Thaïs | Page 7

for this great evil?"
"Brother Palemon, I will go to Alexandria and find this woman, and,
with God's help, I will convert her; that is my intention; do you approve
of it, brother?"
"Brother Paphnutius, I am but a miserable sinner, but our father
Anthony used to say, 'In whatsoever place thou art, hasten not to leave
it to go elsewhere.' "
"Brother Palemon, do you disapprove of my project?"
"Dear Paphnutius, God forbid that I should suspect my brother of bad
intentions. But our father Anthony also said, 'Fishes die on dry land,
and so is it with those monks who leave their cells and mingle with the
men of this world, amongst whom no good thing is to be found.' "
Having thus spoken, the old man pressed his foot on the spade, and
began to dig energetically round a fig tree laden with fruit. As he was
thus engaged, there was a rustling in the bushes, and an antelope leaped
over the hedge which surrounded the garden; it stopped, surprised and
frightened, its delicate legs trembling, then ran up to the old man, and

laid its pretty head on the breast of its friend.
"God be praised in the gazelle of the desert," said Palemon.
He went to his hut, the light-footed little animal trotting after him, and
brought out some black bread, which the antelope ate out of his hand.
Paphnutius remained thoughtful for some time, his eyes fixed upon the
stones at his feet. Then he slowly walked back to his cell, pondering on
what he had heard. A great struggle was going on in his mind.
"The hermit gives good advice," he said to himself; "the spirit of
prudence is in him. And he doubts the wisdom of my intention. Yet it
would be cruel to leave Thais any longer in the power of the demon
who possesses her. May God advise and conduct me."
As he was walking along, he saw a plover, caught in the net that a
hunter had laid on the sand, and he knew that it was a hen bird, for he
saw the male fly to the net, and tear the meshes one by one with its
beak, until it had made an opening by which its mate could escape. The
holy man watched this incident, and as, by virtue of his holiness, he
easily comprehended the mystic sense of all occurrences, he knew that
the captive bird was no other than Thais, caught in the snares of sin,
and that--like the plover that had cut the hempen threads with its
beak--he could, by pronouncing the word of power, break the invisible
bonds by which Thais was held in sin. Therefore he praised God, and
was confirmed in his first resolution. But then seeing the plover caught
by the feet, and hampered by the net it had broken, he fell into
uncertainty again.
He did not sleep all night, and before dawn he had a vision. Thais
appeared to him again. There was no expression of guilty pleasure on
her face, nor was she dressed according to custom in transparent
drapery. She was enveloped in a shroud, which hid even a part of her
face, so that the Abbot could see nothing but the two eyes, from which
flowed white and heavy tears.
At this sight he began to weep, and believing that this vision came from

God, he no longer hesitated. He rose, seized a knotted stick, the symbol
of the Christian faith, and left his cell, carefully closing the door, lest
the animals of the desert and the birds of the air should enter, and
befoul the copy of the Holy Scriptures which stood at the head of his
bed. He called Flavian, the deacon, and gave him authority over the
other twenty-three disciples during his absence; and then, clad only in a
long cassock, he bent his steps towards the Nile, intending to follow the
Libyan bank to the city founded by the Macedonian monarch. He
walked from dawn to eve, indifferent to fatigue, hunger, and thirst; the
sun was already low on the horizon when he saw the dreadful river, the
blood-red waters of which rolled between the rocks of gold and fire.
He kept along the shore, begging his bread at the door of solitary huts
for the love of God, and joyfully receiving insults, refusals, or threats.
He feared neither robbers nor wild beasts, but he took great care to
avoid all the towns and villages he came near. He was afraid lest he
should see children playing at knuckle-bones before their father's house,
or meet, by the side of the well, women in blue smocks, who might put
down their pitcher and smile at him. All things are dangerous for the
hermit; it