Not far from Succi, a mountainous defile in the Hæmus range[8] between
Moesia and Thrace, two men were making their way along a narrow path,
at night, through a forest of beeches. They were the Emperor Julian
and Maximus the enchanter. The full moon was shining in a clear sky,
and strangely illuminating the gold and purple of autumn foliage. From
time to time a wan yellow leaf would fall swirling with a slight
rustle. The air was full of moisture and the musty smell of a tardy
autumn--that soft, chill melancholy odour which puts men in mind of
death. The soft masses of leaves made a brushing sound under the feet
of the travellers, and round them in the silent woods burned the
magnificent obsequies of the departing year.
[8] The Balkans.
"Master," asked Julian, "why is not that divine lightness mine, that
gaiety which used to make so splendid the men of Hellas?"
"You are not a man of Hellas."