These were never-ending, his vigilance driving him hither and thither, to settle disputes, subdue rebellions, to pacify his still barbarous allies or correct the misdemeanours of iniquitous governors of provinces. His actual reign only lasted seven or eight years, but very little even of that time can have been passed at the nominal seat of government, Augusta Treverorum, the modern Treves, at that time the finest and best fortified city in the Empire, and showing, even now, magnificent blocks of fortress long put to base uses, but in these days restored to the original ones by the energetic militarism of Prussia.
If Gratian was fortunate in having the holy Ambrose and the wise Ausonius to instruct him in the Faith and in the humanities, he was hardly less so in the military adviser who taught him the arts of war. The old Frankish general, Merobaudes, is one of the people I always feel I should have liked to know. He was as loyal as he was valiant and experienced, and the young Emperor reposed implicit and well-merited trust in him. But even his craft and courage could not save Gratian from falling a victim to treachery at last.
In spite of his elevated and attractive character, his prudence, his zeal, his clemency, there were two parties in the Empire of whom one remained and the other became irreconcilable to Gratian’s policy. The first, though not the most powerful, consisted of the large number of Senators and nobles in Rome who adhered to the old pagan worship with the tenacity of despair. It had never been proscribed, but its outward ceremonies were discouraged when they were not actually forbidden; idols had been removed from the public places where it was customary to burn incense before them, and in some instances revenues pertaining to the discredited faith had been diverted to other uses. The partisans of paganism, counting on Gratian’s youth and inexperience, made repeated efforts to obtain from him some official recognition of the ancient religion, particularly in the matter of replacing the Altar of Victory, which Constantius, a zealous though Arian Christian, had removed from the Senate hall in the Capitol where it had stood for four hundred years. They also attempted to persuade him to take on the state and robes of “Pontifex Maximus,” the head and high priest of the cult of the Olympian deities. Some of Gratian’s immediate predecessors had been either indulgent or indifferent about such matters, and had now and then yielded a point to the old traditions, but the young and ardent Gratian looked upon these weaknesses with horror and met such demands with stern and uncompromising denial. When the hierophants who had besought him to assume the robe of the chief of their order withdrew, in sullen mortification, from the audience, their leader uttered a prediction which proved to be a threat: “The Emperor may refuse this honour, but in spite of him there will soon be another Pontifex Maximus.” This was later construed into a prophecy, pointing to the usurper Maximus who, for the sorrow of the Empire, snatched the purple and held it for a while after Gratian’s death.