Paphnutius had returned to the holy desert.He took, near Athribis, the boat which went up the Nile to carry food to the monastery of Abbot Serapion.When he disembarked, his disciples advanced to meet him with great demonstrations of joy.Some raised their arms to heaven; others, prostrate on the ground, kissed the Abbot's sandals.
For they knew already what the saint had accomplished in Alexandria.
The monks generally received, by rapid and unknown means, information concerning the safety or glory of the Church.News spread through the desert with the rapidity of the simoon.
When Paphnutius strode across the sand, his disciples followed him, praising the Lord.Flavian, who was the oldest member of the brotherhood, was suddenly seized with a pious frenzy and began to sing an inspired hymn--"O blessed day! Now is our father restored to us.
He has returned laden with fresh merits, of which we reap the benefit.
For the virtues of the father are the wealth of the children, and the sanctity of the Abbot illuminates every cell.
Paphnutius, our father, has given a new spouse to Jesus Christ.
By his wondrous art, he has changed a black sheep into a white sheep.
And now, behold, he has returned to us, laden with fresh merits.
Like unto the bee of the Arsinoetid, heavy with the nectar of flowers.
Even as the ram of Nubia, which could hardly bear the weight of its abundant wool.
Let us celebrate this day by mingling oil with our food."When they came to the door of the Abbot's cell, they fell on their knees, and said--"Let our father bless us, and give each of us a measure of oil to celebrate his return."Paul the Fool, who alone had remained standing, asked, "Who is this man?" and did not recognise Paphnutius.But no one paid any attention to what he said, as he was known to be devoid of intelligence, though filled with piety.
The Abbot of Antinoe, locked in his cell, thought--"I have at last regained the haven of my repose and happiness.I have returned to my fortress of contentment.But how is it that this roof of rushes, so dear to me, does not receive me as a friend, and the walls say not to me, 'Thou art welcome.' Nothing has changed, since my departure, in this abode I have chosen.There is my table and my bed.
There is the mummy's head which has so often inspired me with salutary thoughts; and there is the book in which I have so often sought conceptions of God.And yet nothing that I left is here.The things appear grievously despoiled of their customary charm, and it seems to me as though I saw them to-day for the first time.When I look at that table and couch, that in former days I made with my own hands, that black, dried head, these rolls of papyrus filled with the sayings of God, I seem to see the belongings of a dead man.After having known them all so well, I know them no longer.Alas! since nothing around me has really changed, it is I who am no longer what I was.I am another.
I am the dead man! What has happened, my God? What has been taken from me? What is left unto me? And who am I?"And it especially perplexed him to find, in spite of himself, that his cell was small, whereas, when viewed by the eye of faith, he ought to consider it immense, because the infinitude of God began there.
He began to pray, with his face against the ground, and felt a little happier.He had hardly been an hour in prayer, when a vision of Thais passed before his eyes.He returned thanks to God--"Jesus! it is Thou who hast sent her.I acknowledge in that Thy wonderful goodness; Thou wouldst please me, reassure me and comfort me by the sight of her whom I have given to Thee.Thou; presentest her to my eyes with her smile now disarmed; her grace, now become innocent;her beauty from which I have extracted the sting.To please me, my God, thou showest her to me as I have prepared and purified her for Thy designs, as one friend pleasantly reminds another of the rich gift he has received from him.Therefore I see this woman with delight, being assured that the vision comes from Thee.Thou dost not forget that I have given her to Thee, Jesus.Keep her, since she pleases Thee, and suffer not her beauty to give joy to any but Thyself."He could not sleep all night, and he saw Thais more distinctly than he had seen her in the Grotto of Nymphs.He commended himself, saying--"What I have done, I have done to the glory of God."Yet, to his great surprise, his heart was not at ease.He sighed.
"Why art thou sad, O my soul, and why dost thou trouble me?"And his mind was still perturbed.Thirty days he remained in that condition of sadness which precedes the sore trials of a solitary monk.The image of Thais never left him day or night.He did not try to banish it, because he still thought it came from God, and was the image of a saint.But one morning she visited him in a dream, her hair crowned with violets, and her very gentleness seemed so formidable, that he uttered a cry of fright, and woke in an icy sweat.His eyes were still heavy with sleep, when he felt a moist warm breath on his face.A little jackal, its two paws placed on the side of the bed, was panting its stinking breath in his face, and grinning at him.
Paphnutius was greatly astonished, and it seemed to him as though a tower had given way under his feet.And, in fact, he had fallen, for his self-confidence had gone.For some time he was incapable of thought and when he did recover himself, his meditations only increased his perplexity.
