While the Romans languished under the ignominious tyranny of eunuchs and
bishops, the praises of Julian were repeated with transport in every part
of the empire, except in the palace of Constantius. The barbarians of
Germany had felt, and still dreaded, the arms of the young Cæsar;
his soldiers were the companions of his victory; the grateful provincials
enjoyed the blessings of his reign; but the favorites, who had opposed his
elevation, were offended by his virtues; and they justly considered the
friend of the people as the enemy of the court. As long as the fame of
Julian was doubtful, the buffoons of the palace, who were skilled in the
language of satire, tried the efficacy of those arts which they had so
often practised with success. They easily discovered, that his simplicity
was not exempt from affectation: the ridiculous epithets of a hairy
savage, of an ape invested with the purple, were applied to the dress and
person of the philosophic warrior; and his modest despatches were
stigmatized as the vain and elaborate fictions of a loquacious Greek, a
speculative soldier, who had studied the art of war amidst the groves of
the academy. The voice of malicious folly was at length silenced by the
shouts of victory; the conqueror of the Franks and Alemanni could no
longer be painted as an object of contempt; and the monarch himself was
meanly ambitious of stealing from his lieutenant the honorable reward of
his labors. In the letters crowned with laurel, which, according to
ancient custom, were addressed to the provinces, the name of Julian was
omitted. "Constantius had made his dispositions in person; he
had signalized his valor in the foremost ranks; his
military conduct had secured the victory; and the captive king of the
barbarians was presented to him on the field of
battle," from which he was at that time distant about forty days' journey.
So extravagant a fable was incapable, however, of deceiving the public
credulity, or even of satisfying the pride of the emperor himself.
Secretly conscious that the applause and favor of the Romans accompanied
the rising fortunes of Julian, his discontented mind was prepared to
receive the subtle poison of those artful sycophants, who colored their
mischievous designs with the fairest appearances of truth and candor.
Instead of depreciating the merits of Julian, they acknowledged, and even
exaggerated, his popular fame, superior talents, and important services.
But they darkly insinuated, that the virtues of the Cæsar might
instantly be converted into the most dangerous crimes, if the inconstant
multitude should prefer their inclinations to their duty; or if the
general of a victorious army should be tempted from his allegiance by the
hopes of revenge and independent greatness. The personal fears of
Constantius were interpreted by his council as a laudable anxiety for the
public safety; whilst in private, and perhaps in his own breast, he
disguised, under the less odious appellation of fear, the sentiments of
hatred and envy, which he had secretly conceived for the inimitable
virtues of Julian.
The apparent tranquillity of Gaul, and the imminent danger of the eastern
provinces, offered a specious pretence for the design which was artfully
concerted by the Imperial ministers. They resolved to disarm the Cæsar;
to recall those faithful troops who guarded his person and dignity; and to
employ, in a distant war against the Persian monarch, the hardy veterans
who had vanquished, on the banks of the Rhine, the fiercest nations of
Germany. While Julian used the laborious hours of his winter quarters at
Paris in the administration of power, which, in his hands, was the
exercise of virtue, he was surprised by the hasty arrival of a tribune and
a notary, with positive orders, from the emperor, which they
were directed to execute, and he was commanded
not to oppose. Constantius signified his pleasure, that four entire
legions, the Celtæ, and Petulants, the Heruli, and the Batavians,
should be separated from the standard of Julian, under which they had
acquired their fame and discipline; that in each of the remaining bands
three hundred of the bravest youths should be selected; and that this
numerous detachment, the strength of the Gallic army, should instantly
begin their march, and exert their utmost diligence to arrive, before the
opening of the campaign, on the frontiers of Persia. The Cæsar
foresaw and lamented the consequences of this fatal mandate. Most of the
auxiliaries, who engaged their voluntary service, had stipulated, that
they should never be obliged to pass the Alps. The public faith of Rome,
and the personal honor of Julian, had been pledged for the observance of
this condition. Such an act of treachery and oppression would destroy the
confidence, and excite the resentment, of the independent warriors of
Germany, who considered truth as the noblest of their virtues, and freedom
as the most valuable of their possessions. The legionaries, who enjoyed
the title and privileges of Romans, were enlisted for the general defence
of the republic; but those mercenary troops heard with cold indifference
the antiquated names of the republic and of Rome. Attached, either from
birth or long habit, to the climate and manners of Gaul, they loved and
admired Julian; they despised, and perhaps hated, the emperor; they
dreaded the laborious march, the Persian arrows, and the burning deserts
of Asia. They claimed as their own the country which they had saved; and
excused their want of spirit, by pleading the sacred and more immediate
duty of protecting their families and friends. The apprehensions of the
Gauls were derived from the knowledge of the impending and inevitable
danger. As soon as the provinces were exhausted of their military
strength, the Germans would violate a treaty which had been imposed on
their fears; and notwithstanding the abilities and valor of Julian, the
general of a nominal army, to whom the public calamities would be imputed,
must find himself, after a vain resistance, either a prisoner in the camp
of the barbarians, or a criminal in the palace of Constantius. If Julian
complied with the orders which he had received, he subscribed his own
destruction, and that of a people who deserved his affection. But a
positive refusal was an act of rebellion, and a declaration of war. The
inexorable jealousy of the emperor, the peremptory, and perhaps insidious,
nature of his commands, left not any room for a fair apology, or candid
interpretation; and the dependent station of the Cæsar scarcely
allowed him to pause or to deliberate. Solitude increased the perplexity
of Julian; he could no longer apply to the faithful counsels of Sallust,
who had been removed from his office by the judicious malice of the
eunuchs: he could not even enforce his representations by the concurrence
of the ministers, who would have been afraid or ashamed to approve the
ruin of Gaul. The moment had been chosen, when Lupicinus, the general of
the cavalry, was despatched into Britain, to repulse the inroads of the
Scots and Picts; and Florentius was occupied at Vienna by the assessment
of the tribute. The latter, a crafty and corrupt statesman, declining to
assume a responsible part on this dangerous occasion, eluded the pressing
and repeated invitations of Julian, who represented to him, that in every
important measure, the presence of the præfect was indispensable in
the council of the prince. In the mean while the Cæsar was oppressed
by the rude and importunate solicitations of the Imperial messengers, who
presumed to suggest, that if he expected the return of his ministers, he
would charge himself with the guilt of the delay, and reserve for them the
merit of the execution. Unable to resist, unwilling to comply, Julian
expressed, in the most serious terms, his wish, and even his intention, of
resigning the purple, which he could not preserve with honor, but which he
could not abdicate with safety.
After a painful conflict, Julian was compelled to acknowledge, that
obedience was the virtue of the most eminent subject, and that the
sovereign alone was entitled to judge of the public welfare. He issued the
necessary orders for carrying into execution the commands of Constantius;
a part of the troops began their march for the Alps; and the detachments
from the several garrisons moved towards their respective places of
assembly. They advanced with difficulty through the trembling and
affrighted crowds of provincials, who attempted to excite their pity by
silent despair, or loud lamentations, while the wives of the soldiers,
holding their infants in their arms, accused the desertion of their
husbands, in the mixed language of grief, of tenderness, and of
indignation. This scene of general distress afflicted the humanity of the
Cæsar; he granted a sufficient number of post-wagons to transport
the wives and families of the soldiers, endeavored to alleviate the
hardships which he was constrained to inflict, and increased, by the most
laudable arts, his own popularity, and the discontent of the exiled
troops. The grief of an armed multitude is soon converted into rage; their
licentious murmurs, which every hour were communicated from tent to tent
with more boldness and effect, prepared their minds for the most daring
acts of sedition; and by the connivance of their tribunes, a seasonable
libel was secretly dispersed, which painted in lively colors the disgrace
of the Cæsar, the oppression of the Gallic army, and the feeble
vices of the tyrant of Asia. The servants of Constantius were astonished
and alarmed by the progress of this dangerous spirit. They pressed the Cæsar
to hasten the departure of the troops; but they imprudently rejected the
honest and judicious advice of Julian; who proposed that they should not
march through Paris, and suggested the danger and temptation of a last
interview.
As soon as the approach of the troops was announced, the Cæsar went
out to meet them, and ascended his tribunal, which had been erected in a
plain before the gates of the city. After distinguishing the officers and
soldiers, who by their rank or merit deserved a peculiar attention, Julian
addressed himself in a studied oration to the surrounding multitude: he
celebrated their exploits with grateful applause; encouraged them to
accept, with alacrity, the honor of serving under the eye of a powerful
and liberal monarch; and admonished them, that the commands of Augustus
required an instant and cheerful obedience. The soldiers, who were
apprehensive of offending their general by an indecent clamor, or of
belying their sentiments by false and venal acclamations, maintained an
obstinate silence; and after a short pause, were dismissed to their
quarters. The principal officers were entertained by the Cæsar, who
professed, in the warmest language of friendship, his desire and his
inability to reward, according to their deserts, the brave companions of
his victories. They retired from the feast, full of grief and perplexity;
and lamented the hardship of their fate, which tore them from their
beloved general and their native country. The only expedient which could
prevent their separation was boldly agitated and approved; the popular
resentment was insensibly moulded into a regular conspiracy; their just
reasons of complaint were heightened by passion, and their passions were
inflamed by wine; as, on the eve of their departure, the troops were
indulged in licentious festivity. At the hour of midnight, the impetuous
multitude, with swords, and bows, and torches in their hands, rushed into
the suburbs; encompassed the palace; and, careless of future dangers,
pronounced the fatal and irrevocable words, Julian Augustus! The prince,
whose anxious suspense was interrupted by their disorderly acclamations,
secured the doors against their intrusion; and as long as it was in his
power, secluded his person and dignity from the accidents of a nocturnal
tumult. At the dawn of day, the soldiers, whose zeal was irritated by
opposition, forcibly entered the palace, seized, with respectful violence,
the object of their choice, guarded Julian with drawn swords through the
streets of Paris, placed him on the tribunal, and with repeated shouts
saluted him as their emperor. Prudence, as well as loyalty, inculcated the
propriety of resisting their treasonable designs; and of preparing, for
his oppressed virtue, the excuse of violence. Addressing himself by turns
to the multitude and to individuals, he sometimes implored their mercy,
and sometimes expressed his indignation; conjured them not to sully the
fame of their immortal victories; and ventured to promise, that if they
would immediately return to their allegiance, he would undertake to obtain
from the emperor not only a free and gracious pardon, but even the
revocation of the orders which had excited their resentment. But the
soldiers, who were conscious of their guilt, chose rather to depend on the
gratitude of Julian, than on the clemency of the emperor. Their zeal was
insensibly turned into impatience, and their impatience into rage. The
inflexible Cæsar sustained, till the third hour of the day, their
prayers, their reproaches, and their menaces; nor did he yield, till he
had been repeatedly assured, that if he wished to live, he must consent to
reign. He was exalted on a shield in the presence, and amidst the
unanimous acclamations, of the troops; a rich military collar, which was
offered by chance, supplied the want of a diadem; the ceremony was
concluded by the promise of a moderate donative; and the new emperor,
overwhelmed with real or affected grief retired into the most secret
recesses of his apartment.
The grief of Julian could proceed only from his innocence; out his
innocence must appear extremely doubtful in the eyes of those who have
learned to suspect the motives and the professions of princes. His lively
and active mind was susceptible of the various impressions of hope and
fear, of gratitude and revenge, of duty and of ambition, of the love of
fame, and of the fear of reproach. But it is impossible for us to
calculate the respective weight and operation of these sentiments; or to
ascertain the principles of action which might escape the observation,
while they guided, or rather impelled, the steps of Julian himself. The
discontent of the troops was produced by the malice of his enemies; their
tumult was the natural effect of interest and of passion; and if Julian
had tried to conceal a deep design under the appearances of chance, he
must have employed the most consummate artifice without necessity, and
probably without success. He solemnly declares, in the presence of
Jupiter, of the Sun, of Mars, of Minerva, and of all the other deities,
that till the close of the evening which preceded his elevation, he was
utterly ignorant of the designs of the soldiers; and it may seem
ungenerous to distrust the honor of a hero and the truth of a philosopher.
Yet the superstitious confidence that Constantius was the enemy, and that
he himself was the favorite, of the gods, might prompt him to desire, to
solicit, and even to hasten the auspicious moment of his reign, which was
predestined to restore the ancient religion of mankind. When Julian had
received the intelligence of the conspiracy, he resigned himself to a
short slumber; and afterwards related to his friends that he had seen the
genius of the empire waiting with some impatience at his door, pressing
for admittance, and reproaching his want of spirit and ambition.
Astonished and perplexed, he addressed his prayers to the great Jupiter,
who immediately signified, by a clear and manifest omen, that he should
submit to the will of heaven and of the army. The conduct which disclaims
the ordinary maxims of reason, excites our suspicion and eludes our
inquiry. Whenever the spirit of fanaticism, at once so credulous and so
crafty, has insinuated itself into a noble mind, it insensibly corrodes
the vital principles of virtue and veracity.
To moderate the zeal of his party, to protect the persons of his enemies,
to defeat and to despise the secret enterprises which were formed against
his life and dignity, were the cares which employed the first days of the
reign of the new emperor. Although he was firmly resolved to maintain the
station which he had assumed, he was still desirous of saving his country
from the calamities of civil war, of declining a contest with the superior
forces of Constantius, and of preserving his own character from the
reproach of perfidy and ingratitude. Adorned with the ensigns of military
and imperial pomp, Julian showed himself in the field of Mars to the
soldiers, who glowed with ardent enthusiasm in the cause of their pupil,
their leader, and their friend. He recapitulated their victories, lamented
their sufferings, applauded their resolution, animated their hopes, and
checked their impetuosity; nor did he dismiss the assembly, till he had
obtained a solemn promise from the troops, that if the emperor of the East
would subscribe an equitable treaty, they would renounce any views of
conquest, and satisfy themselves with the tranquil possession of the
Gallic provinces. On this foundation he composed, in his own name, and in
that of the army, a specious and moderate epistle, which was delivered to
Pentadius, his master of the offices, and to his chamberlain Eutherius;
two ambassadors whom he appointed to receive the answer, and observe the
dispositions of Constantius. This epistle is inscribed with the modest
appellation of Cæsar; but Julian solicits in a peremptory, though
respectful, manner, the confirmation of the title of Augustus. He
acknowledges the irregularity of his own election, while he justifies, in
some measure, the resentment and violence of the troops which had extorted
his reluctant consent. He allows the supremacy of his brother Constantius;
and engages to send him an annual present of Spanish horses, to recruit
his army with a select number of barbarian youths, and to accept from his
choice a Prætorian præfect of approved discretion and
fidelity. But he reserves for himself the nomination of his other civil
and military officers, with the troops, the revenue, and the sovereignty
of the provinces beyond the Alps. He admonishes the emperor to consult the
dictates of justice; to distrust the arts of those venal flatterers, who
subsist only by the discord of princes; and to embrace the offer of a fair
and honorable treaty, equally advantageous to the republic and to the
house of Constantine. In this negotiation Julian claimed no more than he
already possessed. The delegated authority which he had long exercised
over the provinces of Gaul, Spain, and Britain, was still obeyed under a
name more independent and august. The soldiers and the people rejoiced in
a revolution which was not stained even with the blood of the guilty.
Florentius was a fugitive; Lupicinus a prisoner. The persons who were
disaffected to the new government were disarmed and secured; and the
vacant offices were distributed, according to the recommendation of merit,
by a prince who despised the intrigues of the palace, and the clamors of
the soldiers.
The negotiations of peace were accompanied and supported by the most
vigorous preparations for war. The army, which Julian held in readiness
for immediate action, was recruited and augmented by the disorders of the
times. The cruel persecutions of the faction of Magnentius had filled Gaul
with numerous bands of outlaws and robbers. They cheerfully accepted the
offer of a general pardon from a prince whom they could trust, submitted
to the restraints of military discipline, and retained only their
implacable hatred to the person and government of Constantius. As soon as
the season of the year permitted Julian to take the field, he appeared at
the head of his legions; threw a bridge over the Rhine in the neighborhood
of Cleves; and prepared to chastise the perfidy of the Attuarii, a tribe
of Franks, who presumed that they might ravage, with impunity, the
frontiers of a divided empire. The difficulty, as well as glory, of this
enterprise, consisted in a laborious march; and Julian had conquered, as
soon as he could penetrate into a country, which former princes had
considered as inaccessible. After he had given peace to the Barbarians,
the emperor carefully visited the fortifications along the Rhine from
Cleves to Basil; surveyed, with peculiar attention, the territories which
he had recovered from the hands of the Alemanni, passed through Besançon,
which had severely suffered from their fury, and fixed his headquarters at
Vienna for the ensuing winter. The barrier of Gaul was improved and
strengthened with additional fortifications; and Julian entertained some
hopes that the Germans, whom he had so often vanquished, might, in his
absence, be restrained by the terror of his name. Vadomair was the only
prince of the Alemanni whom he esteemed or feared and while the subtle
Barbarian affected to observe the faith of treaties, the progress of his
arms threatened the state with an unseasonable and dangerous war. The
policy of Julian condescended to surprise the prince of the Alemanni by
his own arts: and Vadomair, who, in the character of a friend, had
incautiously accepted an invitation from the Roman governors, was seized
in the midst of the entertainment, and sent away prisoner into the heart
of Spain. Before the Barbarians were recovered from their amazement, the
emperor appeared in arms on the banks of the Rhine, and, once more
crossing the river, renewed the deep impressions of terror and respect
which had been already made by four preceding expeditions.
The ambassadors of Julian had been instructed to execute, with the utmost
diligence, their important commission. But, in their passage through Italy
and Illyricum, they were detained by the tedious and affected delays of
the provincial governors; they were conducted by slow journeys from
Constantinople to Cæsarea in Cappadocia; and when at length they
were admitted to the presence of Constantius, they found that he had
already conceived, from the despatches of his own officers, the most
unfavorable opinion of the conduct of Julian, and of the Gallic army. The
letters were heard with impatience; the trembling messengers were
dismissed with indignation and contempt; and the looks, gestures, the
furious language of the monarch, expressed the disorder of his soul. The
domestic connection, which might have reconciled the brother and the
husband of Helena, was recently dissolved by the death of that princess,
whose pregnancy had been several times fruitless, and was at last fatal to
herself. The empress Eusebia had preserved, to the last moment of her
life, the warm, and even jealous, affection which she had conceived for
Julian; and her mild influence might have moderated the resentment of a
prince, who, since her death, was abandoned to his own passions, and to
the arts of his eunuchs. But the terror of a foreign invasion obliged him
to suspend the punishment of a private enemy: he continued his march
towards the confines of Persia, and thought it sufficient to signify the
conditions which might entitle Julian and his guilty followers to the
clemency of their offended sovereign. He required, that the presumptuous Cæsar
should expressly renounce the appellation and rank of Augustus, which he
had accepted from the rebels; that he should descend to his former station
of a limited and dependent minister; that he should vest the powers of the
state and army in the hands of those officers who were appointed by the
Imperial court; and that he should trust his safety to the assurances of
pardon, which were announced by Epictetus, a Gallic bishop, and one of the
Arian favorites of Constantius. Several months were ineffectually consumed
in a treaty which was negotiated at the distance of three thousand miles
between Paris and Antioch; and, as soon as Julian perceived that his
modest and respectful behavior served only to irritate the pride of an
implacable adversary, he boldly resolved to commit his life and fortune to
the chance of a civil war. He gave a public and military audience to the
quæstor Leonas: the haughty epistle of Constantius was read to the
attentive multitude; and Julian protested, with the most flattering
deference, that he was ready to resign the title of Augustus, if he could
obtain the consent of those whom he acknowledged as the authors of his
elevation. The faint proposal was impetuously silenced; and the
acclamations of "Julian Augustus, continue to reign, by the authority of
the army, of the people, of the republic which you have saved," thundered
at once from every part of the field, and terrified the pale ambassador of
Constantius. A part of the letter was afterwards read, in which the
emperor arraigned the ingratitude of Julian, whom he had invested with the
honors of the purple; whom he had educated with so much care and
tenderness; whom he had preserved in his infancy, when he was left a
helpless orphan. "An orphan!" interrupted Julian, who justified his cause
by indulging his passions: "does the assassin of my family reproach me
that I was left an orphan? He urges me to revenge those injuries which I
have long studied to forget." The assembly was dismissed; and Leonas, who,
with some difficulty, had been protected from the popular fury, was sent
back to his master with an epistle, in which Julian expressed, in a strain
of the most vehement eloquence, the sentiments of contempt, of hatred, and
of resentment, which had been suppressed and imbittered by the
dissimulation of twenty years. After this message, which might be
considered as a signal of irreconcilable war, Julian, who, some weeks
before, had celebrated the Christian festival of the Epiphany, made a
public declaration that he committed the care of his safety to the
Immortal Gods; and thus publicly renounced the religion as well as the
friendship of Constantius.
The situation of Julian required a vigorous and immediate resolution. He
had discovered, from intercepted letters, that his adversary, sacrificing
the interest of the state to that of the monarch, had again excited the
Barbarians to invade the provinces of the West. The position of two
magazines, one of them collected on the banks of the Lake of Constance,
the other formed at the foot of the Cottian Alps, seemed to indicate the
march of two armies; and the size of those magazines, each of which
consisted of six hundred thousand quarters of wheat, or rather flour, was
a threatening evidence of the strength and numbers of the enemy who
prepared to surround him. But the Imperial legions were still in their
distant quarters of Asia; the Danube was feebly guarded; and if Julian
could occupy, by a sudden incursion, the important provinces of Illyricum,
he might expect that a people of soldiers would resort to his standard,
and that the rich mines of gold and silver would contribute to the
expenses of the civil war. He proposed this bold enterprise to the
assembly of the soldiers; inspired them with a just confidence in their
general, and in themselves; and exhorted them to maintain their reputation
of being terrible to the enemy, moderate to their fellow-citizens, and
obedient to their officers. His spirited discourse was received with the
loudest acclamations, and the same troops which had taken up arms against
Constantius, when he summoned them to leave Gaul, now declared with
alacrity, that they would follow Julian to the farthest extremities of
Europe or Asia. The oath of fidelity was administered; and the soldiers,
clashing their shields, and pointing their drawn swords to their throats,
devoted themselves, with horrid imprecations, to the service of a leader
whom they celebrated as the deliverer of Gaul and the conqueror of the
Germans. This solemn engagement, which seemed to be dictated by affection
rather than by duty, was singly opposed by Nebridius, who had been
admitted to the office of Prætorian præfect. That faithful
minister, alone and unassisted, asserted the rights of Constantius, in the
midst of an armed and angry multitude, to whose fury he had almost fallen
an honorable, but useless sacrifice. After losing one of his hands by the
stroke of a sword, he embraced the knees of the prince whom he had
offended. Julian covered the præfect with his Imperial mantle, and,
protecting him from the zeal of his followers, dismissed him to his own
house, with less respect than was perhaps due to the virtue of an enemy.
The high office of Nebridius was bestowed on Sallust; and the provinces of
Gaul, which were now delivered from the intolerable oppression of taxes,
enjoyed the mild and equitable administration of the friend of Julian, who
was permitted to practise those virtues which he had instilled into the
mind of his pupil.
The hopes of Julian depended much less on the number of his troops, than
on the celerity of his motions. In the execution of a daring enterprise,
he availed himself of every precaution, as far as prudence could suggest;
and where prudence could no longer accompany his steps, he trusted the
event to valor and to fortune. In the neighborhood of Basil he assembled
and divided his army. One body, which consisted of ten thousand men, was
directed under the command of Nevitta, general of the cavalry, to advance
through the midland parts of Rhætia and Noricum. A similar division
of troops, under the orders of Jovius and Jovinus, prepared to follow the
oblique course of the highways, through the Alps, and the northern
confines of Italy. The instructions to the generals were conceived with
energy and precision: to hasten their march in close and compact columns,
which, according to the disposition of the ground, might readily be
changed into any order of battle; to secure themselves against the
surprises of the night by strong posts and vigilant guards; to prevent
resistance by their unexpected arrival; to elude examination by their
sudden departure; to spread the opinion of their strength, and the terror
of his name; and to join their sovereign under the walls of Sirmium. For
himself Julian had reserved a more difficult and extraordinary part. He
selected three thousand brave and active volunteers, resolved, like their
leader, to cast behind them every hope of a retreat; at the head of this
faithful band, he fearlessly plunged into the recesses of the Marcian, or
Black Forest, which conceals the sources of the Danube; and, for many
days, the fate of Julian was unknown to the world. The secrecy of his
march, his diligence, and vigor, surmounted every obstacle; he forced his
way over mountains and morasses, occupied the bridges or swam the rivers,
pursued his direct course, without reflecting whether he traversed the
territory of the Romans or of the Barbarians, and at length emerged,
between Ratisbon and Vienna, at the place where he designed to embark his
troops on the Danube. By a well-concerted stratagem, he seized a fleet of
light brigantines, as it lay at anchor; secured a apply of coarse
provisions sufficient to satisfy the indelicate, and voracious, appetite
of a Gallic army; and boldly committed himself to the stream of the
Danube. The labors of the mariners, who plied their oars with incessant
diligence, and the steady continuance of a favorable wind, carried his
fleet above seven hundred miles in eleven days; and he had already
disembarked his troops at Bononia, * only nineteen miles from Sirmium,
before his enemies could receive any certain intelligence that he had left
the banks of the Rhine. In the course of this long and rapid navigation,
the mind of Julian was fixed on the object of his enterprise; and though
he accepted the deputations of some cities, which hastened to claim the
merit of an early submission, he passed before the hostile stations, which
were placed along the river, without indulging the temptation of
signalizing a useless and ill-timed valor. The banks of the Danube were
crowded on either side with spectators, who gazed on the military pomp,
anticipated the importance of the event, and diffused through the adjacent
country the fame of a young hero, who advanced with more than mortal speed
at the head of the innumerable forces of the West. Lucilian, who, with the
rank of general of the cavalry, commanded the military powers of
Illyricum, was alarmed and perplexed by the doubtful reports, which he
could neither reject nor believe. He had taken some slow and irresolute
measures for the purpose of collecting his troops, when he was surprised
by Dagalaiphus, an active officer, whom Julian, as soon as he landed at
Bononia, had pushed forwards with some light infantry. The captive
general, uncertain of his life or death, was hastily thrown upon a horse,
and conducted to the presence of Julian; who kindly raised him from the
ground, and dispelled the terror and amazement which seemed to stupefy his
faculties. But Lucilian had no sooner recovered his spirits, than he
betrayed his want of discretion, by presuming to admonish his conqueror
that he had rashly ventured, with a handful of men, to expose his person
in the midst of his enemies. "Reserve for your master Constantius these
timid remonstrances," replied Julian, with a smile of contempt: "when I
gave you my purple to kiss, I received you not as a counsellor, but as a
suppliant." Conscious that success alone could justify his attempt, and
that boldness only could command success, he instantly advanced, at the
head of three thousand soldiers, to attack the strongest and most populous
city of the Illyrian provinces. As he entered the long suburb of Sirmium,
he was received by the joyful acclamations of the army and people; who,
crowned with flowers, and holding lighted tapers in their hands, conducted
their acknowledged sovereign to his Imperial residence. Two days were
devoted to the public joy, which was celebrated by the games of the
circus; but, early on the morning of the third day, Julian marched to
occupy the narrow pass of Succi, in the defiles of Mount Hæmus;
which, almost in the midway between Sirmium and Constantinople, separates
the provinces of Thrace and Dacia, by an abrupt descent towards the
former, and a gentle declivity on the side of the latter. The defence of
this important post was intrusted to the brave Nevitta; who, as well as
the generals of the Italian division, successfully executed the plan of
the march and junction which their master had so ably conceived.
The homage which Julian obtained, from the fears or the inclination of the
people, extended far beyond the immediate effect of his arms. The præfectures
of Italy and Illyricum were administered by Taurus and Florentius, who
united that important office with the vain honors of the consulship; and
as those magistrates had retired with precipitation to the court of Asia,
Julian, who could not always restrain the levity of his temper,
stigmatized their flight by adding, in all the Acts of the Year, the
epithet of fugitive to the names of the two
consuls. The provinces which had been deserted by their first magistrates
acknowledged the authority of an emperor, who, conciliating the qualities
of a soldier with those of a philosopher, was equally admired in the camps
of the Danube and in the cities of Greece. From his palace, or, more
properly, from his head-quarters of Sirmium and Naissus, he distributed to
the principal cities of the empire, a labored apology for his own conduct;
published the secret despatches of Constantius; and solicited the judgment
of mankind between two competitors, the one of whom had expelled, and the
other had invited, the Barbarians. Julian, whose mind was deeply wounded
by the reproach of ingratitude, aspired to maintain, by argument as well
as by arms, the superior merits of his cause; and to excel, not only in
the arts of war, but in those of composition. His epistle to the senate
and people of Athens seems to have been dictated by an elegant enthusiasm;
which prompted him to submit his actions and his motives to the degenerate
Athenians of his own times, with the same humble deference as if he had
been pleading, in the days of Aristides, before the tribunal of the
Areopagus. His application to the senate of Rome, which was still
permitted to bestow the titles of Imperial power, was agreeable to the
forms of the expiring republic. An assembly was summoned by Tertullus, præfect
of the city; the epistle of Julian was read; and, as he appeared to be
master of Italy his claims were admitted without a dissenting voice. His
oblique censure of the innovations of Constantine, and his passionate
invective against the vices of Constantius, were heard with less
satisfaction; and the senate, as if Julian had been present, unanimously
exclaimed, "Respect, we beseech you, the author of your own fortune." An
artful expression, which, according to the chance of war, might be
differently explained; as a manly reproof of the ingratitude of the
usurper, or as a flattering confession, that a single act of such benefit
to the state ought to atone for all the failings of Constantius.
The intelligence of the march and rapid progress of Julian was speedily
transmitted to his rival, who, by the retreat of Sapor, had obtained some
respite from the Persian war. Disguising the anguish of his soul under the
semblance of contempt, Constantius professed his intention of returning
into Europe, and of giving chase to Julian; for he never spoke of his
military expedition in any other light than that of a hunting party. In
the camp of Hierapolis, in Syria, he communicated this design to his army;
slightly mentioned the guilt and rashness of the Cæsar; and ventured
to assure them, that if the mutineers of Gaul presumed to meet them in the
field, they would be unable to sustain the fire of their eyes, and the
irresistible weight of their shout of onset. The speech of the emperor was
received with military applause, and Theodotus, the president of the
council of Hierapolis, requested, with tears of adulation, that his city
might be adorned with the head of the vanquished rebel. A chosen
detachment was despatched away in post-wagons, to secure, if it were yet
possible, the pass of Succi; the recruits, the horses, the arms, and the
magazines, which had been prepared against Sapor, were appropriated to the
service of the civil war; and the domestic victories of Constantius
inspired his partisans with the most sanguine assurances of success. The
notary Gaudentius had occupied in his name the provinces of Africa; the
subsistence of Rome was intercepted; and the distress of Julian was
increased by an unexpected event, which might have been productive of
fatal consequences. Julian had received the submission of two legions and
a cohort of archers, who were stationed at Sirmium; but he suspected, with
reason, the fidelity of those troops which had been distinguished by the
emperor; and it was thought expedient, under the pretence of the exposed
state of the Gallic frontier, to dismiss them from the most important
scene of action. They advanced, with reluctance, as far as the confines of
Italy; but as they dreaded the length of the way, and the savage
fierceness of the Germans, they resolved, by the instigation of one of
their tribunes, to halt at Aquileia, and to erect the banners of
Constantius on the walls of that impregnable city. The vigilance of Julian
perceived at once the extent of the mischief, and the necessity of
applying an immediate remedy. By his order, Jovinus led back a part of the
army into Italy; and the siege of Aquileia was formed with diligence, and
prosecuted with vigor. But the legionaries, who seemed to have rejected
the yoke of discipline, conducted the defence of the place with skill and
perseverance; invited the rest of Italy to imitate the example of their
courage and loyalty; and threatened the retreat of Julian, if he should be
forced to yield to the superior numbers of the armies of the East.
But the humanity of Julian was preserved from the cruel alternative which
he pathetically laments, of destroying or of being himself destroyed: and
the seasonable death of Constantius delivered the Roman empire from the
calamities of civil war. The approach of winter could not detain the
monarch at Antioch; and his favorites durst not oppose his impatient
desire of revenge. A slight fever, which was perhaps occasioned by the
agitation of his spirits, was increased by the fatigues of the journey;
and Constantius was obliged to halt at the little town of Mopsucrene,
twelve miles beyond Tarsus, where he expired, after a short illness, in
the forty-fifth year of his age, and the twenty-fourth of his reign. His
genuine character, which was composed of pride and weakness, of
superstition and cruelty, has been fully displayed in the preceding
narrative of civil and ecclesiastical events. The long abuse of power
rendered him a considerable object in the eyes of his contemporaries; but
as personal merit can alone deserve the notice of posterity, the last of
the sons of Constantine may be dismissed from the world, with the remark,
that he inherited the defects, without the abilities, of his father.
Before Constantius expired, he is said to have named Julian for his
successor; nor does it seem improbable, that his anxious concern for the
fate of a young and tender wife, whom he left with child, may have
prevailed, in his last moments, over the harsher passions of hatred and
revenge. Eusebius, and his guilty associates, made a faint attempt to
prolong the reign of the eunuchs, by the election of another emperor; but
their intrigues were rejected with disdain, by an army which now abhorred
the thought of civil discord; and two officers of rank were instantly
despatched, to assure Julian, that every sword in the empire would be
drawn for his service. The military designs of that prince, who had formed
three different attacks against Thrace, were prevented by this fortunate
event. Without shedding the blood of his fellow-citizens, he escaped the
dangers of a doubtful conflict, and acquired the advantages of a complete
victory. Impatient to visit the place of his birth, and the new capital of
the empire, he advanced from Naissus through the mountains of Hæmus,
and the cities of Thrace. When he reached Heraclea, at the distance of
sixty miles, all Constantinople was poured forth to receive him; and he
made his triumphal entry amidst the dutiful acclamations of the soldiers,
the people, and the senate. An innumerable multitude pressed around him
with eager respect and were perhaps disappointed when they beheld the
small stature and simple garb of a hero, whose unexperienced youth had
vanquished the Barbarians of Germany, and who had now traversed, in a
successful career, the whole continent of Europe, from the shores of the
Atlantic to those of the Bosphorus. A few days afterwards, when the
remains of the deceased emperor were landed in the harbor, the subjects of
Julian applauded the real or affected humanity of their sovereign. On
foot, without his diadem, and clothed in a mourning habit, he accompanied
the funeral as far as the church of the Holy Apostles, where the body was
deposited: and if these marks of respect may be interpreted as a selfish
tribute to the birth and dignity of his Imperial kinsman, the tears of
Julian professed to the world that he had forgot the injuries, and
remembered only the obligations, which he had received from Constantius.
As soon as the legions of Aquileia were assured of the death of the
emperor, they opened the gates of the city, and, by the sacrifice of their
guilty leaders, obtained an easy pardon from the prudence or lenity of
Julian; who, in the thirty-second year of his age, acquired the undisputed
possession of the Roman empire.
Philosophy had instructed Julian to compare the advantages of action and
retirement; but the elevation of his birth, and the accidents of his life,
never allowed him the freedom of choice. He might perhaps sincerely have
preferred the groves of the academy, and the society of Athens; but he was
constrained, at first by the will, and afterwards by the injustice, of
Constantius, to expose his person and fame to the dangers of Imperial
greatness; and to make himself accountable to the world, and to posterity,
for the happiness of millions. Julian recollected with terror the
observation of his master Plato, that the government of our flocks and
herds is always committed to beings of a superior species; and that the
conduct of nations requires and deserves the celestial powers of the gods
or of the genii. From this principle he justly concluded, that the man who
presumes to reign, should aspire to the perfection of the divine nature;
that he should purify his soul from her mortal and terrestrial part; that
he should extinguish his appetites, enlighten his understanding, regulate
his passions, and subdue the wild beast, which, according to the lively
metaphor of Aristotle, seldom fails to ascend the throne of a despot. The
throne of Julian, which the death of Constantius fixed on an independent
basis, was the seat of reason, of virtue, and perhaps of vanity. He
despised the honors, renounced the pleasures, and discharged with
incessant diligence the duties, of his exalted station; and there were few
among his subjects who would have consented to relieve him from the weight
of the diadem, had they been obliged to submit their time and their
actions to the rigorous laws which that philosophic emperor imposed on
himself. One of his most intimate friends, who had often shared the frugal
simplicity of his table, has remarked, that his light and sparing diet
(which was usually of the vegetable kind) left his mind and body always
free and active, for the various and important business of an author, a
pontiff, a magistrate, a general, and a prince. In one and the same day,
he gave audience to several ambassadors, and wrote, or dictated, a great
number of letters to his generals, his civil magistrates, his private
friends, and the different cities of his dominions. He listened to the
memorials which had been received, considered the subject of the
petitions, and signified his intentions more rapidly than they could be
taken in short-hand by the diligence of his secretaries. He possessed such
flexibility of thought, and such firmness of attention, that he could
employ his hand to write, his ear to listen, and his voice to dictate; and
pursue at once three several trains of ideas without hesitation, and
without error. While his ministers reposed, the prince flew with agility
from one labor to another, and, after a hasty dinner, retired into his
library, till the public business, which he had appointed for the evening,
summoned him to interrupt the prosecution of his studies. The supper of
the emperor was still less substantial than the former meal; his sleep was
never clouded by the fumes of indigestion; and except in the short
interval of a marriage, which was the effect of policy rather than love,
the chaste Julian never shared his bed with a female companion. He was
soon awakened by the entrance of fresh secretaries, who had slept the
preceding day; and his servants were obliged to wait alternately while
their indefatigable master allowed himself scarcely any other refreshment
than the change of occupation. The predecessors of Julian, his uncle, his
brother, and his cousin, indulged their puerile taste for the games of the
Circus, under the specious pretence of complying with the inclinations of
the people; and they frequently remained the greatest part of the day as
idle spectators, and as a part of the splendid spectacle, till the
ordinary round of twenty-four races was completely finished. On solemn
festivals, Julian, who felt and professed an unfashionable dislike to
these frivolous amusements, condescended to appear in the Circus; and
after bestowing a careless glance at five or six of the races, he hastily
withdrew with the impatience of a philosopher, who considered every moment
as lost that was not devoted to the advantage of the public or the
improvement of his own mind. By this avarice of time, he seemed to
protract the short duration of his reign; and if the dates were less
securely ascertained, we should refuse to believe, that only sixteen
months elapsed between the death of Constantius and the departure of his
successor for the Persian war. The actions of Julian can only be preserved
by the care of the historian; but the portion of his voluminous writings,
which is still extant, remains as a monument of the application, as well
as of the genius, of the emperor. The Misopogon, the Cæsars, several
of his orations, and his elaborate work against the Christian religion,
were composed in the long nights of the two winters, the former of which
he passed at Constantinople, and the latter at Antioch.
The reformation of the Imperial court was one of the first and most
necessary acts of the government of Julian. Soon after his entrance into
the palace of Constantinople, he had occasion for the service of a barber.
An officer, magnificently dressed, immediately presented himself. "It is a
barber," exclaimed the prince, with affected surprise, "that I want, and
not a receiver-general of the finances." He questioned the man concerning
the profits of his employment and was informed, that besides a large
salary, and some valuable perquisites, he enjoyed a daily allowance for
twenty servants, and as many horses. A thousand barbers, a thousand
cup-bearers, a thousand cooks, were distributed in the several offices of
luxury; and the number of eunuchs could be compared only with the insects
of a summer's day. The monarch who resigned to his subjects the
superiority of merit and virtue, was distinguished by the oppressive
magnificence of his dress, his table, his buildings, and his train. The
stately palaces erected by Constantine and his sons, were decorated with
many colored marbles, and ornaments of massy gold. The most exquisite
dainties were procured, to gratify their pride, rather than their taste;
birds of the most distant climates, fish from the most remote seas, fruits
out of their natural season, winter roses, and summer snows. The domestic
crowd of the palace surpassed the expense of the legions; yet the smallest
part of this costly multitude was subservient to the use, or even to the
splendor, of the throne. The monarch was disgraced, and the people was
injured, by the creation and sale of an infinite number of obscure, and
even titular employments; and the most worthless of mankind might purchase
the privilege of being maintained, without the necessity of labor, from
the public revenue. The waste of an enormous household, the increase of
fees and perquisites, which were soon claimed as a lawful debt, and the
bribes which they extorted from those who feared their enmity, or
solicited their favor, suddenly enriched these haughty menials. They
abused their fortune, without considering their past, or their future,
condition; and their rapine and venality could be equalled only by the
extravagance of their dissipations. Their silken robes were embroidered
with gold, their tables were served with delicacy and profusion; the
houses which they built for their own use, would have covered the farm of
an ancient consul; and the most honorable citizens were obliged to
dismount from their horses, and respectfully to salute a eunuch whom they
met on the public highway. The luxury of the palace excited the contempt
and indignation of Julian, who usually slept on the ground, who yielded
with reluctance to the indispensable calls of nature; and who placed his
vanity, not in emulating, but in despising, the pomp of royalty.
By the total extirpation of a mischief which was magnified even beyond its
real extent, he was impatient to relieve the distress, and to appease the
murmurs of the people; who support with less uneasiness the weight of
taxes, if they are convinced that the fruits of their industry are
appropriated to the service of the state. But in the execution of this
salutary work, Julian is accused of proceeding with too much haste and
inconsiderate severity. By a single edict, he reduced the palace of
Constantinople to an immense desert, and dismissed with ignominy the whole
train of slaves and dependants, without providing any just, or at least
benevolent, exceptions, for the age, the services, or the poverty, of the
faithful domestics of the Imperial family. Such indeed was the temper of
Julian, who seldom recollected the fundamental maxim of Aristotle, that
true virtue is placed at an equal distance between the opposite vices. The
splendid and effeminate dress of the Asiatics, the curls and paint, the
collars and bracelets, which had appeared so ridiculous in the person of
Constantine, were consistently rejected by his philosophic successor. But
with the fopperies, Julian affected to renounce the decencies of dress;
and seemed to value himself for his neglect of the laws of cleanliness. In
a satirical performance, which was designed for the public eye, the
emperor descants with pleasure, and even with pride, on the length of his
nails, and the inky blackness of his hands; protests, that although the
greatest part of his body was covered with hair, the use of the razor was
confined to his head alone; and celebrates, with visible complacency, the
shaggy and populous beard, which he fondly
cherished, after the example of the philosophers of Greece. Had Julian
consulted the simple dictates of reason, the first magistrate of the
Romans would have scorned the affectation of Diogenes, as well as that of
Darius.
But the work of public reformation would have remained imperfect, if
Julian had only corrected the abuses, without punishing the crimes, of his
predecessor's reign. "We are now delivered," says he, in a familiar letter
to one of his intimate friends, "we are now surprisingly delivered from
the voracious jaws of the Hydra. I do not mean to apply the epithet to my
brother Constantius. He is no more; may the earth lie light on his head!
But his artful and cruel favorites studied to deceive and exasperate a
prince, whose natural mildness cannot be praised without some efforts of
adulation. It is not, however, my intention, that even those men should be
oppressed: they are accused, and they shall enjoy the benefit of a fair
and impartial trial." To conduct this inquiry, Julian named six judges of
the highest rank in the state and army; and as he wished to escape the
reproach of condemning his personal enemies, he fixed this extraordinary
tribunal at Chalcedon, on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus; and
transferred to the commissioners an absolute power to pronounce and
execute their final sentence, without delay, and without appeal. The
office of president was exercised by the venerable præfect of the
East, a second Sallust, whose virtues conciliated the esteem of Greek
sophists, and of Christian bishops. He was assisted by the eloquent
Mamertinus, one of the consuls elect, whose merit is loudly celebrated by
the doubtful evidence of his own applause. But the civil wisdom of two
magistrates was overbalanced by the ferocious violence of four generals,
Nevitta, Agilo, Jovinus, and Arbetio. Arbetio, whom the public would have
seen with less surprise at the bar than on the bench, was supposed to
possess the secret of the commission; the armed and angry leaders of the
Jovian and Herculian bands encompassed the tribunal; and the judges were
alternately swayed by the laws of justice, and by the clamors of faction.
The chamberlain Eusebius, who had so long abused the favor of Constantius,
expiated, by an ignominious death, the insolence, the corruption, and
cruelty of his servile reign. The executions of Paul and Apodemius (the
former of whom was burnt alive) were accepted as an inadequate atonement
by the widows and orphans of so many hundred Romans, whom those legal
tyrants had betrayed and murdered. But justice herself (if we may use the
pathetic expression of Ammianus ) appeared to weep over the fate of
Ursulus, the treasurer of the empire; and his blood accused the
ingratitude of Julian, whose distress had been seasonably relieved by the
intrepid liberality of that honest minister. The rage of the soldiers,
whom he had provoked by his indiscretion, was the cause and the excuse of
his death; and the emperor, deeply wounded by his own reproaches and those
of the public, offered some consolation to the family of Ursulus, by the
restitution of his confiscated fortunes. Before the end of the year in
which they had been adorned with the ensigns of the prefecture and
consulship, Taurus and Florentius were reduced to implore the clemency of
the inexorable tribunal of Chalcedon. The former was banished to Vercellæ
in Italy, and a sentence of death was pronounced against the latter. A
wise prince should have rewarded the crime of Taurus: the faithful
minister, when he was no longer able to oppose the progress of a rebel,
had taken refuge in the court of his benefactor and his lawful sovereign.
But the guilt of Florentius justified the severity of the judges; and his
escape served to display the magnanimity of Julian, who nobly checked the
interested diligence of an informer, and refused to learn what place
concealed the wretched fugitive from his just resentment. Some months
after the tribunal of Chalcedon had been dissolved, the prætorian
vicegerent of Africa, the notary Gaudentius, and Artemius duke of Egypt,
were executed at Antioch. Artemius had reigned the cruel and corrupt
tyrant of a great province; Gaudentius had long practised the arts of
calumny against the innocent, the virtuous, and even the person of Julian
himself. Yet the circumstances of their trial and condemnation were so
unskillfully managed, that these wicked men obtained, in the public
opinion, the glory of suffering for the obstinate loyalty with which they
had supported the cause of Constantius. The rest of his servants were
protected by a general act of oblivion; and they were left to enjoy with
impunity the bribes which they had accepted, either to defend the
oppressed, or to oppress the friendless. This measure, which, on the
soundest principles of policy, may deserve our approbation, was executed
in a manner which seemed to degrade the majesty of the throne. Julian was
tormented by the importunities of a multitude, particularly of Egyptians,
who loudly redemanded the gifts which they had imprudently or illegally
bestowed; he foresaw the endless prosecution of vexatious suits; and he
engaged a promise, which ought always to have been sacred, that if they
would repair to Chalcedon, he would meet them in person, to hear and
determine their complaints. But as soon as they were landed, he issued an
absolute order, which prohibited the watermen from transporting any
Egyptian to Constantinople; and thus detained his disappointed clients on
the Asiatic shore till, their patience and money being utterly exhausted,
they were obliged to return with indignant murmurs to their native
country.
The numerous army of spies, of agents, and informers enlisted by
Constantius to secure the repose of one man, and to interrupt that of
millions, was immediately disbanded by his generous successor. Julian was
slow in his suspicions, and gentle in his punishments; and his contempt of
treason was the result of judgment, of vanity, and of courage. Conscious
of superior merit, he was persuaded that few among his subjects would dare
to meet him in the field, to attempt his life, or even to seat themselves
on his vacant throne. The philosopher could excuse the hasty sallies of
discontent; and the hero could despise the ambitious projects which
surpassed the fortune or the abilities of the rash conspirators. A citizen
of Ancyra had prepared for his own use a purple garment; and this
indiscreet action, which, under the reign of Constantius, would have been
considered as a capital offence, was reported to Julian by the officious
importunity of a private enemy. The monarch, after making some inquiry
into the rank and character of his rival, despatched the informer with a
present of a pair of purple slippers, to complete the magnificence of his
Imperial habit. A more dangerous conspiracy was formed by ten of the
domestic guards, who had resolved to assassinate Julian in the field of
exercise near Antioch. Their intemperance revealed their guilt; and they
were conducted in chains to the presence of their injured sovereign, who,
after a lively representation of the wickedness and folly of their
enterprise, instead of a death of torture, which they deserved and
expected, pronounced a sentence of exile against the two principal
offenders. The only instance in which Julian seemed to depart from his
accustomed clemency, was the execution of a rash youth, who, with a feeble
hand, had aspired to seize the reins of empire. But that youth was the son
of Marcellus, the general of cavalry, who, in the first campaign of the
Gallic war, had deserted the standard of the Cæsar and the republic.
Without appearing to indulge his personal resentment, Julian might easily
confound the crime of the son and of the father; but he was reconciled by
the distress of Marcellus, and the liberality of the emperor endeavored to
heal the wound which had been inflicted by the hand of justice.
Julian was not insensible of the advantages of freedom. From his studies
he had imbibed the spirit of ancient sages and heroes; his life and
fortunes had depended on the caprice of a tyrant; and when he ascended the
throne, his pride was sometimes mortified by the reflection, that the
slaves who would not dare to censure his defects were not worthy to
applaud his virtues. He sincerely abhorred the system of Oriental
despotism, which Diocletian, Constantine, and the patient habits of
fourscore years, had established in the empire. A motive of superstition
prevented the execution of the design, which Julian had frequently
meditated, of relieving his head from the weight of a costly diadem; but
he absolutely refused the title of Dominus, or
Lord, a word which was grown so familiar to the
ears of the Romans, that they no longer remembered its servile and
humiliating origin. The office, or rather the name, of consul, was
cherished by a prince who contemplated with reverence the ruins of the
republic; and the same behavior which had been assumed by the prudence of
Augustus was adopted by Julian from choice and inclination. On the calends
of January, at break of day, the new consuls, Mamertinus and Nevitta,
hastened to the palace to salute the emperor. As soon as he was informed
of their approach, he leaped from his throne, eagerly advanced to meet
them, and compelled the blushing magistrates to receive the demonstrations
of his affected humility. From the palace they proceeded to the senate.
The emperor, on foot, marched before their litters; and the gazing
multitude admired the image of ancient times, or secretly blamed a
conduct, which, in their eyes, degraded the majesty of the purple. But the
behavior of Julian was uniformly supported. During the games of the
Circus, he had, imprudently or designedly, performed the manumission of a
slave in the presence of the consul. The moment he was reminded that he
had trespassed on the jurisdiction of another
magistrate, he condemned himself to pay a fine of ten pounds of gold; and
embraced this public occasion of declaring to the world, that he was
subject, like the rest of his fellow-citizens, to the laws, and even to
the forms, of the republic. The spirit of his administration, and his
regard for the place of his nativity, induced Julian to confer on the
senate of Constantinople the same honors, privileges, and authority, which
were still enjoyed by the senate of ancient Rome. A legal fiction was
introduced, and gradually established, that one half of the national
council had migrated into the East; and the despotic successors of Julian,
accepting the title of Senators, acknowledged themselves the members of a
respectable body, which was permitted to represent the majesty of the
Roman name. From Constantinople, the attention of the monarch was extended
to the municipal senates of the provinces. He abolished, by repeated
edicts, the unjust and pernicious exemptions which had withdrawn so many
idle citizens from the services of their country; and by imposing an equal
distribution of public duties, he restored the strength, the splendor, or,
according to the glowing expression of Libanius, the soul of the expiring
cities of his empire. The venerable age of Greece excited the most tender
compassion in the mind of Julian, which kindled into rapture when he
recollected the gods, the heroes, and the men superior to heroes and to
gods, who have bequeathed to the latest posterity the monuments of their
genius, or the example of their virtues. He relieved the distress, and
restored the beauty, of the cities of Epirus and Peloponnesus. Athens
acknowledged him for her benefactor; Argos, for her deliverer. The pride
of Corinth, again rising from her ruins with the honors of a Roman colony,
exacted a tribute from the adjacent republics, for the purpose of
defraying the games of the Isthmus, which were celebrated in the
amphitheatre with the hunting of bears and panthers. From this tribute the
cities of Elis, of Delphi, and of Argos, which had inherited from their
remote ancestors the sacred office of perpetuating the Olympic, the
Pythian, and the Nemean games, claimed a just exemption. The immunity of
Elis and Delphi was respected by the Corinthians; but the poverty of Argos
tempted the insolence of oppression; and the feeble complaints of its
deputies were silenced by the decree of a provincial magistrate, who seems
to have consulted only the interest of the capital in which he resided.
Seven years after this sentence, Julian allowed the cause to be referred
to a superior tribunal; and his eloquence was interposed, most probably
with success, in the defence of a city, which had been the royal seat of
Agamemnon, and had given to Macedonia a race of kings and conquerors.
The laborious administration of military and civil affairs, which were
multiplied in proportion to the extent of the empire, exercised the
abilities of Julian; but he frequently assumed the two characters of
Orator and of Judge, which are almost unknown to the modern sovereigns of
Europe. The arts of persuasion, so diligently cultivated by the first Cæsars,
were neglected by the military ignorance and Asiatic pride of their
successors; and if they condescended to harangue the soldiers, whom they
feared, they treated with silent disdain the senators, whom they despised.
The assemblies of the senate, which Constantius had avoided, were
considered by Julian as the place where he could exhibit, with the most
propriety, the maxims of a republican, and the talents of a rhetorician.
He alternately practised, as in a school of declamation, the several modes
of praise, of censure, of exhortation; and his friend Libanius has
remarked, that the study of Homer taught him to imitate the simple,
concise style of Menelaus, the copiousness of Nestor, whose words
descended like the flakes of a winter's snow, or the pathetic and forcible
eloquence of Ulysses. The functions of a judge, which are sometimes
incompatible with those of a prince, were exercised by Julian, not only as
a duty, but as an amusement; and although he might have trusted the
integrity and discernment of his Prætorian præfects, he often
placed himself by their side on the seat of judgment. The acute
penetration of his mind was agreeably occupied in detecting and defeating
the chicanery of the advocates, who labored to disguise the truths of
facts, and to pervert the sense of the laws. He sometimes forgot the
gravity of his station, asked indiscreet or unseasonable questions, and
betrayed, by the loudness of his voice, and the agitation of his body, the
earnest vehemence with which he maintained his opinion against the judges,
the advocates, and their clients. But his knowledge of his own temper
prompted him to encourage, and even to solicit, the reproof of his friends
and ministers; and whenever they ventured to oppose the irregular sallies
of his passions, the spectators could observe the shame, as well as the
gratitude, of their monarch. The decrees of Julian were almost always
founded on the principles of justice; and he had the firmness to resist
the two most dangerous temptations, which assault the tribunal of a
sovereign, under the specious forms of compassion and equity. He decided
the merits of the cause without weighing the circumstances of the parties;
and the poor, whom he wished to relieve, were condemned to satisfy the
just demands of a wealthy and noble adversary. He carefully distinguished
the judge from the legislator; and though he meditated a necessary
reformation of the Roman jurisprudence, he pronounced sentence according
to the strict and literal interpretation of those laws, which the
magistrates were bound to execute, and the subjects to obey.
The generality of princes, if they were stripped of their purple, and cast
naked into the world, would immediately sink to the lowest rank of
society, without a hope of emerging from their obscurity. But the personal
merit of Julian was, in some measure, independent of his fortune. Whatever
had been his choice of life, by the force of intrepid courage, lively wit,
and intense application, he would have obtained, or at least he would have
deserved, the highest honors of his profession; and Julian might have
raised himself to the rank of minister, or general, of the state in which
he was born a private citizen. If the jealous caprice of power had
disappointed his expectations, if he had prudently declined the paths of
greatness, the employment of the same talents in studious solitude would
have placed beyond the reach of kings his present happiness and his
immortal fame. When we inspect, with minute, or perhaps malevolent
attention, the portrait of Julian, something seems wanting to the grace
and perfection of the whole figure. His genius was less powerful and
sublime than that of Cæsar; nor did he possess the consummate
prudence of Augustus. The virtues of Trajan appear more steady and
natural, and the philosophy of Marcus is more simple and consistent. Yet
Julian sustained adversity with firmness, and prosperity with moderation.
After an interval of one hundred and twenty years from the death of
Alexander Severus, the Romans beheld an emperor who made no distinction
between his duties and his pleasures; who labored to relieve the distress,
and to revive the spirit, of his subjects; and who endeavored always to
connect authority with merit, and happiness with virtue. Even faction, and
religious faction, was constrained to acknowledge the superiority of his
genius, in peace as well as in war, and to confess, with a sigh, that the
apostate Julian was a lover of his country, and that he deserved the
empire of the world.