The celebrated sophist, Hekobolis, Court professor of eloquence, had
begun to climb the ladder of promotion at the very lowest rungs. He
had been a servant attached to the Temple of Astarte at Hieropolis. At
sixteen, having stolen some articles of value, he escaped to
Constantinople, lived with the dregs of the populace, soaked in every
kind of rascality. Later he took to the high-roads, where, roving on
ass-back from village to village, he lived from hand to mouth, in
company both with respectable pilgrims and with bands of
brigands--sacrificers to Dindymene, that goddess beloved of the
people. Finally he reached the school of Proeres the rhetorician, and
soon became a teacher of eloquence himself.
During the last years of Constantine the Great, when the Christian
religion became fashionable at Court, Hekobolis became a Christian.
The clergy showed him sympathy, but Hekobolis (though never
inopportunely) changed his form of creed as the wind blew: from Arian
he became Orthodox, from Orthodox Arian, and every conversion raised
him a step in office.
The clergy pushed him up this ascent, and in turn he lent the clergy a
helping hand.
His head grew grey; he became pleasantly corpulent, his sage speeches
more and more honeyed and insinuating, his cheeks more rosy, his eyes
more kindly and brilliant. At moments an evil irony sparkled in them,
as of some cold and arrogant spirit, but the eyelids would promptly
drop and the sparkle vanish. All his habits were clerical. He was a
strict observer of fasts, and an exquisite judge of cookery. His lean
diet was more refined than the most sumptuous course of holiday
feeding; just as his ecclesiastical witticisms were keener than the
frankest pleasantries of the Pagans. He used to be served with a
cooling drink made of beetroot and savoured with delicious spices.
Many thought it preferable to wine. When denied ordinary wheaten bread
he invented cakes of a desert manna, with which, it is said, Pachomius
fed himself in Egypt. Ill-natured folk insinuated that Hekobolis was a
libertine, and quaint tales were told about him at Constantinople. A
young woman avowed to her confessor that she had fallen from
chastity--
"It is a great sin! And with whom were you guilty, my daughter?" "With
Hekobolis, father!" The priestly visage cleared up. "With Hekobolis;
ah, really! Well, well, the holy man is devoted to the Church! Repent,
my daughter; the Lord will forgive!"
Such anedoctes were mere tittle-tattle. But his thick red lips were a
trifle too prominent in the respectable shorn visage of the dignitary,
although he usually kept them tightly closed, with an expression of
monastic humility. Women were fond of his company.
Sometimes Hekobolis used to disappear for several days. No one
fathomed the mystery, for he kept his own counsel. Neither servant nor
slave accompanied him on these enigmatic journeys, from which he would
return calmed and refreshed.
Under the Emperor Constantius, he received the appointment of Court
rhetorician, with a superb salary, the senatorial laticlave, and the
blue shoulder-ribbon, a distinction of the highest dignitaries. Nor
was his ambition satisfied.
But at the moment when Hekobolis was preparing to mount a step higher,
Constantius unexpectedly died. Julian, the Church's enemy, ascended
the throne. Hekobolis lost no whit of his presence of mind. He merely
did what many others were doing, but did it neither too soon nor too
late.
Julian, in the first days of his reign, organised a theological
controversy in his palace. A young doctor of philosophy, esteemed by
everybody for his uprightness and noble nature, Cæsar of
Cappadocia,--brother of the famous theologian, Basil the
Great,--undertook the defence of the Christian faith against the
Emperor himself.
In such tournaments of learning Julian authorised an entire
independence of language, and even liked to be answered with passion
and complete disregard of rank.
Discussion was of the keenest kind, and considerable numbers of
sophists, priests, and men of science were present. Usually the
opponent little by little gave way, yielding, not to the logic of the
Greek philosopher, but to the majesty of the Roman Emperor.
But on this occasion it was not so. Cæsar of Cappadocia did not yield.
He was a young man, almost feminine in the grace of his movements, and
with a steady clearness in his frank eyes. He denominated the Platonic
philosophy "the tortuous wisdom of the serpent," contrasting it with
the heavenly wisdom of the Gospel. Julian frowned, bit his lips,
bridling his anger with difficulty. The argument, like all sincere
discussions, ended without results, and the Emperor, recovering his
self-possession, quitted the hall with a philosophic jest, and a face
of smilingly regretful magnanimity; in reality, pierced to the heart.
Precisely at this moment, Hekobolis, the rhetorician, came up. Julian,
who considered him an enemy, asked him--
"What do you want?"
Hekobolis fell on his knees, and began a confession of repentance. For
long, he said, he had hesitated; but the reasonings of the Emperor had
finally convinced him. He cursed the dark Galilean superstition, and
his heart returned to the remembrance of his childhood and the bright
gods of Olympus.
The Emperor raised the old man, and, scarcely able to speak with
emotion, pressed him convulsively to his bosom, and kissed him on his
shaven cheeks and thick red lips. His eyes sought out Cæsar of
Cappadocia to feast on his opponent's humiliation.
Julian kept Hekobolis near him for several days, repeating everywhere
the story of his conversion, proud of his disciple as a child of a new
toy, as a youth of his first mistress.
The Emperor desired to give some Court place of honour to his new
friend, but Hekobolis flatly refused, alleging himself to be unworthy
such distinction. He had decided to prepare his soul for the virtue of
the Olympians by a long novitiate; and to purge his heart of Galilean
impiety by personal service to one of the old gods.
Julian therefore nominated him chief sacrificial priest of Bithynia
and Paphlagonia.
Persons bearing this title were called by the Pagans Archiepiscopts.
The Archbishop Hekobolis thus governed two Asiatic provinces. Having
taken the new way, he pursued it with as much success as the old, and
even contributed to the conversion of many Christians to Hellenism.
Hekobolis became the high-priest to the celebrated Phoenician goddess,
Astarte Atargatis, where in childhood he had served as a slave. This
temple was built half-way between Chalcedon and Nicomedia, on a lofty
promontory running out into the Propontic Sea. The place was called
Gargarus. Pilgrims came thither from all corners of the earth to adore
Aphrodite Astarte, goddess of life and love.
V
In one of the halls of his palace at Constantinople Julian was busy
with affairs of state.
Between the porphyry columns on the terrace, looking out on the
Bosphorus, lay a sparkling view of the pale blue sea. The young
Emperor was seated at a round marble table, covered with papyri and
rolls of parchment. Silentiaries of the palace stooped over the table,
scribbling audibly with reed-pens. Some had a sleepy expression, not
being accustomed to get up at such an early hour. Standing a little
aloof, behind the colonnade, two men were exchanging observations in a
low voice. These were Hekobolis and Julius Mauricus, an official with
an intelligent, bilious countenance. This elegant Court sceptic,
amidst general superstition, was one of the last admirers of Lucian,
the satirist of Samos, author of stinging dialogues, in which he
railed so pitilessly at all the idols of Olympus and Golgotha, every
tradition of Greece and Rome. Julian was dictating a document to the
chief priest of Galicia, Arsacius--
"Do not allow the sacrificial priests to frequent the theatre, to
drink in taverns, or follow low trades. Respect the obedient, punish
the unfaithful. In every town cause guest-houses to be built for
pilgrims, who should therein find ample charity. Not only for
Hellenist pilgrims, but for all, to whatever profession of faith they
may belong. We ordain to be distributed in Galicia thirty thousand
measures of wheat, a hundred and twenty thousand gallons of wine.
Distribute a fifth part amongst the poor living near the temple, the
rest amongst pilgrims and the sick. It is shameful that the Hellenists
starve, when the Jews have not a beggar amongst them and the Galileans
feed both their own poor and ours. They act like those who entice
children with sweetmeats, beginning by hospitality, inviting to feasts
of brotherly love. Little by little they finish by fasts,
flagellations, madness, deaths of martyrs, and the horror of hell.
Such are the customary means of those enemies of the human race who
call themselves Christians and brothers. Combat them by charity, given
in the name of the eternal Olympian gods. Announce in all cities and
villages that such is my heartfelt will. If I learn that you have
acted according to my decree, my favour shall be with you. Explain to
the citizens that I hold myself in readiness to come to their help at
any moment in all circumstances. But if they desire to obtain my
favours, let them bow before Dindymene, the great Cybele, mother of
the gods, and let them give glory unto her throughout all peoples,
throughout all time."
He wrote the concluding words with his own hand.
Breakfast was served--bread, cheese, fresh olives, and a light white
wine. Julian ate and drank without ceasing work. But suddenly he
turned and pointing to the golden plate of olives, asked his favourite
slave, who had been brought by him from Gaul, and invariably served
him at table--
"Why this gold plate? Where is the other in earthenware?"
"Pardon, sire!... it is broken."
"Broken to pieces?"
"No--at the edge only...."
"Bring it here."
The slave ran to get the plate in question.
"It can be used for a long time yet," said Julian.
He smiled.
"My friends, I have long observed that the broken outlasts the new. I
confess I have a fancy for cracked things. They have the charm of old
friends!... I fear novelty and hate change," and he laughed heartily
at himself. "You see what philosophy lies in a broken plate!"