Julian reflected: “There were nine years between,” he said, “but it seems strange.”
“Yes,” answered Maximus, “but precisely in the same year 70, in which Titus destroyed the Temple, the Capitol was burnt.”
“Then it is the gods who are warring, and we are only soldiers,” exclaimed Julian.
Priscus the Sophist, who liked word-encounters, determined to stir up the embers, as they seemed to be expiring: “But Christ has said that one stone shall not remain upon another, and that the Temple shall never be built again.”
“Has Christ said that?” answered Julian. “Very well; then he shall show whether he was a god, for I will build again the Temple of Solomon.”
And turning to Eleazar, he continued, “Do you believe in prodigies?”
“As surely as the Lord lives, as surely as Abraham’s God has brought us out of Egyptian bondage and given us Canaan, so surely will He fulfil the promise, and restore to us land, city, and Temple!”
“May it be with you according to your belief. The Temple shall be built up, even though it be not in three days as the Galilaean thought.”
The winter solstice had come, and the Feast of the Saturnalia commenced in Lutetia. The heathen had always kept the feast in recollection of the legendary Golden Age, which was said to have been under the reign of the good Saturn. Then there was peace upon earth; the lion played with the lamb, the fields brought forth harvests without husbandry, weapons were not forged, for men were good and righteous. This beautiful festival, which had been discontinued by the Romans, had been revived by the Christians, who at Christ’s coming expected a new Golden Age or the Millennium. But now Julian wished to restore to the heathen their privilege, and at the same time to show the Nazarenes whence they had derived their religious usages.