"Call in the other."
A physician came up--a courtier-like person, with a clean-shaven rosy
face, an Armenian who assumed the airs of a Roman patrician. He
observed respectfully that too keen emotion might be harmful to the
Emperor, that he should rest.... Constantius waved him away like an
irritating fly.
The second courier was shown in. He was Cintula, the tribune of the
Imperial stables, who had escaped from Lutetia. He brought the
terrible news that the inhabitants of Sirmium[7] had opened their
doors to Julian, and welcomed him as the saviour of the country. In
two days he would debouch on the great Roman road leading to
Constantinople.
[7] On the Save, at no great distance from Belgrade.
The Emperor either did not hear, or did not understand, the last words
of the messenger. His face became strangely rigid. He made a gesture
of dismissal to all present. Eusebius alone remained to talk the
business over with him. In another quarter of an hour Constantius
ordered that he should be assisted to his chamber, and made several
steps. Then a cry escaped him; he pressed his hands to his head, as if
he suddenly felt terrible pain. Courtiers ran to support him. The
Emperor did not lose consciousness. By his face and movements, and the
veins, standing out like whipcord on his forehead, it was evident that
he was making fearful efforts to speak.
Finally he stammered slowly, word by word, as if being throttled by an
iron collar--
"I--want--to--speak--and--I--cannot!" Those were his last words;
paralysis had stricken the whole of his right side. His arm and leg
fell inert.
He was carried to bed, but his eyes were wakeful and intelligent, and
he struggled to utter something--some important order perhaps. From
his lips came only confused sounds, like weak lowings. No one
understood what he wanted, and the invalid fixed his clear gaze in
turn on each present. Eunuchs, courtiers, generals, slaves, thronged
round the dying man, helplessly desirous of doing his last behest.
At moments the clear eye became angered and the lowing hoarse. At last
Eusebius understood, and brought wax and tablets. At the sight of
these a flash of joy was seen on the Emperor's face. He gripped the
steel stylus awkwardly, like a child. After some struggles, he
succeeded in tracing a few letters on the soft wax, and the courtiers
with difficulty deciphered the word "_Baptism_." Constantius fixed his
supplicating look on Eusebius, and everybody wondered at not having
understood before. He was desirous of being baptised before death,
having, like his father Constantine, always postponed this sacrament
to the last, in the belief that he could then miraculously cleanse his
soul and leave it whiter than snow. A messenger was despatched for the
bishop. There proved to be none in Mopsucrenam, and recourse was had
to the Arian priest of the basilica. He was a timid man, with a
bird-like face, red-nosed, with a goat's beard, and a provincial
manner.
When disturbed by the messengers, Father Nymphodion was enjoying his
tenth wine-cup, and seemed in too cheerful a mood. It was impossible
to make clear to him the matter in hand, and he grew angry at what he
believed to be raillery. But when at length convinced that fate had
designated him to baptise an Emperor he nearly lost his reason. When
he entered the chamber of the sick man, the Emperor gazed on the
trembling priest with such humility that it was evident he feared to
die, and was eager to hasten the ceremony. Meantime the town had been
scoured in vain for a basin of gold or silver. It is true that a
jewelled one was available, but it had served for the bacchic
mysteries of Dionysus; and the common copper basin used by the
parishioners of the basilica was therefore preferable. This copper
basin was brought to the bed and warm water poured into it. The doctor
was about to feel its temperature, but the Emperor made a brusque
movement and groaned, lest the water should be sullied. The dying
man's tunic was taken off. Strong arms of legionaries raised him, like
a child, and immersed him. The wasted face of Constantius, his eyes
fixed and wide open, stared at the cross fixed above the Labarum, the
golden standard of Constantine. It was an obstinate and vacuous stare,
as of children when they see some dazzling object and cannot turn away
from it.
The ceremony did not soothe the sick man, who seemed to have forgotten
everything. Volition came into his eyes for the last time when
Eusebius again stretched out to him the waxen tablet, but Constantius,
unable to write, only traced with his finger the name "_Julian_." Did
he desire to pardon his enemy or to bequeath his vengeance?
For three days he lay in the extremity of death; courtiers murmured to
each other that this was evidently some special punishment of God, who
would not permit him to die. But they referred to him always as "The
Divine Augustus," "His Holiness," and "The Eternal." His sufferings
must have been great; the low moaning turned into a steady
death-rattle, which went on day and night. Courtiers came in and went
out, eagerly hoping for the end. The eunuch Eusebius alone never left
his master. Many a crime had this eunuch upon his conscience; all the
tangled threads of reports, espials, and ecclesiastical broils were
gathered in his hands. But he alone in the palace proved his love to
his master, and at night when everyone was sleeping, or had withdrawn,
worn out by the task of nursing, Eusebius remained by the bedside,
arranging pillows, cooling the dry lips with ice, or kneeling at the
feet of the Emperor in prayer. When none saw, Eusebius would gently
lift the purple coverlet and weepingly kiss the feet, now pale and
benumbed. Once it seemed to him that Constantius noticed this caress
and thanked him with a look. Something fraternal and tender passed
between the two cruel, ill-starred, and solitary men.
Eusebius closed the eyes of the Emperor; the Church recited over him,
before the body was committed to the tomb--
"Rise again, O king of the earth! Answer the summons of thy coming
Judge, the King of kings!"