Julian (21 page)

Macrina was mischievous.

"I suppose someone must have." Gregory's round eyes became even rounder with irritation.

"But how could you tell? The wind is invisible. So how would you know which particular wind—if any—made the bird conceive?"

"She is perverse." Gregory turned to me, much annoyed. "Besides, if it were not true, Aristotle would not have said it was true and we would not all agree today that it is indeed the truth."

"I'm not sure of the logic of that," began Macrina thoughtfully.

"She'll be condemned for atheism one of these days." Gregory tried to sound playful; he failed.

Macrina laughed at him, a pleasant, low, unmalicious laugh. "All right. A vulture's eggs are laid by a virgin bird. Accepted. What has that to do with Christ's birth? Mary was not a vulture. She was a woman. Women conceive in only one way. I can't see that Basil's answer to the Cynic was so crushing. What is true of the vulture is not necessarily true of Mary."

"Basil's answer," said Gregory tightly, "was to the argument used by the Cynic when he said that
all
things are conceived by male and female. Well, if
one
thing is not conceived in this fashion—and that was Basil's argument—then another might not be and…"

"But 'might not' is not an argument. I might suddenly grow wings and fly to Rome (I wish I could!) but I can't, I don't."

"There are no cases of human beings having wings, but there is…"

"Icarus and Daedalus," began the valiant Macrina, but we were saved by Basil's arrival. Gregory's face was dark with anger, and the girl was beside herself with amusement.

Basil and I greeted one another warmly. He had changed considerably since we were adolescents. He was now a fine-looking man, tall and somewhat thin; unlike Gregory, he wore his hair close-cropped. I teased him about this. "Short hair means a bishop."

Basil smiled his amiable smile and said in a soft voice," 'May that cup pass from me,'" a quotation from the Nazarene. But unlike the carpenter, Basil was sincere. Today he leads precisely the life that I should like for myself: withdrawn, ascetic, given to books and to prayer. He is a true contemplative and I admire him very much, despite his religion.

Macrina, having heard him call me Julian, suddenly said, "Isn't the Emperor's cousin, the one called Julian, supposed to come to Athens?"

Basil looked with surprise at Gregory, who motioned for him to be still. "Do
you
know the prince7" Macrina turned to me. I nodded. "I know him. But not well." Solon's famous truth.

Macrina nodded. "But of course you would. You were all at Pergamon together. The Twins often discuss him."

I was embarrassed but amused. I have never been an eavesdropper, even in childhood. Not from any sense of virtue but because I really do not want to know what people think of me or, to be precise, what they
say
of me—often a different matter. I can usually imagine the unpleasant judgments, for we are what others need us to be. That is why our reputations change so often and so drastically, reflecting no particular change in us, merely a change in the mood of those who observe us. When things go well, an emperor is loved; badly, hated. I never need to look in a mirror. I see myself all too clearly in the eyes of those about me.

I was embarrassed not so much for what Macrina might say about me but for what she might reveal about Gregory and Basil. I would not have been surprised if they had a low opinion of me. Intelligent youths of low birth tend to resent the intellectual pretensions of princes. In their place, I would.

Gregory looked downright alarmed. Basil's face was inscrutable. I tried to change the subject. I asked at what time her uncle would be receiving but she ignored the question. "It's their chief distinction, knowing Julian. They discuss him by the hour. They speculate on his chances of becoming emperor. Gregory thinks he
will
be emperor. Basil thinks Constantius will kill him."

Though Basil knew where the conversation was tending, he was fearless. "Macrina, how can you be so certain this is not one of the Emperor's secret agents?"

"Because you know him."

"We know criminals, too. Idolaters. Agents of the devil."

"Whoever saw a secret agent with that sort of beard? Besides, why should I care?
I'm
not plotting against the Emperor." She turned to me, black eyes glowing. "If you
are
a secret agent, you'll remember that, won't you? I worship the Emperor. My sun rises and sets in his divinity. Every time I see that beautiful face in marble, I want to weep, to cry out: Perfection, thou art Constantius!"

Gregory positively hissed, not at all sure how I would take this mockery. I was amused but uncomfortable. I confess it occurred to me that perhaps Gregory or Basil or even Macrina might indeed be a member of the secret police. If so, Macrina had already said quite enough to have us all executed. That would be the saddest fate of all: to die as the result of a joke!

"Don't be an old woman, Gregory!" Macrina turned to me.

"These two dislike Julian. I can't think why. Jealousy, I suppose. Especially Gregory. He's very petty. Aren't you?" Gregory was now grey with terror. "They feel Julian is a dilettante and not serious. They say his love of learning is just affectation. Basil feels that his true calling is that of a general—if he lives, of course. But Gregory thinks he's far too scatterbrained even for that. Yet Gregory longs for Julian to be emperor. He wants to be friend to an emperor. You're both terribly worldly, deep down, aren't you?"

Gregory was speechless. Basil was alarmed but he showed courage. "I would deny only the part about 'worldly'. I want nothing
in
the world. In fact, next month I enter a monastery at Caesarea where I shall be as far from the world as I can be, this side of death."

Gregory rallied. "You do have a bitter tongue, Macrina." He turned to me, attempting lightness. "She invents everything. She loves to mock us. She is a pagan, of course. A true Athenian." He could hardly contain his loathing of the girl or his fear of me. Macrina laughed at him. "Anyway, I'm curious to meet the prince." She turned to me. "Where will you live? With my uncle?"

I said no, that I would stay with friends. She nodded. "My uncle keeps a good house and never cheats. My father takes some of the overflow and though he's honest he hates all students deeply, hopelessly."

I laughed. The Twins laughed too, somewhat hollowly. Basil then proposed that we go to the house of Prohaeresius. I settled our account with the owner of the tavern. We went outside. In the hot dust of the street, Macrina whispered in my ear, "I have known all along that you were the prince."

Priscus
: You will be aware of a number of ironies in what you have just read. The unspeakable Gregory is due to preside over the new Ecumenical Council. They say he will be the next bishop of Constantinople. How satisfying to glimpse this noble bishop in his ragged youth! Basil, who wanted only the contemplative life, now governs the church in Asia as bishop of Caesarea. I liked Basil during the brief period I knew him in Athens. He had a certain fire, and a good mind. He might have been a first-rate historian had he not decided to be a power in the church. But how can these young men resist the chance to rise? Philosophy offers them nothing; the church everything.

Julian was more wary of Gregory than I'd thought. But this could be hindsight. When Julian was writing his memoir, he asked me what I thought of Gregory and I assured him that if ever he had an enemy it was that jackal. Julian disagreed. But what 1 said apparently had some effect. As I have told you before, I want nothing to do with the publication of this memoir. Even so, if it is published, I shall delight in the effect it will have on the new bishop of Constantinople. He will not enjoy public reminder of his pseudo-Cynic youth.

It is also amusing to compare Gregory's actual behaviour in Athens with his own account of those days which he has given us in the Invective he wrote shortly after Julian died. I have this work in front of me as I write. At almost no point is it honest. For instance, Gregory describes Julian's appearance in this way: "His neck was unsteady, his shoulders always in motion, shrugging up and down like a pair of scales, his eyes rolling and glancing from side to side with an almost insane expression, his feet unsteady and stumbling, his nostrils breathing insolence and disdain, the expression of his face ridiculous, his bursts of laughter unrestrained and coming in noisy gusts, his nods of assent and dissent quite inappropriate, his speech stopping short and interrupted by his taking a breath, his questions without sense or order, his answers not a whit better than his questions…" This is not even good caricature. Of course Julian
did
talk too much; he was enormously eager to learn and to teach; he could often be silly. But he was hardly the spastic creature Gregory describes. The malice of a true Christian attempting to destroy an opponent is something unique in the world. No other religion ever considered it necessary to destroy others because they did not share the same beliefs. At worst, another man's belief might inspire amusement or contempt—the Egyptians and their animal gods, for instance. Yet those who worshipped the Bull did not try to murder those who worshipped the Snake, or to convert them by force from Snake to Bull. No evil ever entered the world quite so vividly or on such a vast scale as Christianity did. I don't need to tell you that my remarks are for your eyes alone and not for publication. I put them down now in this uncharacteristic way because I find myself more moved than I thought I would be as I recall that season in Athens, not only through the eyes of my own memory but through those of Julian.

Gregory also maintains that he knew even then that Julian was a Hellenist, secretly conspiring against Christianity. This is not true. Gregory might have guessed the first (though I doubt it); he certainly could not have
known
that Julian was conspiring against the state religion, since at that time Julian was hardly conspiring against anything. He was under constant surveillance. He wanted only to survive. Yet Gregory writes, "I used these very words about him: 'What an evil the Roman State is nourishing,' though I prefaced them by a wish that I might wove a false prophet." If Gregory had said this to anyone, it would have been the talk of Athens. It would also have been treason, since Julian was the heir of Constantius. If Gregory ever made such a prophecy, it must have been whispered in Basil's ear when they were in bed together.

I find Julian's reference to Macrina amusing and disingenuous. In the proper place I shall tell you the true story, which you may or may not use, as you see fit. Julian's version is true only up to a point. I suppose he wanted to protect her reputation, not to mention his own.

I see Macrina occasionally. She was always plain. She is now hideous. But so am I. So is all the world, old. But in her day Macfinn was the most interesting girl in Athens.

Julian Augustus

Even today, Prohaeresius is a man I greatly admire. I say "even today" because he is a Galilean and has opposed my edict forbidding Gallleans to teach the classics. Though I went out of my way to exempt him from this ban, he has gone into retirement. When I met him, he had been for forty years the city's most famous teacher of rhetoric. His house is a large one near the Illssos River. At all hours it is—or was—crowded with students asking questions, answering questions.

At first I stood at the back of the crowded dim room and watched Prohaeresius as he sat comfortably in a large wooden chair. He was then eighty years of age: tall, vigorous, with a powerful chest, extraordinary black eyes, not unlike those of his niece Macrina. His hair was white and thick and curled richly upon his brow, like seafoam on a beach. He was in every way a handsome man, with a voice to match. In fact, he was such a master of eloquence that when my cousin Constans sent him on a mission to Rome, the Romans not only admitted that he was the most eloquent speaker they had ever heard, they set up a bronze statue to him in the forum with the inscription: "From Rome, the Queen of Cities, to Prohaeresius, the King of Eloquence." I mention this to emphasize his gifts, for the people of the city of Rome are the most iaded and bored in the world. Or so everyone tells me. I have yet to see my capital city.

Prohaeresius was consoling a student who complained of poverty. "I make no case for poverty. But it is at least bearable in youth. Salt to the day. When I first came from Armenia to Athens, I lived with a friend in an attic, just off the Street of the Slaughter-houses. Between us we had one cloak and one blanket. In winter we broke the day in watches. When he went out, wearing the cloak, I would huddle under the blanket. When he came back, I would take the cloak while he kept warm in bed. You have no idea how good this is for one's style. I would prepare speeches of such eloquence that I brought tears to my own eyes as I declaimed them into that old blanket, teeth chattering from the cold." There was an amused murmur. I had the sense that this was a favourite story, often told.

Then Gregory spoke to him in a low voice. Prohaeresius nodded and got to his feet. I was startled to see that he was nearer seven than six feet tall.

"We have a visitor," he said to the others. All eyes were turned to me and I looked nervously to the floor. "A scholar of some renown." Despite the irony of this, he said it amiably. "The cousin of a young friend of mine, now dead. Fellow scholars, the most noble Julian, heir to all the material world, as we are heirs to things spiritual, or try to be."

There was a moment of confusion. The students were uncertain whether to behave towards me as a member of the imperial family or as a student. Many of those who were seated rose; some bowed; others simply stared curiously. Macrina whispered in my ear, "Go on, you dummy! Speak to him!"

I pulled myself together and made a speech, very brief and to the point, or so I thought. Macrina told me later that it was interminable and pretentious. Fortunately, now that I am Emperor all my speeches are considered graceful and to the point. How one's style improves with greatness!