Hekebolius.
Not godly?
Eunapius.
Who dares accuse me of? Do you want to ruin me? Godly? When was I godly? I once belonged to the sect of the Donatists; that was years and years ago. Devil take the Donatists!
[He knocks at the window.] Hi, Barbara, Barbara; open the door, old she-cat!
[The door is opened and he slips in.
The Multitude. There he is! There he comes! Hekebolius. All irregular perquisites! Accounts examined! Oh thunderbolt of disaster! [He slips away, followed by his two slaves.
[The procession of Dionysus comes down the street. Flute-players go foremost; drunken men, some of them dressed as fauns and satyrs, dance to the measure. In the middle of the procession comes the Emperor Julian, riding on an ass, which is covered with a panther-skin; he is dressed as the god Dionysus, with a panther-skin over his shoulders, a wreath of vine-leaves round his head, in his hands a staff wreathed with green, and with a pine-cone fastened on its upper end. Half-naked, painted women and youths, dancers and jugglers, surround him; some carry wine-flagons and goblets, others beat tambourines, and move forward with wild leaps and antics.
