Composers of Court epigrams, who mockingly nicknamed Julian
"Victorinus" or "the little Conqueror," were astonished to receive,
time after time, news of the Cæsar's continual victories. The
laughable gradually became the terrible. General discussion arose
about witchcrafts and secret dæmonic forces backing the fortunes of
the friend of Maximus of Ephesus.
Julian had conquered and restored to the Roman Empire Argentoratum,
Bracomagum,[2] Tres Tabernæ,[3] Noviomagus,[4] Vangiones,[5]
Moguntiacum.[6]
[2] Brumat near Strasburg.
[3] Saverne (Vosges).
[4] Spires.
[5] Worms.
[6] Mayence.
The soldiers worshipped him as much as ever; and Julian became more
and more convinced that the Olympians were protecting him and
advancing his cause. But, for prudential reasons, he continued to
attend Christian churches, and in the town of Vienna on the banks of
the river Rhodanus he had been present at an especially solemn mass.
In the middle of December the conquering Cæsar was returning after a
long campaign to winter quarters in his beloved Parisis-Lutetia on the
banks of the Seine.
Night was closing in. The southern soldiers were marvelling at the pale
green lights of the northern sky. New-fallen snow sounded crisply under
the tread of the soldiers. Lutetia, built on a little island, was
surrounded by wide river-channels. Two wooden bridges connected the
town with steep banks. Its houses were built in the Gallo-Roman style,
with broad glazed galleries, instead of the open porticoes of southern
countries. The smoke of a multitude of chimneys hung over the town, and
the trees were hoar with frost.
Fig-trees carefully swaddled in straw, and brought by the Romans from
the south, clung to the southward-facing walls of the gardens, like
children dreading the cold.
This year, in spite of occasional thawing winds from the south, the
winter had been severe. Huge blocks of ice, crashing and grinding
together, were floating down the Seine. The Greek and Roman soldiers
used to watch these in surprise, and Julian too wondered at the beauty
of the blue and green transparent masses, and compared them to
Phrygian marble, with its emerald-hued veins.
There was something in the sad beauty of the North which, like a
distant remembrance, haunted and thrilled his heart, as now he and his
troop arrived at the palace, of which the brick arcades and turrets
rose in sharp black outline against the twilight sky.
Julian went into the library. The cold was intense; a great fire was
kindled on the hearth, and letters which had arrived at Lutetia during
his absence were brought to him. One of these from Asia Minor came
from Iamblicus. Julian thought that the fragrance of the East came
with it.
Outside a hurricane was raging, and the wind roaring by struck violent
blows on the closed shutters. Shutting his eyes, Julian dreamed of
marble porticoes and gleaming temples veiled in obscurity, sweeping
away to the horizon to disappear like golden clouds.
He shivered, rose, and noticed that the fire had gone out. He could
hear a mouse gnawing the parchments in the library.
Julian suddenly felt a longing to see a human face. With a
half-humorous smile he remembered that he had a wife. She was a
relative of the Empress Eusebia, named Helena, whom the Emperor had
forced to marry Julian shortly before his departure for Gaul. Julian
cared nothing for Helena. Although more than a year had elapsed since
their marriage he had scarcely seen her; he knew nothing of her, and
had never passed a night under the same roof. His wife had remained a
virgin.
From youth up, her dream had been to become the spouse of Christ. The
idea of marriage filled her with disgust. At first she had thought all
was lost, but, seeing afterwards that Julian asked from her no
conjugal caresses, she grew calmer and lived in her apartment, morose,
placid, dressed in black, the life of a nun. In her prayers Helena had
vowed perpetual chastity.
On this night a mischievous curiosity drove Julian to the tower in
which his wife was praying. He opened the door without knocking, and
went into the feebly lighted cell; the virgin was kneeling before a
lectern above which hung a large crucifix.
Julian approached, and screening the flame of the lamp with one hand,
gazed at his wife for some minutes, frowning. She was so absorbed in
devotion that she did not notice him. He said--
"Helena!"
She uttered a cry and turned her pale severe face towards Julian.
"How you startled me!"
He looked wonderingly at the great crucifix, the gospel, and the
lectern, and murmured--
"Are you always praying?"
"Yes! I pray for you also, well-beloved Cæsar."
"For me? Really!... Confess that you believe me to be a great sinner?"
She lowered her eyes without answering. His frown became deeper.
"Do not be afraid; speak out. Don't you believe that I am specially
guilty, in some manner, before God?"