rid themselves of all possible rivals in a family that seemed too
numerous for peace. Two uncles and seven cousins were quickly put
out of the way under one pretence and another.
The provinces were divided between the three brothers, and they
reigned peacefully for three years, until Constantine demanded the
surrender to him of a part of the dominions of Constans. In the war
which ensued Constantine was killed, and Constans took possession
of his brother's provinces, refusing any share of them to
Constantius.
He reigned ten years longer, when he was destroyed, A.D. 350, by a
conspiracy in Gaul headed by one Magnentius. This soldier, of
barbarian extraction, was soon defeated by Constantius, who now
became sole Emperor.
He soon found his burden of power too great, and decided to share
it with the two young nephews who had been permitted to live when
the massacre of the house of Constantine occurred.
To Gallus, the elder, he gave the title of cæsar, and invested him
with the government of the East. Gallus conducted himself like a
Nero and was disgraced and executed about three years later.
The younger nephew, Julian, had been brought up in the Christian
faith, and received an excellent education, which was finished in
the philosophical schools of Athens. He was created cæsar by
Constantius, whose sister Helena he married, and was invested with
the government of Gaul, Spain, and Britain.
Julian's wise civil administration was very acceptable to the
people, and his brilliant military exploits established his fame
throughout the empire and won the affection of his soldiers. He
repulsed the Alemanns and the Franks, sending captives to the court
of Constantius. His expeditions beyond the Rhine were crowned with
success. He restored the cities of Gaul and stemmed the tide of
barbarian invasion.
All these triumphs had awakened the jealousy of the emperor
Constantius, who was practically ruled by the eunuchs and bishops
at his court. The rising fortunes of Julian had caused envy among
many, who set about to poison the mind of Constantius with
innuendoes and false suggestions. They resolved to disarm Julian
and to separate him from his army. The Emperor ordered Julian to
send his best troops to the war in Persia. But they forgot that the
troops adored Julian. They overlooked the fact that the soldiers
would see through such a scheme to humiliate their commander. The
Gauls also feared the departure of Julian's men, for they dreaded
the attacks of the Germans. This then was the situation. Julian
attempted to follow the orders of the Emperor. But fate ordained
otherwise. The army proclaimed him emperor. He refused the honor at
first, but was forced to assume the dangerous title. The war which
immediately followed was cut short by the sudden death of
Constantius, and Julian became sole ruler of the Roman Empire. He
renounced Christianity and is known in history as Julian the
Apostate.
While the Romans languished under the ignominious tyranny of eunuchs and
bishops, the praises of Julian were repeated with transport in every
part of the empire, except in the palace of Constantius. The barbarians
of Germany had felt and still dreaded the arms of the young cæsar; his
soldiers were the companions of his victory; the grateful provincials
enjoyed the blessings of his reign; but the favorites, who had opposed
his elevation, were offended by his virtues; and they justly considered
the friend of the people as the enemy of the court. As long as the fame
of Julian was doubtful the buffoons of the palace, who were skilled in
the language of satire, tried the efficacy of those arts which they had
so often practised with success. They easily discovered that his
simplicity was not exempt from affectation; the ridiculous epithets of a
hairy savage, of an ape invested with the purple, were applied to the
dress and person of the philosophic warrior; and his modest despatches
were stigmatized as the vain and elaborate fictions of a loquacious
Greek, a speculative soldier, who had studied the art of war amid the
groves of the academy.
The voice of malicious folly was at length silenced by the shouts of
victory; the conqueror of the Franks and Alemanni could no longer be
painted as an object of contempt; and the monarch himself was meanly
ambitious of stealing from his lieutenant the honorable reward of his
labors. In the letters crowned with laurel, which, according to ancient
custom, were addressed to the provinces, the name of Julian was omitted.
"Constantius had made his dispositions in person; _he_ had signalized
his valor in the foremost ranks; _his_ military conduct had secured the
victory; and the captive king of the barbarians was presented to _him_
on the field of battle," from which he was at that time distant about
forty days' journey. So extravagant a fable was incapable, however, of
deceiving the public credulity, or even of satisfying the pride of the
Emperor himself. Secretly conscious that the applause and favor of the
Romans accompanied the rising fortunes of Julian, his discontented mind
was prepared to receive the subtle poison of those artful sycophants,
who colored their mischievous designs with the fairest appearances of
truth and candor. Instead of depreciating the merits of Julian, they
acknowledged, and even exaggerated, his popular fame, superior talents,
and important services. But they darkly insinuated that the virtues of
the cæsar might instantly be converted into the most dangerous crimes if
the inconstant multitude should prefer their inclinations to their duty;
or if the general of a victorious army should be tempted from his
allegiance by the hopes of revenge and independent greatness. The
personal fears of Constantius were interpreted by his council as a
laudable anxiety for the public safety; while in private, and perhaps in
his own breast, he disguised, under the less odious appellation of fear,
the sentiments of hatred and envy, which he had secretly conceived for
the inimitable virtues of Julian.
The apparent tranquillity of Gaul, and the imminent danger of the
eastern provinces, offered a specious pretence for the design which was
artfully concerted by the imperial ministers. They resolved to disarm
the cæsar; to recall those faithful troops who guarded his person and
dignity; and to employ, in a distant war against the Persian monarch,
the hardy veterans who had vanquished, on the banks of the Rhine, the
fiercest nations of Germany. While Julian used the laborious hours of
his winter quarters at Paris in the administration of power, which, in
his hands, was the exercise of virtue, he was surprised by the hasty
arrival of a tribune and a notary, with positive orders from the
Emperor, which _they_ were directed to execute and _he_ was commanded
not to oppose.
Constantius signified his pleasure that four entire legions, the Celtæ,
and Petulants, the Heruli, and the Batavians, should be separated from
the standard of Julian, under which they had acquired their fame and
discipline; that in each of the remaining bands three hundred of the
bravest youths should be selected; and that this numerous detachment,
the strength of the Gallic army, should instantly begin their march, and
exert their utmost diligence to arrive, before the opening of the
campaign, on the frontiers of Persia. The cæsar foresaw and lamented the
consequences of this fatal mandate. Most of the auxiliaries, who engaged
their voluntary service, had stipulated that they should never be
obliged to pass the Alps. The public faith of Rome, and the personal
honor of Julian, had been pledged for the observance of this condition.
Such an act of treachery and oppression would destroy the confidence and
excite the resentment of the independent warriors of Germany, who
considered truth as the noblest of their virtues, and freedom as the
most valuable of their possessions.
The legionaries who enjoyed the title and privileges of Romans were
enlisted for the general defence of the republic; but those mercenary
troops heard with cold indifference the antiquated names of the republic
and of Rome. Attached, either from birth or long habit, to the climate
and manners of Gaul, they loved and admired Julian; they despised, and
perhaps hated, the Emperor; they dreaded the laborious march, the
Persian arrows, and the burning deserts of Asia. They claimed as their
own the country which they had saved, and excused their want of spirit,
by pleading the sacred and more immediate duty of protecting their
families and friends. The apprehensions of the Gauls were derived from
the knowledge of the impending and inevitable danger. As soon as the
provinces were exhausted of their military strength the Germans would
violate a treaty which had been imposed on their fears; and
notwithstanding the abilities and valor of Julian, the general of a
nominal army, to whom the public calamities would be imputed, must find
himself, after a vain resistance, either a prisoner in the camp of the
barbarians or a criminal in the palace of Constantius.
If Julian complied with the orders which he had received, he subscribed
his own destruction and that of a people who deserved his affection. But
a positive refusal was an act of rebellion and a declaration of war. The
inexorable jealousy of the Emperor, the peremptory and perhaps insidious
nature of his commands, left not any room for a fair apology or candid
interpretation; and the dependent station of the cæsar scarcely allowed
him to pause or to deliberate. Solitude increased the perplexity of
Julian; he could no longer apply to the faithful counsels of Sallust,
who had been removed from his office by the judicious malice of the
eunuchs; he could not even enforce his representations by the
concurrence of the ministers, who would have been afraid or ashamed to
approve the ruin of Gaul. The moment had been chosen when Lupicinus, the
general of the cavalry, was despatched into Britain to repulse the
inroads of the Scots and Picts; and Florentius was occupied at Vienne by
the assessment of the tribute. The latter, a crafty and corrupt
statesman, declining to assume a responsible part on this dangerous
occasion, eluded the pressing and repeated invitations of Julian, who
represented to him that in every important measure the presence of the
prefect was indispensable in the council of the prince.
In the mean while the cæsar was oppressed by the rude and importunate
solicitations of the imperial messengers, who presumed to suggest that
if he expected the return of his ministers, he would charge himself with
the guilt of the delay, and reserve for them the merit of the execution.
Unable to resist, unwilling to comply, Julian expressed, in the most
serious terms, his wish, and even his intention, of resigning the
purple, which he could not preserve with honor, but which he could not
abdicate with safety.
After a painful conflict, Julian was compelled to acknowledge that
obedience was the virtue of the most eminent subject, and that the
sovereign alone was entitled to judge of the public welfare. He issued
the necessary orders for carrying into execution the commands of
Constantius; a part of the troops began their march for the Alps; and
the detachments from the several garrisons moved toward their respective
places of assembly. They advanced with difficulty through the trembling
and affrighted crowds of provincials, who attempted to excite their pity
by silent despair or loud lamentations; while the wives of the soldiers,
holding their infants in their arms, accused the desertion of their
husbands, in the mixed language of grief, of tenderness, and of
indignation. This scene of general distress afflicted the humanity of
the cæsar; he granted a sufficient number of post-wagons to transport
the wives and families of the soldiers, endeavored to alleviate the
hardships which he was constrained to inflict, and increased, by the
most laudable arts, his own popularity and the discontent of the exiled
troops.
The grief of an armed multitude is soon converted into rage; their
licentious murmurs, which every hour were communicated from tent to tent
with more boldness and effect, prepared their minds for the most daring
acts of sedition; and by the connivance of their tribunes, a seasonable
libel was secretly dispersed, which painted in lively colors the
disgrace of the cæsar, the oppression of the Gallic army, and the feeble
vices of the tyrant of Asia. The servants of Constantius were astonished
and alarmed by the progress of this dangerous spirit. They pressed the
cæsar to hasten the departure of the troops; but they imprudently
rejected the honest and judicious advice of Julian, who proposed that
they should not march through Paris, and suggested the danger and
temptation of a last interview.
As soon as the approach of the troops was announced the cæsar went out
to meet them, and ascended his tribunal, which had been erected in a
plain before the gates of the city. After distinguishing the officers
and soldiers who by their rank or merit deserved a peculiar attention,
Julian addressed himself in a studied oration to the surrounding
multitude: he celebrated their exploits with grateful applause;
encouraged them to accept, with alacrity, the honor of serving under the
eyes of a powerful and liberal monarch; and admonished them that the
commands of Augustus required an instant and cheerful obedience.
The soldiers, who were apprehensive of offending their general by an
indecent clamor, or of belying their sentiments by false and venal
acclamations, maintained an obstinate silence, and after a short pause
were dismissed to their quarters. The principal officers were
entertained by the cæsar, who professed, in the warmest language of
friendship, his desire and his inability to reward, according to their
deserts, the brave companions of his victories. They retired from the
feast, full of grief and perplexity, and lamented the hardship of their
fate, which tore them from their beloved general and their native
country. The only expedient which could prevent their separation was
boldly agitated and approved; the popular resentment was insensibly
moulded into a regular conspiracy; their just reasons of complaint were
heightened by passion, and their passions were inflamed by wine, as, on
the eve of their departure, the troops were indulged in licentious
festivity. At the hour of midnight, the impetuous multitude, with swords
and bows and torches in their hands, rushed into the suburbs,
encompassed the palace, and, careless of future dangers, pronounced the
fatal and irrevocable words "JULIAN AUGUSTUS!"
The prince, whose anxious suspense was interrupted by their disorderly
acclamations, secured the doors against their intrusion, and, as long as
it was in his power, secluded his person and dignity from the accidents
of a nocturnal tumult. At the dawn of day the soldiers, whose zeal was
irritated by opposition, forcibly entered the palace, seized, with
respectful violence, the object of their choice, guarded Julian with
drawn swords through the streets of Paris, placed him on the tribunal,
and with repeated shouts saluted him as their emperor. Prudence, as well
as loyalty, inculcated the propriety of resisting their treasonable
designs, and of preparing, for his oppressed virtue, the excuse of
violence. Addressing himself by turns to the multitude and to
individuals, he sometimes implored their mercy, and sometimes expressed
his indignation; conjured them not to sully the fame of their immortal
victories; and ventured to promise, that if they would immediately
return to their allegiance, he would undertake to obtain from the
Emperor not only a free and gracious pardon, but even the revocation of
the orders which had excited their resentment.
But the soldiers, who were conscious of their guilt, chose rather to
depend on the gratitude of Julian than on the clemency of the Emperor.
Their zeal was insensibly turned into impatience, and their impatience
into rage. The inflexible cæsar sustained, till the third hour of the
day, their prayers, their reproaches, and their menaces; nor did he
yield till he had been repeatedly assured that if he wished to live he
must consent to reign. He was exalted on a shield in the presence and
amid the unanimous acclamations of the troops; a rich military collar,
which was offered by chance, supplied the want of a diadem; the ceremony
was concluded by the promise of a moderate donative; and the new
Emperor, overwhelmed with real or affected grief, retired into the most
secret recesses of his apartment.
The grief of Julian could proceed only from his innocence, but his
innocence must appear extremely doubtful in the eyes of those who have
learned to suspect the motives and the professions of princes. His
lively and active mind was susceptible of the various impressions of
hope and fear, of gratitude and revenge, of duty and of ambition, of the
love of fame, and of the fear of reproach. But it is impossible for us
to calculate the respective weight and operation of these sentiments; or
to ascertain the principles of action which might escape the
observation, while they guided, or rather impelled, the steps of Julian
himself.
The discontent of the troops was produced by the malice of his enemies;
their tumult was the natural effect of interest and of passion; and if
Julian had tried to conceal a deep design under the appearances of
chance, he must have employed the most consummate artifice without
necessity, and probably without success. He solemnly declares, in the
presence of Jupiter, of the Sun, of Mars, of Minerva, and of all the
other deities, that till the close of the evening which preceded his
elevation he was utterly ignorant of the designs of the soldiers; and it
may seem ungenerous to distrust the honor of a hero and the truth of a
philosopher. Yet the superstitious confidence that Constantius was the
enemy, and that he himself was the favorite, of the gods, might prompt
him to desire, to solicit, and even to hasten the auspicious moment of
his reign, which was predestined to restore the ancient religion of
mankind. When Julian had received the intelligence of the conspiracy he
resigned himself to a short slumber, and afterward related to his
friends that he had seen the Genius of the Empire waiting with some
impatience at his door, pressing for admittance, and reproaching his
want of spirit and ambition. Astonished and perplexed, he addressed his
prayers to the great Jupiter, who immediately signified, by a clear and
manifest omen, that he should submit to the will of heaven and of the
army.
The conduct which disclaims the ordinary maxims of reason excites our
suspicion and eludes our inquiry. Whenever the spirit of fanaticism, at
once so credulous and so crafty, has insinuated itself into a noble
mind, it insensibly corrodes the vital principles of virtue and
veracity.
To moderate the zeal of his party, to protect the persons of his
enemies, to defeat and to despise the secret enterprises which were
formed against his life and dignity, were the cares which employed the
first days of the reign of the new emperor. Although he was firmly
resolved to maintain the station which he had assumed, he was still
desirous of saving his country from the calamities of civil war, of
declining a contest with the superior forces of Constantius, and of
preserving his own character from the reproach of perfidy and
ingratitude. Adorned with the ensigns of military and imperial pomp,
Julian showed himself in the field of Mars to the soldiers, who glowed
with ardent enthusiasm in the cause of their pupil, their leader, and
their friend. He recapitulated their victories, lamented their
sufferings, applauded their resolution, animated their hopes, and
checked their impetuosity; nor did he dismiss the assembly till he had
obtained a solemn promise from the troops, that if the emperor of the
East would subscribe an equitable treaty, they would renounce any views
of conquest and satisfy themselves with the tranquil possession of the
Gallic provinces.
On this foundation he composed, in his own name, and in that of the
army, a specious and moderate epistle, which was delivered to Pentadius,
his master of the offices, and to his chamberlain Eutherius, two
ambassadors whom he appointed to receive the answer and observe the
dispositions of Constantius. This epistle is inscribed with the modest
appellation of cæsar; but Julian solicits, in a peremptory, though
respectful, manner, the confirmation of the title of augustus. He
acknowledges the irregularity of his own election, while he justifies,
in some measure, the resentment and violence of the troops which had
extorted his reluctant consent. He allows the supremacy of his brother
Constantius, and engages to send him an annual present of Spanish
horses, to recruit his army with a select number of barbarian youths,
and to accept from his choice a prætorian prefect of approved discretion
and fidelity. But he reserves for himself the nomination of his other
civil and military officers, with the troops, the revenue, and the
sovereignty of the provinces beyond the Alps. He admonishes the Emperor
to consult the dictates of justice; to distrust the arts of those venal
flatterers, who subsist only by the discord of princes, and to embrace
the offer of a fair and honorable treaty, equally advantageous to the
republic and to the house of Constantine.
In this negotiation Julian claimed no more than he already possessed.
The delegated authority which he had long exercised over the provinces
of Gaul, Spain, and Britain was still obeyed under a name more
independent and august. The soldiers and the people rejoiced in a
revolution which was not stained even with the blood of the guilty.
Florentius was a fugitive; Lupicinus a prisoner. The persons who were
disaffected to the new government were disarmed and secured; and the
vacant offices were distributed, according to the recommendation of
merit, by a prince who despised the intrigues of the palace and the
clamors of the soldiers.
The negotiations of peace were accompanied and supported by the most
vigorous preparations for war. The army, which Julian held in readiness
for immediate action, was recruited and augmented by the disorders of
the times. The cruel persecution of the faction of Magnentius had filled
Gaul with numerous bands of outlaws and robbers. They cheerfully
accepted the offer of a general pardon from a prince whom they could
trust, submitted to the restraints of military discipline, and retained
only their implacable hatred to the person and government of
Constantius.
As soon as the season of the year permitted Julian to take the field, he
appeared at the head of his legions; threw a bridge over the Rhine in
the neighborhood of Cleves; and prepared to chastise the perfidy of the
Attuarii, a tribe of Franks, who presumed that they might ravage, with
impunity, the frontiers of a divided empire. The difficulty, as well as
glory, of this enterprise consisted in a laborious march; and Julian had
conquered, as soon as he could penetrate into a country which former
princes had considered as inaccessible. After he had given peace to the
barbarians, the emperor carefully visited the fortifications along the
Rhine from Cleves to Basel; surveyed, with peculiar attention, the
territories which he had recovered from the hands of the Alemanni,
passed through Besançon, which had severely suffered from their fury,
and fixed his head-quarters at Vienne for the ensuing winter.