When Iamblicus and Julian, returning from their walk, were crossing Panormos, the crowded harbour-quarter of Ephesus, they noticed an unusual tumult; folk running hither and thither, waving torches and shouting-- "The Christians are destroying the temples! Woe be on us!" and others: "Death to the Olympian gods! Astarte is vanquished by Christ!" Iamblicus attempted a detour through less frequented streets, but the howling mob caught and swept them in its course towards the temple of the Ephesian Artemis. The superb temple, built by Dynocrates, stood out sharply, dark and austere, against the starry sky. The gleam of the torches flickered up gigantic colonnades, pedestalled on beautiful little groups of caryatids. Up to this period, not only the Romans, but all tribes in the country had adored this goddess. Someone in the crowd cried out in a quavering voice-- "Hail to the divine Diana of the Ephesians!" Hundreds of voices responded-- "Death to the Olympians and to your Diana!" Above the Arsenal and its towering monument rose a blood-red light. Julian glanced at his divine master, and scarcely recognised him. Iamblicus was transformed back into a sickly and timid old man. He complained of headache, expressed his fear of an attack of rheumatism, and doubted whether his servant had not forgotten to prepare his fomentations. Julian lent him his own cloak; but he remained chilly, and stopped his ears, with a dolorous grimace, against the shouts and laughter of the crowd, which he dreaded. Iamblicus used to say there was nothing more stupid and disgusting than the spirit of the people. He pointed out to his pupil the faces hurrying past-- "Look at the monstrous vice in that expression! What hopeless triviality! what self-confident assertion!... Does it not make one ashamed of being human, to share human form with mud like that!" An old Christian woman hobbled along, telling a story-- "And my grandson, he says to me, 'Grandmother, make me some meat-broth.' Well, I tell him, 'Yes, darling, I'll go to the market soon,' and to myself I'm thinking meat is nowadays cheaper than bread. So I buy some meat for five obols and have it cooked. And in comes a neighbour and screams at me, 'What are you cooking there? Don't you know that the meat of the market is not fit to touch to-day?' "'Why so?' "'The priests of the goddess have sprinkled the whole market with water from the sacrifices! There's not a Christian in the town eating the meat so spoiled. And they're going to kill the sacrificers, and pull down the devilish temple!' "I threw the broth to the dogs; just think! five obols, all wasted!--more than a day's wage thrown away--but all the same I wouldn't make my own grandson unclean!" Others were telling how, in the previous year, some miserly Christian had eaten of the impure meat, which had so rotted his intestines that his very relatives had had to abandon him, on account of the contagion.