But wait, wait! The Galileans of Caesarea shall atone with their blood, and the whole city shall go up in flames as soon as I have time at my disposal.
Libanius.
My lord and friend,—if you would permit me
Julian.
Permit me, first. Say yourself whether I ought to tolerate such things? Say whether my zeal can bear with such insults to the divinities who hover over and shield me? But what can I do? Have I not laboured through many a long night to disprove these unhappy delusions,—writing, Libanius, till my eyes were red, and my fingers black with ink? And what good, think you, has it done? I have reaped scorn instead of thanks, not only from the fanatics themselves, but even from men who pretend to share my opinions. And now, to crown all these mortifications, I find you acting as spokesman for the complaints of a handful of citizens against Alexander, who at least does his best to keep the Galileans in check.
Libanius.
Oh, my august friend,—that is precisely our ground of complaint.
Julian.
Do <g>you</g> tell me this?
Libanius.
'Tis not with my own good will that I do the city's errands. I urged upon the council that they ought to choose for this task the most distinguished
