"How do you do, my reverend friend?" he asked, after a surprised and
mocking scrutiny of the dignitary's new costume.
Julius was a free man, having an independent fortune; and for him the
change of religion was a matter of indifference. He was by no means
surprised at the transformation of his official friends, but took
pleasure in putting teasing questions whenever he met them, assuming
the air of a moralist who concealed indignation under the mask of
irony.
The people were hurrying to the entrance of the church, and upon the
deserted steps outside the friends were soon able to talk freely.
Anatolius, ensconced behind a column, listened to the dialogue--
"Why didn't you stay to the end of the service?" asked Mauricus.
"Palpitations. I was half-stifled. I'm not accustomed..." and Avinius
added thoughtfully--
"The new preacher has an extraordinary style. His exaggerations act
too violently on my nerves. A style ... like the scratching of iron on
glass!"
"Really, how touching!" laughed Mauricus. "Here's a man who has
abjured conscience!... But _style_...."
"No, no; perhaps I didn't understand him well!" interrupted Avinius.
"Don't disbelieve it! Mauricus, I am sincere."
From a downy litter the head of the chancery himself, Garguillus, got
out, groaning--
"I think I'm late.... But that's of no great importance; I'll remain
on the space outside ... God and the Holy Ghost...."
"Here's another miracle!" laughed Mauricus. "Texts from the Bible, in
the mouth of Garguillus!"
"May Christ forgive you, my son!" quoth that imperturbable quæstor;
"what are you always racking your soul about?"
"Oh, but up to now I haven't been able quite to get over it! There are
so many conversions, so many transformations! I had always imagined
that your opinions...."
"Pure stupidity, my dear son! I have only one opinion, which is, that
the Galilean cooks are no worse than the Hellenist cooks. The
Hellenists put me on a lenten diet ... which would make anybody
ill.... Come and dine, O philosopher, and I'll bring you over to my
belief. You will lick your fingers after it! And, after all, isn't it
the same thing to eat a good dinner in honour of the god Hermes, and
to eat it in honour of St. Mercurius? All these things are
prejudices. I don't see anything irritating in trifles like this." And
he pointed to the little amber cross, which dangled amidst the
perfumed folds of an amethystine-purple robe, upon his enormous belly.
"Look, there's Hekobolis, the arch-priest of the goddess
Astarte-Dindymene! The hierophant has repented, and is now in black
Galilean vestments again!... Oh, Ovid, singer of _Metamorphoses_, why
art thou not here?" chanted Mauricus, pointing to an old man with a
red face seated in a covered litter--
"What's he reading?"
"It surely can't be the laws of the goddess of Pessinus!"
"What divine humility!... Fasting has thinned him!... Look how he's
sighing and throwing up his eyes!"
"Do you know the story of his conversion?" asked Garguillus with a
cheerful laugh.
"He went to find Jovian, the Emperor, and I suppose, as formerly with
Julian, fell at his feet...."
"Oh, no! he invented something entirely new. There was a sudden public
repentance. He prostrated himself at the door of a church, just as
Jovian was coming out, and in the middle of the crowd, Hekobolis
shouted 'Trample on me! trample on me! I am Dead-Sea fruit!' and, with
tears, kissed the feet of the passers-by."
"Ah ... that's new! And was it successful?"
"By Jove! he had a private interview with the Emperor. Oh, people like
him have got nine lives! Everything turns to gold in their fingers.
When they slough the old skin, they get young again. Learn, my
children...."
"And what did he manage to say to the Emperor?"
"How can I tell?" sighed Garguillus, not without a certain secret
jealousy. "He may have said perhaps, 'Cling to Christianity till not a
Pagan be left upon earth! The religion of the just is the basis of
your throne!' Now his fortune is made; and far more securely than in
the time of Julian. What exquisite sagacity!"
"Oh, my benefactors, protect me! Snatch Cicumbrix, the humblest of
your slaves, from the claws of the lions!"
"What's happened?" asked Garguillus of the consumptive shoemaker, who
was being dragged off by two of the town police.
"They're going to throw me into prison!"
"Why?"
"For pillaging a church..."
"What? You have..."
"No, no! I was in the crowd, and I just cried out once or twice 'Beat
them!' That was under Augustus Julian. Then they said, 'Cæsar desires
that the Christian churches shall be destroyed.' But I didn't go into
the church; I stayed outside. My shop is a wretched little place; but
it's on a crowded square, and if anything happens I'm always lugged up
as a witness. O defend me! Have pity on me!"
"Are you a Christian or a Pagan?" asked Julius.
"I don't know myself. Before Constantine's time I sacrificed to the
gods. Then I was baptised. Then, under Constantius, I became an Arian.
Afterwards I had to become a Hellenist. Now I want to be an Arian
again; but it's all mixed up in my head! I obey orders, and I never
can happen to profess the true religion at the right time. I have
fought for Christ, and also for the gods.... But it's always either
too soon or too late! One gets no rest.... I have children.... Protect
me, benefactors!"
"Fear nothing, my friend; we will get you off. I remember you once
made me a handsome pair of shoes."
Anatolius, unperceived by his friends, now went into the church,
desiring to hear Theodorite, the young and celebrated preacher. The
sun was shining through clouds of incense, and one of the slanting
rays fell on the red beard of the speaker in the pulpit. His frail
hands were transparent as wax; his exultant eyes feverishly bright,
and his thrilling voice thundered in an avenging cry.
"I desire to write, as on a sign-post of infamy for future
generations, the history of Julian, the foul renegade. May all ages
and peoples read my inscription, and tremble before the justice of the
Lord!... Come hither, torturer, serpent of wisdom, to-day we will
scoff at thee! Together, my brothers, let us rejoice; let us sound our
timbrels, and chant the chant of Miriam over the destruction of the
Egyptians in the Red Sea. O Emperor! where are thy ceremonies, thy
mysteries? Where now are thy invocations and thy divinations? Where
are thy Persian and Babylonish glories? Where are the gods that
accompanied thee--thy defenders, Julian? All have deceived thee, all
have vanished!"
"Ah, my dear! What a beard he has!" said an ancient rouged patrician
lady, standing near Anatolius, to her neighbour. "It's a sort of gold,
of brown-gold colour!"
"Yes, but how about his teeth?" answered the other.
"What--teeth? With a beard like that, teeth are nothing!"
"No! ah no, Veronica, don't say that! Can one compare him with brother
Tiphanius..."