The poet's chin fell on his breast, and he sighed drearily.
They came at last to the Street of Tripods, and hard by the Acropolis the friends separated and went their ways in silence.
Julian went into the shadow of the propylæa, through vast porches leading into temple-enclosures; but avoided the Decorated Porch, on which Parrhasius had chiselled the battles of Marathon and Salamis, and passing the little temple of the Wingless Victory ascended to the Parthenon.
He had but to shut his eyes to remember the superb body of Artemis the huntress. When he opened them the sun-bathed Parthenon marbles seemed golden and living as that divine body; and, despising Imperial spies and chances of death, he desired openly to worship and kiss the warm stones of that holy place.
Two black-robed young men of pale and severe countenance were standing near. They were Gregory of Nazianzen and Basil of Cæsarea. The Hellenists feared these two men as their most formidable foes. It was the hope of the Christians that the two friends would one day become fathers of the Church. They were now watching Julian.
"What's the matter with him to-day?" said Gregory. "Is that the attitude of a monk? Are those the gestures of a monk? Do you see those closed eyes--that smile? Do you believe that his piety is genuine, Basil?"
"I have often watched him weeping and praying in church."
"If so, why does he come to us, seek our friendship, and argue over the Scriptures?"
"He's deceiving himself; or perhaps he wishes to seduce the faithful. Never trust him! He is the tempter! Remember what I say, brother, the Roman Empire in fostering this young man is nursing an adder!"
The two friends went off, their eyes on the ground. The severe caryatids of the Erechtheum, the laughing blue of the sky, the white temple of the Wingless One, the Porches and the Parthenon, that wonder of the world, on them cast no spell. One thing alone did they desire: to lay all these haunts of demons in the dust. The long shadows of the monks fell on the Parthenon steps as they walked away.
"I must see her again," Julian was thinking; "I must find out who she is."
"The gods created mortals for one purpose only--polite conversation!"
"Charmingly said, Mamertinus! Say it again, I beg, before you've forgotten it! I'll write that down with the other maxims," declared Lampridius, the professor of eloquence, taking tablets from his pocket. His admired friend Mamertinus was a fashionable Athenian advocate.
