Ah!
Gregory.
I was then away on a journey. But in my absence, and without consulting me, my father ordained me a priest and sent me the priestly habit.
These tidings reached me in Tiberina, at my country house, where I was passing some days with my brother and with the friend of my youth, Basil of Caesarea.
Sire—had my sentence of death been read to me, it could not have appalled me more than this.
I a priest! I wished it, and I wished it not. I felt it must be—and yet my courage failed. I wrestled with God the Lord, as the patriarch wrestled with him in the days of the old covenant. What passed in my soul during the night which followed, I cannot tell. But this I know that, ere the cock crew, I talked face to face with the Crucified One.—Then I was his.
Julian.
Folly, folly; I know those dreams.
Gregory.
On my homeward journey I passed through Caesarea. Oh, what misery met me there! I found the town full of fugitive country people, who had forsaken house and home because the drought had burnt up their crops, and laid all the vineyards and olive-gardens desolate. To escape starvation they had fled to the starving. There they lay—men, women, and children—in heaps along the walls of the houses; fever shook them, famine gnawed their entrails. What had Caesarea to offer them—that impoverished, unhappy town, as yet but half rebuilt after the great earthquake of two years ago? And in the midst of this, amid scorching heat and frequent earthquake-shocks, we had to see ungodly festivals going on day and night. The ruined altars were hastily rebuilt; the blood of sacrifices ran in streams; mummers and harlots paraded the streets with dance and song.