"It is one of two things," he said to himself; "either this vision, like the preceding ones, came from God, and was a good vision, and it is my natural perversity which has misrepresented it, as wine turns sour in a dirty cup.I have, by my unworthiness, changed instruction into reproach, of which this diabolical jackal immediately took advantage.Or else this vision came, not from God, but, on the contrary, from the devil, and was evil.In that case I should doubt whether the former ones had, as I thought, a celestial origin.I am therefore incapable of that discernment which is necessary for the ascetic.In either case it is plain that God is no longer with me,--of which I feel the effects, though I cannot explain the cause."He reasoned in this way, and anxiously asked--"Just God, what trials dost Thou appoint for Thy servants if the apparitions of Thy saints are a danger for them? Give me to discern, by an intelligible sign, that which comes from Thee, and that which comes from the other."And as God, whose designs are inscrutable, did not see fit to enlighten his servant, Paphnutius, lost in doubt, resolved not to think of Thais any more.But his resolutions were vain.Though absent, she was ever with him.She gazed at him whilst he read, or meditated, or prayed, or met his eyes wherever he looked.Her imaginary approach was heralded by a slight sound, such as is made by a woman's dress when she walks, and the visions had more verisimilitude than reality itself, which moves and is confused, whereas the phantoms which are caused by solitude are fixed and unchangeable.She came under various appearances--sometimes pensive, her head crowned with her last perishable wreath, clad as at the banquet at Alexandria, in a mauve robe spangled with silver flowers; sometimes voluptuously in a cloud of light veils, and bathed in the warm shadows of the Grotto of Nymphs; sometimes in a serge cassock, pious and radiant with celestial joy; sometimes tragic, her eyes swimming in the terrors of death, and showing her bare breast bedewed with the blood from her pierced heart.
What disturbed him the most in these visions was that the wreaths, tunics, and veils, that he had burned with his own hands, should thus return; it became evident to him that these things had an imperishable soul, and he cried--"Lo, all the countless souls of the sins of Thais come upon me!"When he turned away his head, he felt that Thais was behind him, and that made him feel still more uneasy.His torture was cruel.But as his soul and body remained pure in the midst of all his temptations, he trusted in God, and gently complained to Him.
"My God, if I went so far to seek her amongst the Gentiles, it was for Thy sake, and not for mine.It would not be just that I should suffer for what I have done in Thy behalf.Protect me, sweet Jesus! My Saviour, save me! Suffer not the phantom to accomplish that which the body could not.As I have triumphed over the flesh, suffer not the shadow to overthrow me.I know that I am now exposed to greater dangers than I ever ran.I feel and know that the dream has more power than the reality.And how could it be otherwise, since it is itself but a higher reality? It is the soul of things.Plato, though he was but an idolater, has testified to the real existence of ideas.At that banquet of demons to which Thou accompaniedst me, Lord, I heard men--sullied with crimes truly, but certainly not devoid of intelligence--agree to acknowledge that we see real objects in solitude, meditation, and ecstasy; and Thy Scriptures, my God, many times affirm the virtue of dreams, and the power of visions formed either by Thee, great God, or by Thy adversary."There was a new man in him and now he reasoned with God, but God did not choose to enlighten him.His nights were one long dream, and his days did not differ from his nights.One morning he awoke uttering sighs, such as issue, by moonlight, from the tombs of the victims of crimes.Thais had come, showing her bleeding feet, and whilst he wept, she had slipped into his couch.There was no longer any doubt; the image of Thais was an impure image.
His heart filled with disgust, he leaped out of his profaned couch, and hid his face in his hands that he might not see the daylight.The hours passed, but they did not remove his shame.All was quiet in the cell.For the first time for many long days, Paphnutius was alone.The phantom had at last left him, and even its absence seemed dreadful.
Nothing, nothing to distract his mind from the recollection of the dream.Full of horror, he thought--"Why did I not drive her away? Why did I not tear myself from her cold arms and burning knees?"He no longer dared to pronounce the name of God near that horrible couch, and he feared that his cell being profaned, the demons might freely enter at any hour.His fears did not deceive him.The seven little jackals, which had never crossed the threshold, entered in a file, and went and hid under the bed.At the vesper hour, there came an eighth, the stench of which was horrible.The next day, a ninth joined the others, and soon there were thirty, then sixty, then eighty.They became smaller as they multiplied, and being no bigger than rats, they covered the floor, the couch, and the stool.One of them jumped on the little table by the side of the bed, and standing with its four feet together on the death's head, looked at the monk with burning eyes.And every day fresh jackals came.
To expiate the abominable sin of his dream, and flee from impure thoughts, Paphnutius determined to leave his cell, which had now become polluted, go far into the desert, and practise unheard-of austerities, strange labours, and fresh works of grace.But before putting his design into action, he went to see old Palemon and ask his advice.
He found him in his garden watering his lettuces.It was the evening.
The blue Nile flowed at the foot of violet hills.The good old man was walking slowly, in order not to frighten a pigeon that had perched on his shoulder.
