Memory died in him, the hurts became callouses, the world-pain died
out of his heart, and to cling became a habit.

Language was lost in disuse.

The food he ate was minimum in quantity; sensation ceased, and the
dry, hot winds reduced bodily tissue to a dessicated something called
a saint—loved, feared and reverenced for his fortitude.

This pillar, which had once graced the portal of a pagan temple, again
became a place of pious pilgrimage, and people flocked to Simeon’s
rock, so that they might be near when he stretched out his black, bony
hands to the East, and the spirit of Almighty God, for a space,
hovered close around.

So much attention did the abnegation of Simeon attract that various
other pillars, marking the ruins of art and greatness gone, in that
vicinity, were crowned with pious monks. The thought of these monks
was to show how Christianity had triumphed over heathenism. Imitators
were numerous. About then the Bishops in assembly asked, “Is Simeon
sincere?” To test the matter of Simeon’s pride, he was ordered to come
down from his retreat.

As to his chastity, there was little doubt, his poverty was beyond
question, but how about obedience to his superiors?

The order was shouted up to him in a Bishop’s voice—he must let down
his rope, draw up a ladder, and descend.