Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 5).djvu/267

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Panic-stricken, oh Emperor? Have you not already the applause of Greece? Are you not come to reinstate all exiled virtues in their ancient rights? Do we not find concentred in you all the victorious genius of Herakles, of Dionysus, of Solon, of

Hush! Only the praise of the dead shall be heard to-day. The boat has reached the wharf. Take my crown and my chains; I will not wear the insignia of empire at such a time as this.

[''He hands the ornaments to one of the bystanders. The funeral procession advances along the landing-stage, with great pomp. Priests with lighted candles walk at its head; the coffin is drawn on a low-wheeled carriage; church banners are borne before and after the carriage; choristers swing censers; crowds of Christian citizens follow after.''

[Laying his hand on the coffin, and sighing audibly.] Ah!

Did he cross himself?

No.

You see; you see!

And he did not bow before the sacred image.