etired 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 d