at last, so goes the story, provoked him so far that, according to
the fashion of a Roman pedagogue, he took the ferula and
administered to one of the princes a caning, which he no doubt
deserved. The young prince, in revenge, plotted against his life.
Among the parasites of the Palace it was not difficult to find those
who would use steel and poison readily enough in the service of an
heir-apparent, and Arsenius fled for his life: and fled, as men
were wont in those days, to Egypt and the Thebaid. Forty years old
he was when he left the court, and forty years more he spent among
the cells at Scetis, weeping day and night. He migrated afterwards
to a place called Troe, and there died at the age of ninety-five,
having wept himself, say his admirers, almost blind. He avoided, as
far as possible, beholding the face of man; upon the face of woman
he would never look. A noble lady, whom he had known probably in
the world, came all the way from Rome to see him; but he refused
himself to her sternly, almost roughly. He had known too much of
the fine ladies of the Roman court; all he cared for was peace.
There is a story of him that, changing once his dwelling-place,
probably from Scetis to Troe, he asked, somewhat peevishly, of the
monks around him, "What that noise was?" They told him it was only
the wind among the reeds. "Alas!" he said, "I have fled everywhere
in search of silence, and yet here the very reeds speak." The
simple and comparatively unlearned monks around him looked with a
profound respect on the philosopher, courtier, scholar, who had cast
away the real pomps and vanities of this life, such as they had
never known. There is a story told, plainly concerning Arsenius,
though his name is not actually mentioned in it, how a certain old
monk saw him lying upon a softer mat than his fellows, and indulged
with a few more comforts; and complained indignantly of his luxury,
and the abbot's favouritism. Then asked the abbot, "What didst thou