When night came, fires, torches, and lanterns were lighted everywhere, and nothing was to be seen but red shadows and black shapes.Standing amidst a circle of squatting listeners, an old man, his face lighted by a smoky lamp, related how, formerly, Bitiou had enchanted his heart, torn it from his breast, placed it in an acacia, and then transformed himself into a tree.He made gestures, which his shadow repeated with absurd exaggerations, and the audience uttered cries of admiration.In the taverns, the drinkers, lying on couches, called for beer and wine.Dancing girls, with painted eyes and bare stomachs, performed before them religious or lascivious scenes.In retired corners, young men played dice or other games, and old men followed prostitutes.Above all these rose the solitary, unchanging column; the head with the cow's horns gazed into the shadow, and above it Paphnutius watched between heaven and earth.All at once the moon rose over the Nile, like the bare shoulder of a goddess.The hills gleamed with blue light, and Paphnutius thought he saw the body of Thais shinning in the glimmer of the waters amidst the sapphire night.

The days passed, and the saint still lived on his pillar.When the rainy season came, the waters of heaven, filtering through the cracks in the roof, wetted his body; his stiff limbs were incapable of movement.Scorched by the sun, and reddened by the dew, his skin broke; large ulcers devoured his arms and legs.But the desire of Thais still consumed him inwardly, and he cried--"It is not enough, great God! More temptations! More unclean thoughts!

More horrible desires! Lord, lay upon me all the lusts of men, that Imay expiate them all! Though it is false that the Greek bitch took upon herself all the sins of the world, as I heard an impostor once declare, yet there is a hidden meaning in the fable, the truth of which I now recognise.For it is true that the sins of the people enter the soul of the saints, and are lost there as in a well.Thus it is that the souls of the just are polluted with more filth than is ever found in the soul of the sinner.And, for that reason, I praise Thee, O my God, for having made me the cesspool of the world."One day, a rumour ran through the holy city, and even reached the ears of the hermit: a very great personage, a man occupying a high position, the Prefect of the Alexandrian fleet, Lucius Aurelius Cotta, was about to visit the city--was, indeed, now on his way.

The news was true.Old Cotta, who was inspecting the canals and the navigation of the Nile, had many times expressed a desire to see the stylite and the new city, to which the name of Stylopolis had been given.The Stylopolitans saw the river covered with sails one morning.

Cotta appeared on board a golden galley hung with purple, and followed by all his fleet.He landed, and advanced, accompanied by a secretary carrying his tablets, and Aristaeus, his physician, with whom he liked to converse.

A numerous suite walked behind him, and the shore was covered with /laticlaves/[*] and military uniforms.He stopped, some paces from the column, and began to examine the stylite, wiping his face meanwhile with the skirt of his toga.Being of a naturally curious disposition, he had observed many things in the course of his long voyages.He liked to remember them, and intended to write, after he had finished his Punic history, a book on the remarkable things he had witnessed.

He seemed much interested by the spectacle before him.

[*] The /laticlave/ was a toga, with a broad purple band, worn by Roman senators as the distinguishing mark of their high office.

"This is very curious!" he said, puffing and blowing."And--which is a circumstance worthy of being recorded--this man was my guest.Yes, this monk supped with me last year, after which he carried off an actress."Turning to his secretary--

"Note that, my son, on my tablets; also the dimensions of the column, not omitting the shape of the top of it."Then, wiping his face again--

"Persons deserving of belief have assured me that this monk has not left his column for a single moment since he mounted it a year ago.Is that possible, Aristaeus?""That which is possible to a lunatic or a sick man," replied Aristaeus, "would be impossible to a man sound in body and mind.Do you know, Lucius, that sometimes diseases of the mind or body give to those afflicted by them a strength which healthy men do not possess?