XV

On the base of a dolphin-shaped lamp were ranged the curling irons of

a barber. The lamp-light was growing pale, for rays of morning,

falling through silken window-curtains, were gradually filling the

sleeping chamber with deep violet hues. The curtains were dyed in the

richest hyacinthine purple of Tyre.

"'Hypostasis,' 'hypostasis'? What is the meaning of the divine

hypostasis, or essence, or personality, of the Trinity? No human being

can form any conception. I myself haven't slept a wink in thinking

over it the whole night. I arrived at no conclusion but an atrocious

headache. Boy, give me towels and soap!"

So spoke a personage with a tall headdress like a mitre and the

pontifical aspect of a high-priest or Asiatic tyrant. He was chief

barber and wig-maker in attendance on the sacred person of

Constantius. The razor in his skilful hands was flitting, with an

incomparable grace and lightness, over the Imperial chin. He was

engaged upon a sacred mystery. In attendance on each side were

innumerable _cubicularii_, slaves holding vases, essences, oils, and

napkins, and two youths bearing fans. Supervising all these, Eusebius,

grand chamberlain of the private apartments, stood by. He was the most

powerful man in the Empire.

During the ceremony of barbification, as an emperor's shaving must be

called, the two youths refreshed the illustrious patient by means of

great fans, each six-winged like the seraphim, or the _ripides_ with

which deacons fan away flies from a sacramental chalice, during the

intoning of the liturgy. The barber had scarcely finished the

Emperor's right cheek and was beginning the left, which had been

anointed with an Arabian essence named "the foam of Aphrodite."

Leaning to the ear of Constantius he whispered cautiously:

"Ah! Well-beloved of God, your universal intelligence alone can

determine what this hypostasis, this mysterious personality of Father,

Son, and Holy Ghost may mean. Don't listen to the bishops! Act as

pleases yourself, and not as it may please them. But Athanasius, that

patriarch of Alexandria, must be punished as a blasphemous rebel.

Almighty God, the Creator Himself, will instruct your Holiness as to

what, and in what manner, your subjects ought to believe. In my humble

opinion the Arians are perfectly right in asserting that there was a

time when the 'Son' did not exist. And so consubstantiality...."

But at this moment Constantius was staring at himself in the great

polished silver mirror, and rubbing his hand over the silky new shaven

region on his right cheek. He interrupted--

"I don't think that's very smooth!--eh! I think you might go over it

again. What were you saying to me about consubstantiality?"

The barber, who had received a talent of gold from the Court bishops

Ursatius and Valentine to prepare the Emperor for the new profession

of faith, was murmuring insinuatingly in the ear of Constantius and

wielding his razor with the most persuasive delicacy, when at this

moment the chief of the _silentiarii_, Paul, surnamed Catena,

approached the Emperor.

He was so called because his infamous system of reports enwound any

chosen victim in chains well-nigh indissoluble. His effeminate face

was beardless and handsome, and judged by externals he seemed the

angel of humility. His dark eyes were full of languor; his walk, a

noiselessly graceful feline motion. He wore crosswise over the

shoulder a wide dark blue ribbon--sign of special Imperial favour.

Paul Catena with a subtle and authoritative gesture waved the barber

away, and whispered in the ear of Constantius--

"A letter from Julian! Intercepted to-night. Deign to read it."

Constantius greedily snatched the letter from the hands of Paul,

opened it, and read. Disappointed, he muttered--

"Mere trash--trifles; he sends a present of a hundred grapes to a

sophist and writes the praises of the fruit and of the number 'a

hundred.'"

"Ah! a ruse!" said Catena.

"Really?" asked Constantius; "what proofs are there?"

"None."

"Then he's either exceedingly cunning or indeed----"

"What does your Eternity mean?"

"Or, in fact, he is innocent."

"As your Majesty pleases," stammered Paul.

"_As I please?_ I desire to be just, simply just. Are you not aware of

that? I must have proofs...."

"Wait; we shall find them."

Another informer came near, a young Persian named Mercurius,

court-pantler, little more than a lad. He was feared not less than

Paul Catena and had been pleasantly nicknamed "Chief Diviner of

Dreams." If the prophetic dream could be twisted into any meaning even

remotely unfavourable for the person of the Emperor, Mercurius would

make careful notes of it and hasten to make a report. Many a victim

had paid with their goods and their prospects for the imprudence of

dreaming what they had no business to dream; and, aware of this,

prudent courtiers would declare themselves martyrs to insomnia,

enviers of the legendary dwellers in Atlantis, who, according to

Plato, are lapt in slumber without visions. The Persian signed to a

distance two Ethiopian eunuchs who were knotting the laces of the

Emperor's green and gilt shoes. He kissed the feet of the sovereign,

and as it were basked a moment in his eyes, like a dog who

affectionately gazes up for his master's orders.

"May your Eternity forgive me," whispered little Mercury, "I could not

refrain from running to your presence. Gaudentius has had a bad dream!

You appeared to him in a torn chlamys and crowned with blasted ears of

corn...."

"What does that mean?"

"The blasted ears announce famine, and the torn chlamys ... I dare

not...."

"Sickness?"

"Worse still, I'm afraid, if possible. Gaudentius' wife confessed to

me that he had consulted the augurs. God knows what they told him!"

"Well, well! We will discuss it. Come again this evening."

"No! I will come this afternoon. Permit me to mention a slight matter,

something not so grievous.... There is also the matter of the

table-cloths...."

"What table-cloths?"

"Have you forgotten? At a supper in Aquitaine the table was spread

with two table-covers with purple borders--borders as wide as those on

the Imperial chlamys!"

"Do you mean to say they were more than two fingers wide? Remember,

I've authorised the width of two fingers."

"Ah, much, much wider I fear! It was a regular Imperial chlamys. Can

such sacrilege be permitted?"

Mercury did not succeed however in reciting all his reports:

"At Delphi a monster has been born--four ears, four eyes, two snouts,

all covered with hair. The augurs say it is a bad omen--that the Holy

Empire will be split up...."

"We shall see! we shall see! Write it all down in due order and submit

it to me."

The Emperor went on with his morning toilet. He consulted his mirror

again, and with a fine camel's-hair brush took up a morsel of rouge

from the casket of filigree silver, shaped like a reliquary and

crowned by a little cross, at his elbow. Constantius was devoutly

religious; enamelled crosses and the monogram of Christ adorned every

trinket in his private rooms. Exquisite and expensive paint called

_purpurissima_, extracted from the scum on the purple mollusc while in

a state of ebullition, was specially prepared for him. Constantius

adroitly spread a faint flush of this over his withered brown cheek.

From the room called Porphyria, where the regal vestments were kept in

a pentagonal wardrobe, eunuchs bore forth the Imperial dalmatic. It

was stiff, heavy with gold, encrusted with precious stones, and with

lions and dragons embroidered on its amethystine purples.

In the main hall of the palace on that day was to be held the great

Arian council. The Emperor slowly took his way thither along a gallery

of pierced and fretted marble. Palace guards, or palatines, two-deep

formed a long lane, mute as statues and holding lances fourteen cubits

long crossed above the head of their master, as he paced in state

between them. Constantine's banner of cloth of gold, the _Labarum_,

surmounted by the monogram of Christ, shone rustling behind, borne by

the officer of the Imperial largesses (_comes sacrarum largitionum_).

Mute body-guards (_silentiarii_) heralded the procession, imposing

silence on everyone they met.

In the gallery the Emperor encountered the Empress Eusebia Aurelia.

She was a mature woman with a pale and weary face, delicate and noble

features, a mischievous raillery sometimes kindling her keen eyes.

Crossing her hands on the _omophorium_ covered with sapphires and

heart-shaped rubies, the Empress bowed profoundly and pronounced the

habitual morning salutation:

"I am come for the joy of beholding you, O spouse well-beloved of the

Lord! How has your Holiness deigned to sleep?"

Then, at a sign from her, the attendant maids of honour drew to a

distance and she murmured sweetly, in a simpler and sincerer tone--

"Julian is to be received by you to-day. Receive him kindly! Don't

believe these spying reports. He is a poor innocent boy. God will

repay you, sire, if you grant him favour."

"You ask favour to him as a favour to yourself?"

The husband and wife exchanged a rapid glance.

"I know," she said, "you always have confidence in me; let it be so

now. Julian is a faithful slave. Don't refuse me.... Be kind to

him...."

And she gratified him with one of those smiles which hitherto had

wielded irresistible power over the heart of Constantius.

In the portico, which was separated from the great hall by hangings

(behind which the Emperor used to ensconce himself to hear what was

going on at the councils), a monk, wearing a cruciform tonsure and in

a hooded robe of coarsest drugget, came near. It was Julian.

"I salute my benefactor, the triumphant and glorious Emperor Augustus

Constantius. May your Holiness pardon me!"

"We are happy to receive you, my son."

Julian's cousin magnanimously extended his hand to Julian's lips.

Julian kissed the hand dyed with the blood of his father, of his

brother, of all his relatives. Then he rose erect, pale and with

sparkling eyes fixed upon his enemy. He gripped the handle of a

poniard hidden under his robe. The grey eyes of the Emperor lighted

with pride and cautious malice, seldom dropping their scrutiny. He was

a head shorter than Julian, large-shouldered, solidly-built, and

bandy-legged like an old cavalry soldier. The tight brown skin over

his temples was disagreeably glossy. The thin lips were severely

closed with the expression of folk that set order and punctuality

above all other virtues--the expression of a pedant and a

schoolmaster.

To Julian he appeared detestable. He felt an animal fury getting the

better of him, and, unable to utter a word, his eyes fell and he

breathed with difficulty.

Constantius smiled, imagining the young monk unable to bear the

superhuman majesty of the Imperial glance. With ostentatious

benevolence he continued--

"Fear nothing! Go in peace! Our kindness shall bring no danger upon

you. On the contrary we shall from this day forth heap bounties on our

cousin who is an orphan."

Julian bowed and proceeded into the hall of council; and the Emperor,

hidden behind draperies, lent an ironic and attentive ear to the

debate beginning within.

He immediately recognised the voice of the principal dignitary of the

Imperial post, Gaudentius. It was he who had suffered from the bad

dream.

"One council treads on the heels of another," Gaudentius was

complaining; "now it's at Sirmio, now it's at Sardis, now at Antioch,

and now here at Constantinople. They discuss and discuss, but never

come to an understanding. And I would ask you, for pity's sake, to

consider the horses that have to carry these gentlemen about! Out of a

relay of ten horses you will hardly find one who is not foundered by

the bishops. Another five councils, and my beasts will only be fit for

the knacker's yard--not a car will have a wheel on it. Yet, in spite

of all, you'll see that the bishops will still be at loggerheads and

boggling at the Trinity!"

"Why then, Gaudentius, don't you send in a formal report on the

subject to the Emperor?"

"Nobody would believe me. I should be accused of irreligion and lack

of respect for the crying needs of the Church."

In the vast round hall, crowned by a cupola on columns of Phrygian

marble, the heat was already stifling. Slanting sun rays fell in

through uncurtained windows. The noise of voices was like the buzzing

of a swarm of bees. The Imperial golden seat--_sella aurea_--was

prepared on a daïs. It rested on lions' paws of carved ivory, crossed

like those of the curule chairs of Roman consuls.

Close to the throne, the high-priest Paphnutis, with a face empurpled

by argument, was declaring--

"For my part, I shall keep to the opinions my fathers taught me!

According to the creed of our holy father Athanasius, patriarch of

Alexandria, we must worship a single God in a Trinity, and the Trinity

in a single God; the Father is God; the Son is God; the Holy Ghost is

God, and nevertheless they form together but one God!"

And as if he was smashing an invisible enemy he brought down his

enormous right fist into his left-hand palm and glared triumphantly

round the assembly.

"That tradition have I received from my fathers, and that tradition I

will keep!"

"Who is it? What's he saying?" asked Ozius, a man of a hundred years

old, who had been alive in the time of the council of Nicæa. "Where's

my trumpet?" Harrowing perplexity could be read on his face. He was

deaf, almost blind. The deacon who accompanied him set the ear-trumpet

to his ear.