A profound obscurity enveloped the wood of Daphne on all sides. A hot wind was hunting the clouds along. For days not a drop of rain had fallen on the cracked and arid earth. The laurels were shaking their black branches to heaven. The low roar of the cypresses in their titanic alleys was like the murmur of a crowd of angry old men.
Two persons were gliding cautiously through the shadow towards the Temple of Apollo. The smaller, who had green eyes like a cat, saw clearly through the night, and was leading the more stalwart by the hand.
"Oh! oh! you scoundrel! we shall break our necks in some ditch!"
"There is no ditch here! What are you afraid of? Since you adopted the new religion you've become a regular old woman!"
"An old woman!... When I used to hunt the bear my heart had never a throb the quicker! But here ... this isn't a job like that!... We shall swing for it, side by side, on the same gallows, my boy."
"Nonsense! Be quiet, you great fool!"
The small man again began dragging along the bigger, who carried an enormous truss of hay and a pickaxe.
They arrived at a postern door of the temple.
"Here, use the pick!" muttered the little man,groping with his hands for cracks in the stone. "And you can cut the cross-timbers with the axe...."
Suddenly there came a cry, like the complaint of a sick child. The tall man trembled in all his limbs—
"What is it?"
"The Demon!" exclaimed the little one, his eyes staring with affright, clutching at the clothes of his companion—
"You won't desert me, old fellow?"
"It's an owl!... Well, he can plume himself on having scared us!"
The enormous night-bird, startled from his nest, flew away with a sobbing cry.
"Let's give it up," said the tall man. "That will never kindle."
"Why not? The wood's rotten, dry as tinder in the sun, and all worm-eaten.... A single spark will do. Come, work along!"
And the little man shoved the taller.
"Now, push the straw into the hole!... more, more, for the glory of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!"
"Why are you fidgeting about like an eel?" said the tall man, in annoyance. "And what is there to laugh at?"
"Ha, ha, ha! What? The angels of heaven must be rejoicing.... Only remember, uncle, if we're taken, don't deny what we've done. We'll have a pretty little blaze!... Here, take the flint and steel!"
"Go to the devil!" answered the other. "You sha'n't tempt me, cursed little snake! Pah! Kindle yourself!"
"Ah, you're crying off..." and trembling with rage the little man seized the big man by the beard.
"I'll be the first to denounce you; I shall be believed...."
"Leave me alone, damn you. Give me the flint.... I've had enough of this."
The sparks sprang out. The smaller man, for greater comfort, or to complete his resemblance to a young snake, laid himself flat on his stomach. Thin tongues of flame ran through the straw, which had been soaked in pitch. Thick smoke arose. A mass of flame shone ruddily on the distressed face of the giant Aragaris, and the monkey-like visage of the little Syrian, Strombix, who began leaping and laughing like one drunk or mad—
"We'll destroy it all, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! Ho! ho! ho! A pretty little blaze, eh!"
There was something ferocious in his destructive glee.
Aragaris, pointing to the darkness, muttered—
"Don't you hear something?"
Not a soul was in the wood, but the incendiaries, in the roaring of the wind and the moaning of the cypresses, imagined that they heard voices.
Aragaris began to run.
"Take me on your shoulders, comrade! You've long legs."
Aragaris halted; Strombix sprang on the shoulders of the Sarmatian like a squirrel, and they fled away. The little Syrian dug his knees into his companion's ribs, and put his arms round his neck to avoid falling. In spite of his fear he laughed and shouted with joy. The pair gained the open field. Between the clouds, the moon in its last quarter was shining, and the wind roared harshly. Strombix on the giant'sshoulders seemed an evil spirit riding his victim to hell. The idea in fact suddenly struck Aragaris that the Demon, in the shape of a great cat, was hunting him along with his claws to the abyss. The giant made desperate bounds to shake off his burden. The hair bristled on his head, and he yelled with terror. The black, double figure of the pair running, stooped towards the dry, hard earth, over the withered fields, was silhouetted against the pale horizon.
At the same hour, in his chamber in the palace at Antioch, Julian was having a secret interview with the prefect Sallustius Secundus—
"Where shall we obtain, well-beloved Cæsar, the necessary food for such an army?"
"I'll send to Sicily, to Egypt, to Apulia, in all directions where the harvests are abundant," answered the Emperor. "I can answer for it that there will be food enough...."
"And money?" asked Sallustius. "Would it not be better to postpone this campaign till next year? Wait a little?"
Julian strode up and down the room. Suddenly he halted before the other man.
"Wait!" he exclaimed angrily. "One would say the word was a kind of pass-word, it is repeated to me so often!... Wait? As if it were possible to wait now, to weigh, vacillate, hesitate! Are the Galileans waiting? Understand, Senator, I must achieve the impossible; I must return from Persia great and terrible ... or not return at all. No more conciliations, or half measures, are possible!... Why speak of reason? Did the Macedonian Alexander conquer the world by reason—the beardless young man who,with a mere handful of soldiers, went to fight the monarchs of Asia? Was he not mad, in the sight of reasonable men like you? What gave him victory?"
"I do not know," responded the prefect evasively. "I suppose the valour of the hero...."
"No," exclaimed Julian. "The gods! Understand, Sallustius, the Olympians can grant me the same grace, and a greater still, if it please them. I will cross the world from east to west, like the great Macedonian, like the god Dionysus. When I come back victorious from Asia we shall see what the Christians have to say, whether they will mock at the sword of the Roman Emperor as they mock at the plain robe of the philosopher."
His eyes seemed glittering with madness; and Sallustius, seeing that further objection was useless, said nothing. But when Julian began to walk up and down, the prefect shook his head and deep pity was expressed in the kindly gaze of the old man.
"The army must be ready to march," continued Julian. "I desire it, do you hear? I will have no excuses nor delays. Arsaces, the Armenian king, has promised help. There is bread. What more is lacking? I must know that I can at any moment set out against the Persians. On this depends not only my glory, but the safety of the Roman Empire and the victory of the gods against the Galileans!..."
The warm wind, blowing into the chamber, agitated the three flames of the lampadary. A shooting-star scored the dark blue night-sky and vanished. Julian saw it, and was strangely thrilled.
Outside the door voices were heard. Someone knocked.
"Who is there? Come in!" said the Emperor.
They were his philosopher friends. Libanius, at their head, seemed more emphatic and sullen than usual.
"What is your desire?" asked Julian coldly.
Libanius knelt, still retaining his arrogant air—
"Let me depart, Augustus. I can no longer endure life at your Court. My patience is exhausted. Every day there is some new insult to put up with...." and he spoke at length of rewards, the moneys received by him no longer, of ingratitude in view of his services, and the splendid panegyrics with which he had glorified Cæsar.
But Julian, unheeding, gazed at the celebrated orator with disgust. Could this really be the same Libanius whose speeches he had admired so much in youth? What baseness! what vanity!
Then all the philosophers began speaking at once. Their voices rose, they mutually accused each other of impiety, debauchery, peculation, repeating the most fatuous scandals. The scene was a petty civil war, not of the wise, but between parasites waxed fat through prosperity, ready to fly at each other's throats through pride, anger, and idleness.
At last the Emperor uttered a word which brought them back to their senses—
"Masters!"
All were silenced like so many frightened magpies.
"Masters!" repeated Julian, with bitter irony, "I have heard you long enough. Permit me to relate you a fable: 'An Egyptian king had a set of tame apes, trained to perform a war-dance of Epirus. They were costumed in helmets and masks; their tails were hidden under the Imperial purple, and while they were dancing it was difficult to believe they were not human. Thisspectacle gave general delight for years. But on one occasion one of the spectators happened to throw on the stage a handful of nuts! And what happened? The warriors tore off their purple and masks, readjusted their tails, dropped on all fours, and began to bite each other.' How do you like my fable, masters?"
Everybody was silent. Suddenly Sallustius took the Emperor by the hand and pointed to the open window. Under the sombre masses of clouds a reddish light, tossed by a violent wind, seemed slowly spreading.
"Fire! fire!" all present cried.
"On the other side of the river," some suggested.
"No, at Garandâma," others cried.
"No, it must be at Gezireh, in the Jew quarter!"
"It's neither at Gezireh nor at Garandâma," exclaimed a voice, with the exultant tone of one in a crowd at sight of a conflagration. "It is in the wood of Daphne!"
"Apollo's temple!" murmured the Emperor, whose heart was beating wildly. "The Galileans!" he shouted with a mad voice, rushing to the door, then to the staircase.
"Slaves, ... quick! My charger and fifty legionaries!"
In a few moments all was ready. A black colt, trembling all over and with a dangerous look in his bloodshot eyes, was led into the courtyard.
Julian rode at a breakneck speed through the streets of Antioch, followed by his legionaries. The crowd scattered in terror before them. One man was knocked down and another trampled to death, but their cries were drowned by the thunder of hoofs and the clatter of arms.
The open country was reached. Julian knew nothow long the mad gallop lasted; three legionaries fell with their foundered horses. The glow became brighter and brighter and the smell of smoke perceptible. The fields with their dusty vegetation assumed a yellowish hue. A curious crowd rushed up from every side, like moths to a flame. Julian noticed the joyousness of their faces, as if they were hurrying to a festival.
Tongues of flame glittered, in thick smoke-clouds, above the wood of Daphne. The Emperor penetrated into the sacred enclosure. There the crowd was bellowing, and exchanging pleasantries and laughter.
The calm alleys, abandoned by all for so many years, were swarming. Rioters profaned the wood, broke down branches of ancient laurels, befouled the springs, and trampled on the sleeping flowers. The cool odour of narcissus and lily strove with the stifling heat of the fire and the breath of the people.
"A miracle from God," murmured the crowd gleefully. "I myself saw lightning fall from heaven and kindle the roof!"
"No, thou liest! The earth split in the midst of the temple and vomited flames underneath the idol!"
"'S death!... It was after the abominable order to shift the relics. They thought they could do it without let or hindrance.... Pooh!... So much for your Temple of Apollo and prophecy from the sacred spring! It is a blessing!"
Julian saw in the crowd a woman half-dressed, as if newly risen from bed. With a stupid smile she was wondering at the fire, while cradling on her arm an infant at the breast. Tears still trembled on the eyelashes of the little one; but he quieted himself sucking vigorously at the breast, against which he had proppedhimself with one hand, while stretching the other towards the flames as if for a new plaything.
The Emperor reined up his horse. Further advance was impossible, by reason of the heat. The legionaries stood awaiting orders. But Julian saw that the temple was doomed. From base to roof it was enveloped in flames, like an immense brazier. Walls, joists, and carven cross-beams were falling in, with crash after crash, and whirlwinds of sparks mounted to a sky which came down lower and lower, lurid and menacing. The flames seemed to lick the clouds, struggling against the embraces of the wind and, roaring, flapped like great sails. The laurel leaves writhed in the heat, and doubled themselves as in torture. The peaks of the cypresses, kindled like huge torches, gave up the smoke of sacrifice. Drops of resin fell thickly from the centenarian trees, old as the temple.
Julian gazed haggardly at the fire. He wished to give an order to the legionaries; but drawing his sword from the scabbard and curbing his restive horse, he could only ejaculate impotently between clenched teeth—"Oh, wretched, wretched people!"
Shouts of the crowd sounded in the distance. Julian recollected that the entrance to the treasury was at the back; and the idea occurred to him that the Galileans were pillaging the wealth of the god.... He made a sign, and dashed in that direction, followed by the legionaries. A melancholy procession brought him to a halt. A few Roman guards, who had run up in haste from the village of Daphne, were carrying a rude litter.
"What is it?" asked Julian.
"The Galileans have stoned the priest Gorgius to death."
"And the treasury?"
"It is untouched. Standing on the threshold of the door, the priest defended the entrance. He never left his post until a stone stretched him on the ground. Then they killed the child. The Galilean horde, after trampling them under foot, would have got into the treasury if we hadn't arrived in time."
"Is he still alive?"
"Hardly breathing."
The Emperor leapt from his horse. The litter was laid gently down; and Julian stooping, cautiously lifted a corner of the old chlamys of the priest, which covered both bodies. The old man was stretched with closed eyes and scarcely heaving breast on a bed of fresh laurel-branches. Julian's heart shook with pity when he saw the red-nosed old drinker, whom he had thought so scandalous a few days before. He remembered the poor goose in the wicker basket, the last offering to Apollo. On the snowy hair drops of blood stood like berries, and laurel leaves enlaced lay in a wreath on the priest's head.
By his side lay the little body of Hepherion, his cheek resting on his hand. He seemed asleep. Julian thought—
"Such must Eros be, son of the Love-goddess, killed by the stones of Galileans."
And the Roman Emperor knelt in veneration before the martyrs to Olympus. In spite of the loss of the temple, in spite of the stupid triumph of the mob, Julian felt in this death the presence of the god. His heart softened; even his hate disappeared, and with humble tears he kissed the old man's hand. The dying man opened his eyes.
"Where is the child?" he asked under his breath.
"Here, near you."
Julian gently placed the hand of Gorgius on the locks of Hepherion.
"Is he alive?" asked Gorgius, stroking the child's curls for the last time. He was so weak that he could not turn his head, and Julian had not the courage to reveal the truth.
The priest fixed a suppliant look on the Emperor—
"Cæsar! I entrust him to you.... Do not abandon him...."
"Be assured; I will do all that I can for the little one."
So Julian took under his protection one to whom not even a Roman Cæsar could now do good or harm.
Gorgius let his hand remain on the head of Hepherion. Suddenly his face lighted; he tried to say something, and stammered incoherently—
"Rejoice! Rejoice!"
He gazed before him with eyes wide open, sighed, paused in the midst of the sigh, and his look faded. Julian closed the eyes of the dead.
Suddenly exultant songs were heard. The Emperor wheeled round, and saw a long procession marching down the cypress-alley. A great crowd of priests, in dalmatics of cloth of gold covered with precious gems, deacons swinging censers, black monks bearing lighted tapers, virgins and youths clothed in white, children waving palm-branches, and above the crowd on a lofty car the relics of Babylas, in a glittering silver shrine. They were the relics expelled, by Cæsar's orders, from Daphne to Antioch. The expulsion had become a victorious march. The people were singing the ancient Psalm of David glorifying the God of Israel—
"He is clothed in clouds and darkness!"
Above the moanings of the wind, and the roarings of the fire, soared the triumphant chant of the Galileans to the lurid vault of the sky—
"Clouds and darkness surround Him, fire tramples out His enemies before Him, and the mountains melt like wax before the face of the Lord, the Lord of all the earth!"
Julian grew pale at the audacity of joy resounding in the last line—
"Let all those who serve and boast themselves of their idols tremble, And let all gods bow down before Him!"
"Let all those who serve and boast themselves of their idols tremble, And let all gods bow down before Him!"
The Emperor leapt upon his horse, drew his sword, and shouted—
"Soldiers, follow me!"
He was about to rush in, disperse the triumphant mob, overset the shrine, and scatter the bones of the saint, but a firm hand seized the bridle of his horse—
"Out of the way!" cried Julian furiously, lifting his sword.
Next moment his arm fell. Before him stood the stern, calm face of Sallustius Secundus, who had just arrived from Antioch.
"Cæsar, do not strike the unarmed! Be yourself!"
Julian put back his sword in the scabbard.
His helmet scorched his head; he tore it off and flung it to earth, wiping away great drops of sweat. Alone and bareheaded he advanced towards the crowd, signing them to halt.
"Inhabitants of Antioch," he said almost calmly, restraining himself by a supreme effort, "know that the rioters, and setters on fire of the Temple of Apollo, will be punished without mercy. You scorn my pity? We shall see how you will scorn my anger. TheRoman Augustus could blot your town from the earth, so that men should forget that Antioch the great ever existed. But I go forth to war against the Persians. If the gods grant that I return in triumph, woe be to you, rioters! Woe to thee, Nazarene, the carpenter's son!"
And he stretched out his sword above the heads of the crowd.
Suddenly he fancied he heard a voice saying—
"The Nazarene, son of the carpenter, makes ready thy shroud!"
Julian thrilled, turned round, but saw no one. He passed his hand over his eyes. Was it an hallucination? At that moment from the interior of the temple came a deafening noise. Part of the roof had fallen on the statue of Apollo, which reeled from its pedestal. The procession went on its way, taking up again the Psalm—
"Let those tremble who serve and boast themselves of their idols, And let all gods of the earth bow down before Him!"
"Let those tremble who serve and boast themselves of their idols, And let all gods of the earth bow down before Him!"