The city of Milan lay basking in the sun; and by every street the
crowd was turning its steps towards the chief public square.
Tremendous acclamations ran through the throng, and in the triumphant
chariot, drawn by twenty horses white as swans, appeared the Emperor.
His chariot seat was so lofty that the people were obliged to throw
their heads back to behold him. His robes, besown with precious
stones, sparkled dazzlingly in the sun. In his right hand he held the
sceptre, in the left the Imperial globe crested by a cross.
Motionless as a statue, outrageously painted, he looked straight
before him without turning his head, which was held stiff as in a
vice. During the whole journey, and despite the joltings of the car,
the Emperor stirred not a finger, nor coughed, nor blinked the steady
stare of his eyes.
Constantius had acquired this immobility by years of effort, and was
particularly proud of it, considering it an indispensable part of
Imperial etiquette. On such occasions he would have preferred to
undergo torture rather than betray his mortal nature by sneezing,
coughing, or wiping off the sweat which stood in beads on his
forehead.
Although squat and bow-legged he imagined himself gigantic. When the
chariot disappeared under the arch of triumph, not far from the baths
of Maximian Hercules, the Emperor bowed his head as if he were afraid
of striking his head against the lofty gates which would have freely
taken a Cyclops beneath them.
Each side of the road was lined with palatine guards helmeted and
cuirassed in gold, the two ranks of the bodyguard flashing in the sun
like streams of lightning.
Round the Imperial chariot great dragon-shaped standards were
floating. The purple stuff, swollen by the wind engulfed in the
gullets of the monsters, gave out a shrill sound like the hiss of
snakes, and the long purple tails of the dragons wavered to and fro
above the people. In the Forum were drawn up all the legions quartered
in Milan. Thunders of applause welcomed the Emperor. Constantius was
pleased. The noise had neither been too feeble nor too tumultuous.
Arranged beforehand according to the strictest etiquette, the soldiers
had been instructed to be enthusiastic with moderation and respect.
Giving each of his motions a kind of stiff and pedantic emphasis,
Constantius solemnly descended from the chariot and went up to the
tribune raised above the square. It was draped with ragged standards
of old victories and studded with metal eagles.
The trumpets sounded up anew in the call denoting that the leader
desired to speak to his army. The Forum was instantly hushed.
"_Optimi reipublicæ defensores!_" began Constantius. (Excellent
defenders of the Republic.)
The discourse was long-winded, tedious, full of scholastic flowers of
rhetoric.
Julian in Court dress now ascended the steps of the tribune, and the
fratricide invested the last descendant of Constantius Chlorus with
the sacred purple of the Cæsars.
The sunlight filtered through the thin silk when the Emperor raised
the purple to enrobe the kneeling Julian. The rich hue tinged the pale
face of the new Cæsar, who murmured inwardly the prophetic verse of
the Iliad--
"Eyes closed by purple death and puissant Destiny...."
And nevertheless Constantius was welcoming him:
"_Recepisti primævus originis tuæ splendidum florem, amatissime mihi
omnium frater._" (Still young, you have attained already the flower of
your royal birth, most beloved of all my brothers!)
An enthusiastic roar rose from the legions. Constantius became rather
gloomy; that shout had slightly exceeded the proper bounds. Julian
must have pleased the soldiers.
"Glory and prosperity to Cæsar Julian!" They cheered louder and
louder, till it seemed as if they would never cease.
The new Cæsar thanked the legionaries with a kindly smile, and every
soldier clashed his buckler against his knee as a sign of rejoicing.
It seemed to Julian that it was not by the will of the Emperor, but by
the will of the gods, that he had reached this eminence.
* * * * *
Every evening Constantius was in the habit of consecrating a quarter
of an hour to the polishing of his nails. It was one of the few toilet
delicacies that he permitted himself, being sober, unimaginative, and
rather gross than effeminate in all his habits. Paring his nails with
little files, polishing them with minute brushes, he gaily asked his
favourite eunuch, the grand chamberlain Eusebius, on the evening of
the day of investiture--
"How soon do you think will Julian conquer the Gauls?"
"I think," answered Eusebius, "that the next news we shall receive
will be of the defeat and death of that young man!"
"Really?--that would give me much pain! But I have done, don't you
think, everything that lay in my power.... Henceforth he has only
himself to blame...."
Constantius smiled, and bowing his head admired his nails.
"You have conquered Magnentius," murmured the eunuch, "you have
conquered Vetranio, Constans, Gallus. You will conquer Julian. Then
there will be but one shepherd, one flock, God and you alone."
"Yes, yes. But, putting Julian on one side, there is still Athanasius.
I shall never be happy until, living or dead, he shall have fallen
into my hands."
"Julian is more to be feared than Athanasius, and you have invested
him to-day in the purple of death. Oh, wisdom of Providence,
destroying by inscrutable means all the enemies of Your Eternity!
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, now and
during the night of ages!"
"Amen," concluded the Emperor, having finished the toilet of his nails
and thrown away the last minute brush. He approached the ancient
banner of Constantine, the Labarum, which stood always in the
sleeping-chamber, knelt down, and contemplating the monogram of Christ
which shone in the flicker of the still-burning lamp, began his
prayers. He accomplished exactly the prescribed number of salves and
signs of the cross, addressing God with an imperturbable faith, as
one who never doubts his own worth and acceptability.
The three-quarters of an hour of devotions having elapsed, Constantius
arose with a light heart. Eunuchs undressed him. He lay down on an
Imperial couch propped by cherubim of silver on outspread wings, and
fell asleep in placid innocence with a child like smile on his lips.