“Bring fuel, more wood!” The flame mounted still more fiercely; the mob burst into laughter.
“We’ll see whether the devil flies out of her! There’s a demon in every idol, you know, and two or three inside goddesses!”
“When she begins to melt it’ll get too hot for the devil, and he’ll come wriggling out of her mouth like a red serpent!”
“No! you must make the sign of the cross beforehand. If you don’t, he can glide into the earth. Last year, when we pulled down the temple of Aphrodite, someone sprinkled her with holy water and—can you believe it?—a whole flight of devilets scampered away from underneath the statue—I saw them myself—green and black and hairy all over! And when the head was broken open the big devil came out of her neck, with great horns and a tail as bald as a mangy dog!”
At this moment Iamblicus, half dead with terror, seized Julian by the hand and dragged him away—
“Look! Do you see those two men? They are spies sent by Constantius. Your brother Gallus has been taken under escort to Constantinople. Be careful; this very day there will be a report sent in as to how you bear yourself.”
“But what is there to be done, Master? I am well accustomed to it; for years they have kept spies about me.”
“For years! Why have you said nothing of it to me?”
The hand of Iamblicus shook within that of Julian.
“Why are those two whispering together? Look at them—they must be pagans.... Now then old man, hurry up, bring wood!” cried out a ragged rascal in a triumphant tone.
Iamblicus whispered into Julian’s ear—
“Let us despise it all, and in contempt resign ourselves. Human stupidity can never hurt the gods!”
So saying the “Divine” Iamblicus took an enormous faggot from the hands of the Christian and cast it into the fire. At first Julian could scarcely believe his eyes. The now-smiling spies stared at him, with a curious fixity.
Then weakness, and his own habitual hypocrisy for his own sake and for the sake of others, won the day. He went to the heap of wood, chose the largest log, and, after Iamblicus, threw it into the blaze in which the mutilated body of the goddess was already melting. He clearly saw drops of silver rolling on her face as in a death-sweat, and the lips still keeping their invincible smile.
* * *
IX
“Look at those fellows dressed in black, Julian! They are shadows of night-fall, shadows of death. Soon there will not be a single ancient white robe left, nor a single sun-steeped piece of marble.... All is over!”
So spoke the young sophist, Antoninus, son of the prophetess Sospitra and of Ædesius, the Neo-Platonist. He was standing with Julian on the terrace of the temple of Pergamos, in bright sunshine, under a sky of cloudless blue. Along the foot of the balustrade was carven the revolt of the Titans. The gods were triumphing; and the hoofs of the winged horses crushing the serpent bodies of the antique giants. Antoninus pointed to the carving—
“Ah! Julian, the Olympians conquered the Titans, but now the Olympians in their turn will be beaten by barbaric gods. These temples will become tombs....”
Antoninus was a handsome youth, straight-limbed as one of the old statues, but his health had been broken for years by an incurable malady, and his face had become yellow, lean, and melancholy.
“I pray the gods,” went on Antoninus, “I entreat the gods not to suffer me to see that night—that I may die before it comes. Rhetoricians, sophists, poets, sages, artists, none of us are wanted any more. We are born in too late a day.... All is over for us!”
“And suppose you are mistaken?” hazarded Julian.
“No, all’s over! We are not as our forefathers! We are sick, strength fails us.”
Julian’s face seemed as worn and haggard as that of Antoninus. The projecting lower lip gave him an expression of taciturn arrogance. The thick eyebrows were knitted in bitter obstinacy; precocious wrinkles already furrowed his cheeks. The long nose had grown longer than ever; and his always strange eyes were now burning with a dry, feverish, disagreeable fire. He still wore the monkish habit. During the day he still attended church, as hitherto; worshipped relics; read the gospels in public, and was preparing to take orders. Sometimes all this hypocrisy seemed to him worse than useless. He foresaw that Gallus would not escape a premature death, and knew that he himself might expect it at any moment.
But his nights Julian was wont to pass in the great library of Pergamos, where he was studying the works of the great foe of Christianity, Libanius. He attended the lectures of the Greek sophists, Ædesius of Pergamos, Chrisantius of Sardinia, Priscius of Thesephros, Eusebius of Minos, Prœres, and Nymphidian. These taught him much about what he had already heard from Iamblicus, of thetriad of the Neo-Platonists, and of the “divine ecstasy.” He said to himself—
“All that is not what I am seeking; they are hiding something from me!”
Priscius, imitating Pythagoras, had passed five years in silence, keeping to a vegetarian diet, and using neither raiment of wool nor sandal of leather. He wore a cloak of pure white linen and sandals of palm leaves stitched together.
“In our age,” he used to say, “the thing of moment is to be able to hold one’s tongue, and to meditate on dying worthily.”
Thus Priscius, despising all things, awaited what he called the catastrophe, that is to say, the complete victory of Christianity over the Hellenists.
The wily and prudent Chrisantius, when the subject of the gods was touched on, would cast his eyes to heaven, avowing that he dared not talk about them, knowing nothing, and having forgotten what he had learnt on the subject. And he advised others to follow his own example. As for magic, miracles, and phantasms, he would hear nothing about them, declaring that they were criminal deceptions, forbidden by the Imperial laws.
Julian had no appetite, slept ill; his blood was boiling with passion and impatience. Every morning on awaking he would wonder—
“Is it to be to-day?”
He would worry the poor sages with ceaseless questions concerning mysteries and miracles. Some of them he shocked, especially Chrisantius, who was in the habit of acquiescence in all the opinions which seemed to him most foolish.
On one occasion Ædesius, a timid and learned old man, pitying Julian, said to him—
“My boy, I want to die quietly; you are young yet. Leave me alone. Address yourself to my disciples; they will reveal to you everything I have taught. Yes, there are many things about which we are afraid to speak, and when you shall have been initiated into the greater mysteries, you will perhaps be ashamed at having been born a mere mortal, and of having remained one up till now.”
Euthemus of Minda, a disciple of Ædesius, and a jealous and malicious fellow, declared to Julian: “There are no more such things as miracles. Don’t expect any. Men have badgered the gods too long. Magic is a lie, and those who believe in it are idiots. But if you are still hungry for wisdom, and absolutely must have illusions, go to Maximus. He despises our dialectical philosophy, and yet himself.... But I don’t like speaking ill of my friends. Just hear, however, what happened lately in a temple of Hecate whither Maximus had conducted us to prove his art. When we had gone in and adored the goddess, he said to us: ‘Sit down, and you shall see a miracle.’ We sat down. He threw on the altar a phimian-seed, muttering something,—a hymn I suppose,—and then we saw the statue of Hecate smile at us! Maximus said to us: ‘Fear nothing when you shall see the two torches held by the goddess kindle of themselves. Behold!’ Before he had finished the sentence the lamps were alight, self-kindled!”
“The miracle, in fact, was accomplished!” cried Julian.
“Yes; our emotion was so great that we prostrated ourselves. But when I came out of the temple I asked myself, ‘Is what Maximus does worthy of true philosophy?’ Read Pythagoras, Plato—there shall you find wisdom. By divine dialectic to lift the heart of man—is not that finer than any miracle?”
But Julian was listening no more; his eyes sparkled as he gazed at the surly
face of Euthemus, and he murmured as he went forth from the school—
“Keep your books and your dialectics! I seek life and faith! Can they exist without miracles? I thank thee, Euthemus, thou hast pointed me to the man I have sought for long.”
With a bitter smile the sophist answered—
“Nephew of Constantine, you have not improved upon your ancestors. Miracles were not necessary to the faith of Socrates!”
* * *
X
At the stroke of midnight, in the vestibule leading to the great hall of the mysteries, Julian flung off his novice’s robe. The sacrificial mystagogues, initiators into the pagan ceremonial, then clothed him anew in their own priestly tunic, woven of threads of papyrus. A palm-branch was put into his hand, and his feet were left bare. He was then led up a long low hall, the vaults of which were supported by a double row of bronze Corinthian columns. Each column, formed of two serpents entwined, bore two incense-burners on lofty and slender branching stands, whence rose thin tongues of flame. Dense vapour filled the hall. At its end glittered two winged golden bulls, propping a splendid throne, on which was seated, arrayed in a long black tunic powdered thick with emeralds and carbuncles, and in demeanour like a god, the greatest hierophant of all, Maximus of Ephesus.
The slow reverberant voice of a temple slave announced the opening of the mysteries—
“If any impious, or Christian, or Epicurean be present in this assembly, let him go forth!”
Instructed in advance as to the necessary responses, Julian pronounced the words—
“Let the Christians go forth!”
The choir of temple slaves, hidden in obscurity, took up the burden—
“To the doors! To the doors! Let the Christians go forth! Let the impious go forth!”
Then twenty-four lads, entirely naked, each holding a silver sistrum, like a crescent-moon, came forth from the shadow. In perfect unison they raised the vibrating instruments above their heads, and with one graceful gesture struck the resonant strings, which gave forth a long and plaintive note. Maximus made a sign.
Someone tightly bandaged Julian’s eyes from behind and said to him earnestly—
“Go forward! Fear neither Water, Fire, Spirits; nor Bodies, nor Life, nor Death.”
He felt himself dragged forward; an iron door opened on creaking hinges. He was pushed through it; a stifling atmosphere beat on his face while his feet groped down slippery and twisted steps. Feeling his way down this endless stair, amidst sepulchral silence, it seemed at last that he must be a great distance underground. He proceeded along a narrow passage—so narrow that his hands, held stiffly to his sides, rubbed along the walls. Suddenly his bare feet struck moisture; he heard water flowing; a stream covered his ankles. He kept on, but at every step the water rose, reaching first his calves, then his knees, and finally his loins. His teeth began to chatter with cold. The flood rose breast high. He wondered—
“Perhaps this is a trap; it is some device of Maximus for killing me, to do the Emperor pleasure.”
But he held stoutly on, forging slowly through the water. Finally it seemed to lessen, till at last it completely ebbed away. A suffocating heat, as from the mouth of a furnace, gradually enveloped him, so that the ground scorched his feet. Julian thought he must be walking straight into an oven; blood throbbed in his temples; sometimes the heat was so intense that it licked his cheek like a flame. But the lad never wavered.
In its turn the heat diminished. But sickening odours next choked his breath. Time after time he stumbled against round objects, and recognised bones and dead men’s skulls.
Suddenly he felt someone walking by his side, gliding along noiselessly like a shadow; an ice-cold hand seized his own. He uttered an involuntary cry. Two hands were gently pulling at his clothes, the fleshless bones piercing their withered skin. The grip of these hands became playful movements, repulsive caresses like those of debauched women. Julian felt a breath on his cheek tainted with fusty rottenness and moisture, and then became aware of a rapid murmur at his ear, like the rustle of leaves on a night in autumn—
“It is I! It is I!—I!—do you not know me again? It is I!—I!”
“And who, who art thou?” stammered Julian. But immediately he recollected his promise of absolute silence.
“It is I! Shall I strip the bandage from your eyes so that you may know me again, may meet me again?” And the bony fingers, with the same hideous eagerness, fluttered over his face as if seeking to drag off the bandage.
A deadly chill penetrated Julian to the heart, and, through habit, he thrice crossed himself involuntarily, as in childhood at some bad dream.
A clap of thunder! The ground heaved under his feet! He felt himself falling into the unknown; and lost consciousness.
When he regained his senses he was no longer blindfold but lay on cushions in a huge twilit grotto. A cloth, soaked in penetrating perfumes, was being held to his nostrils. Opposite Julian stood a lean man with a coppery skin; it was the gymnosophist—the naked sage—assistant of Maximus.
He was holding high above his head a motionless metallic disc. A voice said to Julian. “Look!” Julian gazed at the dazzling circle. Its brilliancy was almost painful to the eyes. Looking at it fixedly and long, gradually all things melted and lost their sharper outline. A pleasant weakness breathed through his being. The luminous disc no longer shone in the void, but in his own mind; his eyelids descended; a sleepy smile of weariness played upon his submissive lips. He felt a hand stroking his head, and a voice asked—
“Are you asleep?”
“Yes....”
“Look me in the eyes!”
Julian obeyed with effort and perceived Maximus stooping over him.
He was a man of about seventy years old, bearded to the girdle. Thick hair, with a yellow glitter in it, fell thick over his shoulders. Deep wrinkles, furrowed by thought and will, and not by suffering, marked cheek and brow. His smile was like the smile of women who are at once witty, mendacious, and enchanting. But it was the eyes of Maximus that gave Julian most pleasure. Under thick eyebrows they shone mocking, and tender, yet piercing to the quick.
Maximus asked—"Do you wish to see the most famous of the Titans?”
“Yes.”
“Watch then.”
The magician pointed to the depth of the cave where stood a tripod of Corinthian bronze, vomiting smoke. A tempestuous noise filled the cavern—
“Hercules! Hercules! Deliver me!”
The smoke vanished; blue sky appeared. Julian lay stretched motionless and pale, watching through half-shut eyelids the rapid visions unfolded before him. It was as if someone commanded him to see them. He beheld clouds and snow-clad mountains, and heard the breaking of distant waves. Slowly he perceived an enormous body, chained hand and foot to crags. A kite was devouring the liver of the Titan, drops of black blood trickled down his side; the great chains rattled, and the whole body shuddered with pain.
“Deliver me, Hercules!”
And the Titan raised his shaggy head; his eyes met those of the youth entranced—
“Who art thou? Whom dost thou summon?” asked Julian, speaking heavily in his dream.
“I call on thee!”
“I am but a mortal, and helpless.”
“Thou art my brother; set me free!”
“Who has chained thee up anew?”
“The humble, the gentle,—who through cowardice forgive their enemies. Slaves! slaves!... O deliver me!”
“How can I deliver thee?”
“Be even as I am.”
The smoke of the tripod obscured the apparition. Julian woke for a moment and the great hierophant, the teacher of rites, asked—
“Do you wish to see the ruined Archangel?”
“Yes.”
“Behold him!”
In the white smoke appeared faintly a head between two gigantic wings. The feathers of the wings swept out, drooping like branches of yew, and a bluish tint as of some lost sky trembled upon the m
elancholy plumes.
Someone cried to Julian from afar off—
“Julian! Julian! Deny the Galilean in my name!”
Julian held his peace.
Maximus muttered at his ear—
“If you wish to see the great Angel you must make this renunciation.”
And Julian pronounced the words—
“I deny Him!”
Above the head of the apparition suddenly glittered the morning star—the star of dawn—and the Angel repeated—
“Julian, deny the Galilean in my name!”
A third time the Angel repeated,—and his voice sounded exultant and close by: “Renounce Him!”
And Julian answered—
“I renounce Him!”
The Angel said—
“Thou mayest approach.”
“Who art thou?”
“I am Lucifer, I am Light, I am the East, I am the Morning Star!”
“How beautiful thou art!”
“Be thou as I am.”
“What melancholy dwells in thine eyes!”
“I suffer for all living. Birth must cease, death must cease. Come to me; I am the Shadow, I am Repose, I am Liberty.”
“How art thou named among men?”
“Evil.”
“Thou?”
“Yes. I turned in revolt.”
“Against whom?”
“Against Him whose peer I am. He willed to be alone, but we are two, and equals.”
“Make me in thine image!”
“Revolt also! I will give thee the thews for rebellion.”
“Teach me!”
“Violate the law, love thyself, curse Him, and be as I am!”
The Angel disappeared; the wind in circling gusts rekindled the flame on the tripod. The flame blew over the brim of the vessel and ran along the ground. The tripod itself was overset, and the flame went out. In the darkness came a rushing noise of numberless steps, with cries and groanings, as if an invisible army, fleeing before an enemy, were in passage through the cave. Julian, in terror, fell face downward to the earth, while the long black robe of the hierophant, stretched over him, struggled with the wind.
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