhaps appease this troubled spirit.
Enter Nevitta, Mutius, and crowd of angry Soldiers.
NEVITTA.
I can restrain this mob no longer.
There 's not a tuneless throat in our wild army
But clamours for their General. Here they press
Like jackals that do bay the moon.
JULIAN.
Kind friends,
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Blind to affection; yet it pains me. Pray you
Rein in your passions with discretion. Men
Who know us not, to such a scene as this
Might give a strange interpretation.
Pray you retire.
1ST SOLDIER.
General, you are betrayed.
2nd.
They have deceived us, Cæsar.
3rd.
What are these men?
1st.
What purpose ye?
2nd.
(in an attitude of menace)
Speak, speak, or—
JULIAN.
Hold, my friends:
On your allegiance—on your love! Good Jovian,
You hold the clue here. Solve it, I beseech you,
JOVIAN.
Romans, you were not wont to soil your steel
With old men's blood, or trample the white hairs
Of a defenceless veteran in the dust.
If haply I'm a messenger of evil,
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Yet, must I shrink back from a solemn duty,
Because the task be perilous? Oh, no!
I fear not, for I know you.
MUTIUS
(from the crowd.)
Worthy Sir,
To the point.
JOVIAN.
Prince Julian, 'tis the imperial will
That you forthwith repair to Thrace; meanwhile
Those legions too march eastward.
(Soldiers rush forward, Julian throws himself before Jovian.)
JULIAN.
Touch him not:
Touch him not, Soldiers—he is innocent.
This tent is sacred as the hallowed altar;
Our presence is a sanctuary.
MUTIUS
(from the crowd, who fall back.)
General,
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Doubtless you know best: so, fall back, brave comrades,
Stir not a finger.
1ST SOLDIER.
Hark-ye, old man, I would
We had you to ourselves.
2nd.
Ay, by the Gods!
We have met, but have not parted.
JULIAN.
Faithful companions—
MUTIUS.
Silence, ye snarling knaves. Have ye no sense?
Our General would be heard.
JULIAN.
Old comrades! hear me.
I have fought too many fields with you, and braved
Death in too many shapes with you, and tried
Your valour by its true test—mercy; proved
Your faith by patience in adversity;
Your just affection by your firm obedience;
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These two old men—(and worthier never yet
Grew grey in their ungrateful country's service)—
Is it their fault their master does a wrong?
Is it their folly that he is not wise?
Must they await the penance of his crime?
No more, no more of this. Already in
Your altered eyes I read your better judgment.
Now let me touch more pressing topics. Here,
In Gaul, our rescued country, a poor remnant,
After much toil, much glory, many dangers,
We rest at last: it was the promised goal
To which we rushed through death. Shall we resign
Our hopes, renounce our rights, forget our wrongs,
Because an impotent lip beneath a crown
Cries “Be it so.” Oh, shall our shattered barks
Be at the mercy of a man's weak breath?
We, that had looked to dedicate our wounds,
And hang our bruised armour up, proud trophies,
'Neath the dear roofs of our domestic Gods—
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On far Euphrates marshes? Must we whiten
The deserts of Arabia with our bones?
Comrades, 'tis thus the Emperor wills. For me,
Were disobedience death, I disobey.
NEVITTA.
(Stepping forward in front of soldiery.
Excuse my abrupt speech; in the name of all
(For I know all; each individual heart,
Lip, eye, and casual change of countenance,
Have in this bosom true interpreters;)
I answer. You are our old General,
And we will have no other General.
You are our Sovereign, throned in our strong hearts,
And we will have no other Sovereign.
As freemen, we reject unlawful bonds;
As just men, we will not forego our rights;
As brave men, we will fence them with our swords.
This is our creed, Sir: this all hearts will ratify:
For this we are prepared to die!
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All, all!
MAXIMUS.
My friends, if after words like these, 'twere prudent
To venture somewhat couched in calmer spirit,
I might perhaps infer, too much is purposed,
Or yet too little done. You have passed the line
Of strict allegiance; and the penalty
Tyrants have seldom practised to remit.
Think of Coriolanus, and with him
Contrast the Cæsar of the Rubicon.
NEVITTA.
Thanks for the hint, old Maximus; we have tried
The water's depth, and we will swim the stream.
Cæsar! our country has been stabbed through us;
Be thou the healer of our wounds.
MUTIUS.
Speak out:
We have cast the die, and must not lose the stake.
Speak, Julian, speak—Wilt thou be Emperor?
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Ay, that 's my mind.
2nd.
And mine.
3rd.
And mine.
4th.
And mine.
MUTIUS.
Then give a general shout, and send scared Echo
Even to the frighted ears of Tyranny.
No longer Cæsar now, all hail Augustus!
Julian Augustus, Julian Augustus, hail!
(Julian covers his face with his hand as the Soldiers repeat this cry. They press clamorously round him.)
MAXIMUS.
My prince, consent; 'tis death or empire.
JULIAN.
Well,
This is no time for thought; no choice; so be it.
Comrades, I thank you!—as you will.
(General shout.
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Huzza!
Huzza, huzza! Long live the Emperor!
(The Soldiers lift Julian on their shields and bear him out triumphantly.)
Manent Mark, Jovian, Hormisdas.
JOVIAN.
Bishop of Arethusa, do we dream?
Or has some sudden shadow of the brain
Obscured our just perceptions? Oh! is this
The Julian thou didst wrap thy fancy round,
And solaced our slow way with picturing?
Saidst thou his soul was eagle-winged? In sooth
It hath the talon and the beak—the wing
Daring in flight, and eye of empery.
MARK.
My Lord, in very truth I'm sick to the soul;
Bewildered—stunned; struck to the feeble spring
Of my old blood. Excuse my fainting spirit;
My vigour hath collapsed—I am a child now.
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Yet was there never need of manlier counsel;
A judgment, calm, clear, deep, like a hushed lake
Before the storm hath stirred its anger up.
What think'st thou, Prince Hormisdas? Nay, my Lord,
Hath thine eye caught the fascination?
HORMISDAS.
Gods!
There is some hope for Persia yet! Behold him,
How graciously, yet with what noble air,
That master-spirit rides on their stout shoulders.
How on their necks, that feel nor weight nor yoke,
(Even like caparisoned steeds that snuff the battle,)
He plants his firm foot! See, his outstretched arm
Draws out his mantle's lordly drapery!
He speaks—the sun hath touched his fine-turned head
(Bare, and his black locks shook out in the wind)
With a new glory. Beautiful!
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Alas! Sir,
You see, as once I saw, with youthful eyes.
HORMISDAS.
Oh, if it be the sin of youth to yield
The fresh heart to its ecstasy, and clothe
Man's mortal mould in garniture of Gods,
The visionary garb of hopeless virtue,
May I ne'er pass this noon of life, nor mourn
The twilight of an earth-worn spirit!
JOVIAN.
Prince,
Thou look'st to the fair side of things; perhaps
With more of wisdom, deeper philosophy,
Than they who bind down reason to vain schools,
And chain kind feelings to the formula
Of habit.
MARK.
Nay, Sir, worldly experience hath
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Of solemn revelation.
JOVIAN.
I know not.
Reason lends small aid in a case like this.
MARK.
Conscience and faith do much.
JOVIAN.
My mind misgives me,
Julian hath cause to be dissatisfied:
Much scope for sorrow; ample precedent
For hatred—fear. The name of traitor
Suits not with his past actions—traitorous thoughts
Were not the aliment of his young hopes.
We cannot stem this current: it were better
To be partakers of its vigour.
MARK.
Surely
To argue with a heart conflicting thus
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Let us depart.
HORMISDAS.
Ay, in the Cæsar's train:
My mind 's resolved. Now his, and his for ever.
(Exeunt.
| Julian The Apostate | |