Naked women of surpassing loveliness displayed their charms to the anchorite’s gaze, sturdy porters bent beneath loads of gold which they heaped at his feet, other shapes not alien from humanity allured his appetite with costly dishes or cooling drinks, or smote at him with swords, or made feints at his eyes with spears, or burned sulphur under his nose, or displayed before him scrolls of poetry or learning, or shrieked blasphemies in his ears, or surveyed him from a little distance with glances of leering affection; while a motley crowd of goblins, wearing the heads of boars or lions, or whisking the tails of dragons, winged, or hoofed, or scaled, or feathered, or all at once, incessantly jostled and wrangled with each other and their betters, mopping and mowing, grunting and grinning, snapping, snarling, constantly running away and returning like gnats dancing over a marsh.  The holy man sat doggedly at the entrance of his cavern, with an expression of fathomless stupidity, which seemed to defy all the fiends of the Thebaid to get an idea into his head, or make him vary his attitude by a single inch.

“These people did not exist in our time,” said Apollo aloud, “or at least they knew their place, and behaved themselves.”

“Sir,” said a comparatively grave and respectable demon, addressing the stranger, “I should wish your peregrinity to understand that these imps are mere schoolboys—­my pupils, in fact.  When their education has made further progress they will be more mannerly, and will comprehend the folly of pestering an unintellectual old gentleman like this worthy Pachymius with beauty for which he has no eyes, and gold for which he has no use, and dainties for which he has no palate, and learning for which he has no head.  But I’ll wake him up!” And waving his pupils away, the paedagogic fiend placed himself at the anchorite’s ear, and shouted into it—­

“Nonnus is to be Bishop of Panopolis!”

The hermit’s features were instantly animated by an expression of envy and hatred.

“Nonnus!” he exclaimed, “the heathen poet, to have the see of Panopolis, of which I was promised the reversion!”

“My dear sir,” suggested Apollo, “it is all very well to enliven the reverend eremite; but don’t you think it is rather a liberty to make such jokes at the expense of my good friend Nonnus?”

“There is no liberty,” said the demon, “for there is no joke.  Recanted on Monday.  Baptized yesterday.  Ordained to-day.  To be consecrated to-morrow.”

The anchorite poured forth a torrent of the choicest ecclesiastical curses, until he became speechless from exhaustion, and Apollo, profiting by the opportunity, addressed the demon: 

“Would it be an unpardonable breach of politeness, respected sir, if I ventured to hint that the illusions your pupils have been trying to impose upon this venerable man have in some small measure impaired the confidence with which I was originally inspired by your advantageous personal appearance?”