"Death to the Olympians and to your Diana!"
Above the Arsenal and its towering monument rose a blood-red light.
Julian glanced at his divine master, and scarcely recognised him.
Iamblicus was transformed back into a sickly and timid old man. He
complained of headache, expressed his fear of an attack of rheumatism,
and doubted whether his servant had not forgotten to prepare his
fomentations. Julian lent him his own cloak; but he remained chilly,
and stopped his ears, with a dolorous grimace, against the shouts and
laughter of the crowd, which he dreaded. Iamblicus used to say there
was nothing more stupid and disgusting than the spirit of the people.
He pointed out to his pupil the faces hurrying past--
"Look at the monstrous vice in that expression! What hopeless
triviality! what self-confident assertion!... Does it not make one
ashamed of being human, to share human form with mud like that!"