Julian.
I know it; I know all you tell me. Alexander is a rough man, without morals and without eloquence. Alexander has in no way deserved so great advancement. But you may tell the citizens of Antioch that they have deserved Alexander. Ay, they have, if possible, deserved a still worse ruler, covetous and intractable as they are
Libanius.
It is, then, as we feared; this is a punishment
Julian.
Hear me, Libanius! How did I come hither? With full confidence in the people of this city. Antioch, chosen by the Sun-King for his especial seat, was to help me to repair all the wrong and ingratitude which had so long been shown to the immortals. But how have you met me? Some with defiance, others with lukewarmness. What have I not to endure here? Does not that Cappadocian, Gregory of Nazianzus, still wander about the city, stirring up the ignorant Galileans by his audacious speeches? Has not a poet arisen among them—a certain Apollinaris—who, with his wild songs, inflames their fanaticism to the point of madness?
And what do I not learn from other places? In Caesarea, have they not carried out their threat, and wrecked the temple of Fortuna! Oh shame and infamy! Where were the goddess's worshippers the while? Did they prevent it? No, they did not lift a finger, Libanius, though they should have laid down life itself to preserve the sanctuary.
