There are men with a single eye in the middle of their forehead.There are men who have but one leg, and advance by jumps.There are men who change their ***, and the females become males.There are men-trees, who shoot out roots in the ground.And there are men with no head, with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth in their breast.Can you honestly believe that Jesus Christ died for the salvation of these men?"Another time he had a vision.He saw, in a strong light, a broad road, rivulets, and gardens.On the road, Aristobulus and Chereas passed at a gallop on their Syrian horses, and the joyous ardour of the race reddened the cheeks of the two young men.Beneath a portico, Callicrates recited his verses; satisfied pride trembled in his voice and shone in his eyes.In the garden, Zenothemis picked apples of gold, and caressed a serpent with azure wings.Clad in white, and wearing a shining mitre, Hermodorus meditated beneath a sacred persea, which bore, instead of flowers, small heads of pure profile, wearing, like the Egyptian goddesses, vultures, hawks, or the shining disk of the moon; whilst in the background, by the side of a fountain, Nicias studied, on an armillary sphere, the harmonious movements of the stars.
Then a veiled woman approached the monk, holding in her hand a branch of myrtle.She said to him--"Look! Some seek eternal beauty, and place their ephemeral life in the infinite.Others live without much thought.But by that alone they submit to fair Nature, and they are happy and beautiful in the joy of living only, and give glory to the supreme artist of all things; for man is a noble hymn to God.All think that happiness is innocent, and that pleasure is permitted to man.Paphnutius, if they are right, what a dupe you have been!"And the vision vanished.
Thus was Paphnutius tempted unceasingly in body and mind.Satan never gave him a minute's repose.The solitude of the tomb was more peopled than the streets of a great city.The devils shouted with laughter, and millions of imps, evil genii, and phantoms imitated all the ordinary transactions of life.In the evening, when he went to the spring, satyrs and nymphs capered round him, and tried to drag him into their lascivious dances.The demons no longer feared him.They loaded him with insults, obscene jests, and blows.One day a devil, no longer than his arm, stole the cord he wore round his waist.
He said to himself--"Thought, whither hast thou led me?"And he resolved to work with his hands, in order to give his mind that rest of which it had need.Near the spring, some banana trees, with large leaves, grew under the shade of the palms.He cut the stalks, and carried them to the tomb.He crushed them with a stone, and reduced them to fibres, as he had seen ropemakers do.For he intended to make a cord, to replace that which the devil had stolen.The demons were somewhat displeased at this; they ceased their clamour, and the girl with the theorbo no longer continued her magic arts, but remained quietly on the wall.The courage and faith of Paphnutius increased whilst he pounded the banana stems.
"With Heaven's help," he said to himself, "I shall subdue the flesh.
As to my soul, its confidence is still unshaken.In vain do the devils, and that accursed woman, try to instil into my mind doubts as to the nature of God.I will reply to them, by the mouth of the Apostle John, 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God.'
That I firmly believe, and that which I believe is absurd, I believe still more firmly.In fact it should be absurd.If it were not so, Ishould not believe; I should know.And it is not that which we know which gives eternal life; it is faith only that saves."He exposed the separated fibres to the sun and the dew, and every morning he took care to turn them, to prevent them rotting; and he rejoiced to find that he had become as ****** as a child.When he had twisted his cord, he cut reeds to make mats and baskets.The sepulchral chamber resembled a basket-maker's workshop, and Paphnutius could pass without difficulty from work to prayer.Yet still God was not merciful to him, for one night he was awakened by a voice which froze him with horror, for he guessed that it was the voice of the dead man.
The voice called quickly, in a light whisper--"Helen! Helen! come and bathe with me! come quickly!"A woman, whose mouth was close to the monk's ear, replied--"Friend, I cannot rise; a man is lying on me."Paphnutius suddenly perceived that his cheek rested on a woman's breast.He recognised the player of the theorbo, who, partly relieved of his weight, raised her breast.He clung tightly to the sweet, warm, perfumed body, and consumed with the desire of damnation, he cried--"Stay, stay, my heavenly one!"
But she was already standing on the threshold.She laughed, and her smile gleamed in the silver rays of the moon.
"Why should I stay?" she said."The shadow of a shadow is enough for a lover endowed with such a lively imagination.Besides, you have sinned.What more was needed?"Paphnutius wept in the night, and when the dawn came, he murmured a prayer that was a meek complaint--"Jesus, my Jesus, why hast Thou forsaken me! Thou seest the danger in which I am.Come, and help me, sweet Saviour.Since Thy Father no longer loves me, and does not hear me, remember that I have but Thee.
From Him nothing is to be hoped; I cannot comprehend Him, and He cannot pity me.But Thou was born of a woman, and that is why I trust in Thee.Remember that Thou wast a man.I pray to Thee, not because Thou art God of God, Light of light, very God of very God, but because Thou hast lived poor and humble on this earth where now I suffer, because Satan has tempted Thy flesh, because the sweat of agony has bedewed Thy face.It is to Thy humanity that I pray, Jesus, my brother Jesus!"When he had thus prayed, wringing his hands, a terrible peal of laughter shook the walls of the tomb, and the voice which rang in his ears on the top of the column, said jeeringly--"That is a prayer worthy of the breviary of Marcus, the heretic.
