Suddenly the club sank out of his loosened hands. All stood petrified. Then a sharp cry, uttered by one of the Coptic servants of the prophetess of Papusa, rent the general hush. Kneeling, his face transfigured by fear, he pointed to the tribune-- "The Devil! The Devil! Look at the Prince of Evil!" It was Julian the Emperor, on the marble daïs above the crowd, in his white chlamys, his arms crossed on his breast. Terrible glee burned in his eyes; and to many indeed, at that moment, the recreant prince appeared dreadful as Satan, his brother. "Is this how you fulfil the law of love, Galileans?" he said to the dumbfounded assembly. "How much your mercy and forgiveness are worth!... Verily the wild animals have more compassion than brethren like you! In the words of your Master: "Woe upon you, law-makers, because you have taken the key of the house, and, hindering others from entering, have not entered in yourselves! Woe to you, Pharisees!..." And enjoying their silence he added after a pause-- "If you cannot rule yourselves, Galileans, I say to you, in order to prevent greater misfortunes, you shall now obey, and submit yourselves to me!" VII Just as Julian, leaving the Atrium of Constantine, was descending the great flight of steps and proceeding to sacrifice in the direction of the little Temple of Tyche, the goddess of happiness, near the palace, the old bishop Maris, blind, white-haired, and bent double, approached him, led by a child. A great crowd had gathered at the foot of the staircase. With a solemn gesture, the bishop stopped the Emperor and said to him-- "Listen, peoples, tribes, young and old, all that be upon the earth, listen to me! And ye powers above, Angels, who will blot out soon this martyr-maker! It is not the Amorite king who shall fall, nor Ogyges, King of Thebes, but the Serpent, the Great Spirit, the revolted Assyrian, the common enemy, who shall cause a multitude of threats and violences upon earth! Hear, O heaven, and inspire the earth!... And thou also, Cæsar, listen to my prophecy, for to-day, by my mouth, God speaks!... Thy days are numbered! Soon wilt thou perish! Like dust lifted by the tempest, like the hiss of an arrow, like the noise of thunder, like the swiftness of light! The spring of Castaly shall be dried up forever, and a mockery to us that pass by! Apollo shall become again a worthless idol, Daphne a tree bewept in fable, and the grass shall grow in your temples overturned. O! abominations of Sennacherib! so we have foretold it. We Galileans--despised of the earth--adorers of the Crucified--ignorant disciples of the fishermen of Capernaum--we, weakened by long fasting, half-dead, who struggle in vain, we nevertheless shall overcome you!... Unfold to me, Imperial sophist, your speeches, your syllogisms, your antitheses; and we shall see how, on our side, ignorant fishermen can speak!