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.
