Thaïs | Page 4

by legions of the damned, defended
themselves--with the help of God and the angels--by fasting, prayer,
and penance. Sometimes carnal desires pricked them so cruelly that
they cried aloud with pain, and their lamentations rose to the starlit
heavens mingled with the howls of the hungry hyaenas. Then it was
that the demons appeared in delightful forms. For though the demons
are, in reality, hideous, they sometimes assume an appearance of beauty
which prevents their real nature from being recognised. The ascetics of
the Thebaid were amazed to see in their cells phantasms of delights
unknown even to the voluptuaries of the age. But, as they were under
the sign of the Cross, they did not succumb to these temptations, and
the unclean spirits, assuming again their true character, fled at daybreak,
filled with rage and shame. It was not unusual to meet at dawn one of
these beings, flying away and weeping, and replying to those who
questioned it, "I weep and groan because one of the Christians who live
here has beaten me with rods, and driven me away in ignominy."
The power of the old saints of the desert extended over all sinners and
unbelievers. Their goodness was sometimes terrible. They derived from
the Apostles authority to punish all offences against the true and only
God, and no earthly power could save those they condemned. Strange
tales were told in the cities, and even as far as Alexandria, how the
earth had opened and swallowed up certain wicked persons whom one
of these saints struck with his staff. Therefore they were feared by all
evil-doers, and particularly by mimes, mountebanks, married priests,

and prostitutes.
Such was the sanctity of these holy men that even wild beasts felt their
power. When a hermit was about to die, a lion came and dug a grave
with its claws. The saint knew by this that God had called him, and he
went and kissed all his brethren on the cheek. Then he lay down
joyfully, and slept in the Lord.
Now that Anthony, who was more than a hundred years old, had retired
to Mount Colzin with his well-beloved disciples, Macarius and
Amathas, there was no monk in the Thebaid more renowned for good
works than Paphnutius, the Abbot of Antinoe. Ephrem and Serapion
had a greater number of followers, and in the spiritual and temporal
management of their monasteries surpassed him. But Paphnutius
observed the most rigorous fasts, and often went for three entire days
without taking food. He wore a very rough hair shirt, he flogged
himself night and morning, and lay for hours with his face to the earth.
His twenty-four disciples had built their huts near his, and imitated his
austerities. He loved them all dearly in Jesus Christ, and unceasingly
exhorted them to good works. Amongst his spiritual children were men
who had been robbers for many years, and had been persuaded by the
exhortations of the holy abbot to embrace the monastic life, and who
now edified their companions by the purity of their lives. One, who had
been cook to the Queen of Abyssinia, and was converted by the Abbot
of Antinoe, never ceased to weep. There was also Flavian, the deacon,
who knew the Scriptures, and spoke well; but the disciple of
Paphnutius who surpassed all the others in holiness was a young
peasant named Paul, and surnamed the Fool, because of his extreme
simplicity. Men laughed at his childishness, but God favoured him with
visions, and by bestowing upon him the gift of prophecy.
Paphnutius passed his life in teaching his disciples, and in ascetic
practices. Often did he meditate upon the Holy Scriptures in order to
find allegories in them. Therefore he abounded in good works, though
still young. The devils, who so rudely assailed the good hermits, did
not dare to approach him. At night, seven little jackals sat in the
moonlight in front of his cell, silent and motionless, and with their ears

pricked up. It was believed that they were seven devils, who, owing to
his sanctity, could not cross his threshold.
Paphnutius was born at Alexandria of noble parents, who had
instructed him in all profane learning. He had even been allured by the
falsehoods of the poets, and in his early youth had been misguided
enough to believe that the human race had all been drowned by a
deluge in the days of Deucalion, and had argued with his
fellow-scholars concerning the nature, the attributes, and even the
existence of God. He then led a life of dissipation, after the manner of
the Gentiles, and he recalled the memory of those days with shame and
horror.
"At that time," he used to say to the brethren, "I seethed in the cauldron
of false delights."
He meant by