In one of the halls of his palace at Constantinople Julian was busy with affairs of state.
Between the porphyry columns on the terrace, looking out on the Bosphorus, lay a sparkling view of the pale blue sea. The young Emperor was seated at a round marble table, covered with papyri and rolls of parchment. Silentiaries of the palace stooped over the table, scribbling audibly with reed-pens. Some had a sleepy expression, not being accustomed to get up at such an early hour. Standing a little aloof, behind the colonnade, two men were exchanging observations in a low voice. These were Hekobolis and Julius Mauricus, an official with an intelligent, bilious countenance. This elegant Court sceptic, amidst general superstition, was one of the last admirers of Lucian, the satirist of Samos, author of stinging dialogues, in which he railed so pitilessly at all the idols of Olympus and Golgotha, every tradition of Greece and Rome. Julian was dictating a document to the chief priest of Galicia, Arsacius—
"Do not allow the sacrificial priests to frequent the theatre, to drink in taverns, or follow low trades. Respect the obedient, punish the unfaithful. In every town cause guest-houses to be built for pilgrims, who should therein find ample charity. Not only for Hellenist pilgrims, but for all, to whatever profession of faith they may belong. We ordain to be distributed in Galicia thirty thousand measures of wheat, a hundred and twenty thousand gallons of wine. Distributea fifth part amongst the poor living near the temple, the rest amongst pilgrims and the sick. It is shameful that the Hellenists starve, when the Jews have not a beggar amongst them and the Galileans feed both their own poor and ours. They act like those who entice children with sweetmeats, beginning by hospitality, inviting to feasts of brotherly love. Little by little they finish by fasts, flagellations, madness, deaths of martyrs, and the horror of hell. Such are the customary means of those enemies of the human race who call themselves Christians and brothers. Combat them by charity, given in the name of the eternal Olympian gods. Announce in all cities and villages that such is my heartfelt will. If I learn that you have acted according to my decree, my favour shall be with you. Explain to the citizens that I hold myself in readiness to come to their help at any moment in all circumstances. But if they desire to obtain my favours, let them bow before Dindymene, the great Cybele, mother of the gods, and let them give glory unto her throughout all peoples, throughout all time."
He wrote the concluding words with his own hand.
Breakfast was served—bread, cheese, fresh olives, and a light white wine. Julian ate and drank without ceasing work. But suddenly he turned and pointing to the golden plate of olives, asked his favourite slave, who had been brought by him from Gaul, and invariably served him at table—
"Why this gold plate? Where is the other in earthenware?"
"Pardon, sire!... it is broken."
"Broken to pieces?"
"No—at the edge only...."
"Bring it here."
The slave ran to get the plate in question.
"It can be used for a long time yet," said Julian.
He smiled.
"My friends, I have long observed that the broken outlasts the new. I confess I have a fancy for cracked things. They have the charm of old friends!... I fear novelty and hate change," and he laughed heartily at himself. "You see what philosophy lies in a broken plate!"
Julius Mauricus twitched Hekobolis by the sleeve—
"Did you hear? That's his character! He keeps his cracked plates and expiring gods; and that is how a world's destiny is decided!"
Julian had become completely absorbed in edicts and laws for reform.
In every city in the Empire it was his wish to found schools, lectureships, debating-halls; special forms of prayer, and philosophic sermons, refuges for the upright, and for those who desired to devote themselves to philanthropic meditation.
"What?" whispered Mauricus to Hekobolis. "Monasteries in honour of Aphrodite and Apollo? A new horror!"
"Yes, my friend, with the aid of the gods we shall accomplish it all," concluded the Emperor. "The Galileans want to convince the world that they have a monopoly of brotherly love, although it belongs to all philosophers, whatever be the gods they revere. My task in the world is to preach a new love; a love free and glad as the very sky of the Olympians!"
Julian glanced round those present, but on the faces of his dignitaries did not find what he sought. Deputations from the Christian professors of rhetoric and philosophy at this moment entered the hall. Anedict forbidding Christian teachers to give instruction in classical eloquence had recently appeared. The Christian grammarians had therefore to renounce their faith or quit their schools.
Scroll in hand, one of these teachers approached the Emperor. He was a little thin man with a confused manner, bearing a strong likeness to a parrot. Two raw and awkward pupils accompanied him.
"Beloved of the gods, have pity on us!"
Julian interrupted—
"What's your name?"
"Papirian, a Roman citizen."
"Well, understand, my dear Papirian, I bear no grudge against you ... on the contrary, remain Galilean...."
The old man fell at the Emperor's feet and kissed them.
"Forty years have I been teaching grammar.... I know Homer and Hesiod better than anyone else...."
"What do you want..." asked Augustus sternly.
"Sir, I have six children!... Don't rob me of my last crust!... My pupils like me; ask them if I teach anything harmful!"
Emotion prevented Papirian from continuing his speech, and he pointed to his pupils, who, not knowing where to put their hands, stood together staring and blushing.
"No, my friends," said the Emperor gently but firmly. "The law is just. To my mind it is absurd that Christian teachers, in explaining Homer, should expound away the gods of whom Homer sang. If you believe that our wise men composed mere fables on the subject of our gods, you should go to your churches,and expound Matthew and Luke!... And note, Galileans, all is done in your own interest...."
One of the rhetoricians muttered—
"In our interest! We shall starve!"
"Do you not fear profanation by what is worse than starvation—lying wisdom? You say 'Blessed are the poor in spirit,' Be, then, poor in spirit!... Perhaps you imagine that I am ignorant of your teaching? I know it better than you do! I see in the Galilean commandments depths you have never dreamed of!... But let each take his own path. Leave us our frivolous learning and philosophy, our poor literary knowledge. What have these poisoned streams to do with you? Yours is a higher wisdom! We own the earthly kingdom, and you ... the Kingdom of Heaven. That's no small thing for humble folk like you!... Dialectic and logic leads to freethinking or heresies? Be then, in good sooth, simple as children. The ignorance of the fishermen of Capernaum is above all the Platonic dialogues, is it not? All the wisdom of the Galileans is summed in the word 'Believe'! Ah, rhetoricians, if you were true Christians you would bless our edict. At this moment, it is not your souls, but your bodies which rebel; your bodies, which find sweetness in sinfulness. That is all I have to say to you, and I hope that you will learn to agree with me, and that you will find that the Roman Emperor is more anxious for your souls' salvation than you are yourselves!"
Julian calmly threaded his way through the crowd of unhappy rhetoricians, contented with his speech, but Papirian, still kneeling, tore his hair—
"Why, Queen of Heaven, dost thou suffer such things to be?" and the two scholars, seeing their master's distress, with clumsy fists brushed the tears from their eyes.