confident that when he came within the region of Serapion's cell he
would recognize it. But as he labored on, the country was still
strange--a land, it seemed, never before visited by living thing--and
the hour passed by at which he should have arrived, and the sun rose
toward noon, dropping its fiery weight upon the sand and striking up
again from the baked sand with the heavy glow of a furnace, till it
seemed to Malchus that he was being tortured before a great fire.
His lips were gummed to each other and some nerve or artery in his
brain pulsed as if it would burst and destroy him. When noon was
long past, he turned round in despair, but, thinking it possible that
he had wandered out too far in the direction of the river, he bore a
little to the westward as he made his way south again. But still the
desert had an alien face, and as it drew on toward evening he gave up
all hope that he would find his way and, exhausted, bewildered, and
full of a vague dread, he was on the point of lying down to rest when
he saw that he was standing a few yards from the foot of the familiar
slope. Above him he could see the upper part of the cell itself, and
outside, near the edge of the slope, a figure was standing immovable
with arms raised sideways in the form of the Cross. At the sight of
it he reeled and fell, as though some tension within him had snapped.
It was as if all his troubles had suddenly fallen from him. He was
so weak that he had to climb the slope on his hands and knees.
When he reached the terrace, Serapion had lowered his arms and was
waiting as though he had expected him. "Prisoner! Prisoner!" he
called out to him. "Why have you cast away your liberty?" And
Malchus knew that by _liberty_ Serapion meant the liberty of his
cell, and that he called him _prisoner_ because in his wisdom he had
understood that he was a slave to his unrest. Seeing that Malchus
was exhausted, Serapion made him sit down outside the cell and,
bringing out water and bread and some dried dates, he bade him eat
and drink; and Malchus told the old man all his troubles, asking him
if in the sight of God a man was responsible for his dreams.
"Have you not read," answered Serapion, "what our Redeemer answered
Satan when Satan had said that he would send his people against the
people of God? 'And if they do evil unto thy chosen ones,' said
Satan, 'I cannot help it, and I will trip them up even though I can
do so only in dreams of the night.' But our Redeemer replied: 'If a
still-born child can inherit his father's possessions, then also
dreams shall be accounted a sin to my chosen ones.'"
"And what of evil thoughts?" asked Malchus.
"It is Satan, not we, who sows them," Serapion replied; "but it is
our business not to welcome them. Evil thoughts are like the savors
of boiled meat and roast meat that issue from a cook-house. All who
go past smell the savors, but one man will go in and eat, and
another, who does not wish to eat, will smell the savors as he passes
and go on his way."
Then Malchus spoke of the spirit of unrest which had taken hold of
him, urging him ceaselessly to go forth from his cell, and he told
Serapion how, when at last he had been compelled to go out, he had
met the hunter and the shepherd and learned from their manner of life
that his own fasting and loneliness were as nothing, "so that now,"
he said, "my life seems vain and as it were without salt and I do not
any longer derive profit from the relaxation of weaving. It is as
though God had turned his face from me. What then, must I do?" he
asked; "for whether I stay in my cell and fight the temptation or
whether I yield to it and go out, my trouble continues. Help me, my
father, with your wisdom and experience, for if you do not, the
powers of evil will fasten upon me inescapably."
The old man looked kindly upon Malchus and, sitting down beside him,
began to instruct him. "When the spirit of unrest is upon you," he
said, "you must fight against it and not fly from it, for if you go
out of your cell you will find that from which you fly wherever you
go. But when you have conquered the temptation you can go out, for
then you will go out in a state of peace. But even if you cannot
escape from this trouble, still you must stay in your cell, since
this, for the hermit, is the first of rules. Go back, then, when you
have had some sleep here, and close the door of your cell. But, for
the rest, you must eat, drink, and sleep as much as you desire and
you must give up the weaving, for this is no longer profitable to
you."
"But if I give up fasting, watching, and labor," said Malchus, in
amazement, "shall I not be falling away still more from the hermit
rule?"
"Have I not told you, my son," answered Serapion, "that fasting,
watching, solitude, and labors, and even virginity itself, are in
themselves nothing, but are good only as a means to spiritual
excellence?"
But to the self-torturing nature of Malchus it was hard not to
believe that these things had a virtue in themselves, and the thought
of relinquishing what he had so hardly achieved filled him with fear.
"Do as I tell you, my son," said Serapion, seeing his hesitation,
"and afterward, as other inclinations come to you, follow them so
long as they are without offense. And in your prayers do not ask for
one thing after another, but let your prayer be about the thing that
is troubling you at the time. Then, after you have overcome that
trouble, you may turn in prayer to other things. But if, when you
are troubled by one passion, you set it aside and pray about another,
the first passion will never be wholly cast out. For you it is
necessary to conquer the spirit of unrest, and to do this you must
stay in your cell and go out only in case of extreme necessity.
To-morrow I will accompany you to your cell and bring away the mats
you have woven, for I am going soon to Alexandria to sell those that
I have made and I will sell yours at the same time. For you it would
not yet be safe to go into the world even for a few hours."
When Malchus had returned to his cell and taken up the life which
Serapion had prescribed, he began to discover by degrees the wisdom
of the old man's instructions. For at first the consolation of food,
drink, and sleep and the escape from the monotony of weaving loosened
the cord of his unrest and a mellowness came into his heart. It
became once more an easy and joyful thing to pray and it seemed to
him that his prayers were answered. When evil thoughts came to him
he was no longer afraid, but he turned aside his attention from them,
saying: "I have nothing to do with this thought and I do not desire
it. Let the sin of it be upon Satan." And after a little time he
felt a desire to work again at the weaving of mats, and, taking up
one of the neglected palm leaves, he began to tear it into strips,
and when he had enough strips he put them to soak, and next day he
fell to work with the old zeal, weaving a mat of wonderful fineness.
And as he wove he reflected that even so the meditations and prayers
of the righteous are woven together into a garment for the soul.
After another interval of time he felt the impulse to rise in the
night and pray, and then also to deny himself food and drink. So by
overcoming the spirit of unrest he was drawn back, of his own desire,
to the hermit's way; and for some time all seemed to be well with him.
But not for long. For soon the evil spirits, seeing that they could
no longer dismay him by evil dreams and terrors of the night, began
to tempt him subtly with things which seemed to be innocent and
beautiful. And one night, after Malchus had been fasting for three
whole days, an evil spirit appeared to him in the form of that vision
of a winged man which once he had seen standing on the altar of
Serapion's cell. Again Malchus saw that the feathers of his wings
were plumed with golden beams and he was filled with delight and
wonder and, crouching upon his knees before the altar, he remained
for a long time gazing in ecstasy at the angel. Then the angel bent
toward him and spoke.
"Malchus," he said, "I have been sent to comfort and exhort you
because of your great abstinence. For the abstinence of the shepherd
is now as nothing compared with yours."
And next day the evil spirits entered his cell in the form of flies,
and when they saw that Malchus refrained from eating and drinking on
that day also (though it had been his purpose to fast for three days
only), they laughed and clapped their hands; but their laughter was
nothing more, for Malchus, than the droning of flies.
Toward evening two young men came and knocked at the door and one of
them said to Malchus: "Give us something to eat and some water to
drink, my father, for we are broken with hunger, our mouths are
parched with thirst, and we have still a long way to go."
Malchus brought them in and set bread and water before them; but he
himself stood apart and ate nothing. And the elder of the young men
said to him, "Will you not eat with us, my father?"
But Malchus shook his head. "Food and drink," he said, "are not
necessary to me."
At that the two young men made a sign of astonishment to each other
and Malchus heard the elder whisper to the younger, "This is a great
saint." Then, having finished eating and drinking, they rose and
went on their way. But as soon as they had gone out it came into
Malchus's mind that he ought to have given them food for their
journey also; and he took two loaves from the sack and hurried to the
door to call them back. But the desert both far and near was empty
and there was no new footprint about the door.
Malchus closed the door and, dropping the loaves into the sack, fell
to thinking. His mind was troubled by what had happened and his
trouble increased when he remembered that by refusing to eat with the
young men he had made a boast of his abstinence; for true abstinence,
as Serapion had often told him, does not concern that which is
without, but only that which is within, and it is better to lay by
for a moment the rule of abstinence than to fall into pride and
boastfulness. Throughout that night Malchus prayed, confessing his
sin and asking for strength to overcome pride; but as he prayed there
crept into his mind the memory of the vision of the angel and,
believing still that he had acquired merit by his abstinence, he took
comfort. But it seemed, that night, as though all the creatures of
the desert were holding sinful revel, for far over the sandhills the
harsh laughter of fiends echoed through the darkness; and Malchus,
hearing it, trembled, not knowing what it might signify. But because
he had repented of his second act of pride, the power of the evil
spirits over him was diminished: yet since he was not wholly purged
of pride, being still blind to that former presumption into which he
had been led by the false vision, the hold of Satan was not entirely
loosed from him. And Satan, who, like a skillful hunter, is wont to
pursue his prey slowly and by artful delays, was content to withdraw
to a distance from Malchus till a convenient occasion should come.
But, alone in that waste where all things, down to the meanest herb
and the smallest grain of sand, are instruments in the hands of Good
and Evil, and where the sounds of winds and the crying of beasts are
but the earthly embodiments of the voices of angels and devils,
Malchus felt that evil had receded from him, and his life for a time
became calm and untroubled, and his prayers and the work of his hands
were as an unwavering flame ascending into the presence of God. But
after many weeks were past the water skin was again empty and it
became necessary for Malchus to go out and refill it. And as soon as
the heat of noon began to abate he set out, keeping his eyes on the
ground that lay before his feet. But an evil spirit had gone before
him.
Having arrived at the edge of the grove, he threw down the water skin
and began first to collect the fallen palm leaves; for whenever he
came to the grove for water he replenished also his stock for
weaving. But as he moved from tree to tree, with his eyes on the
ground, he came down toward the little valley through which the water
overflowed from the spring. The stream was broad and smooth, and
tall canes in crowds waded in its shallows, hanging their long green
pennons above the water; and as Malchus raised his eyes he saw
through the screen of canes that something was moving on the further
bank.
It was a girl with a bunch of long canes in her arms, and just as
Malchus caught sight of her she laid the bunch on the ground and,
kneeling down, bound it together in a bundle. But Malchus,
forgetting in a flash all the strict and careful discipline of his
new life, stood suddenly still in the grip of an overwhelming
excitement, and, leaning against the bole of a palm tree, he stared
at her like a tiger watching a drinking gazelle. When she had made
the bundle fast she rose upright with a quick, youthful movement.
One of her arms moved. She was undoing her sleeveless cotton
garment. Then she wriggled her shoulders free and the gown dropped
to her feet. She looked surprisingly small and neat without the
clumsy gown; her spare, compact little body with the quick, full
curves of first maturity shone softly like honey-colored bronze. She
stepped clear of the gown and, like some delicately moving little
animal, walked down into the shallow water. At first the pool only
covered her ankles, then step by step it rose to her knees, and she
went on, balancing herself with outstretched arms, till it was more
than halfway up each thigh. She carried some small thing in her
right hand. It was a knife, and bending down she began to cut the
canes, the left hand grasping the tall stems and the right dipping
down to cut below the water-level. When she had cut all she was able
to hold, she waded back to the bank and laid them by the bundle, and
then she returned into the stream to gather more. Where could she
have come from? It seemed that she must be not a mortal girl, but
the naiad of the spring, and that if she were disturbed she would
surely dive down with one slim movement and a single hollow, musical
splash, to her home under the water. When at last she had cut all
the canes she wanted, she paused for a moment in the water and looked
about her.
[Illustration: woodcut]
Malchus had all the while stood immovable, leaning against the tree
trunk and partly hidden by it. A suppressed trembling shook him like
a palsy, and the girl, as her eyes wandered idly over the bank and
among the trees, suddenly caught sight of the parched hairy face and
the eyes fixed hungrily upon her. She stared back at Malchus for a
moment, and then, turning her back with the charming contempt of a
young animal, went up on to the bank and slowly slipped on her gown.
Malchus, too, stirred himself, and with a deep-drawn sigh began to
retrace his steps to where he had left the water skin. When he had
found it and carried it to the spring he was once more within sight
of where the girl had been. She was gone now, and, having drawn the
water, he departed slowly under the burden. He felt no repentance.
His heart was hard and exultant. At that moment he revolted with the
whole strength of his being against the God who demanded of His
chosen the renunciation of earthly love, the beauty of the flesh, and
the joys of the senses, and he was glad that, instead of flying at
once from the grove as it was his duty as a hermit to do, he had
seized the moment and obeyed the clamorous impulse. But as the
seething of the senses died down and he found himself once again in
the hard, pure desert, he knew that in that brief hour he had brought
to naught all the long months of stern living and that the powers of
evil had gained a great ascendancy over him. Perhaps that very night
evil spirits would break down the door of his cell, and burst in the
window bars, and lay hold upon him body and soul, torturing him until
the weak body could resist no longer. Bodily death at such a time
would bring with it the death of the immortal soul--an everlasting
exile from the sight of the God against whom he had revolted. The
thought overwhelmed him with horror and, staggering on his way toward
the refuge of his cell, he called upon God like a wild creature
howling at the sky. "O God," he wailed, "save me from the death I
deserve. Remember, O God, my former life, that I loved without
discrimination all things beautiful, and consider how great was my
temptation. For was she not beautiful, O God, beautiful as a young
gazelle? How can it be that what is so beautiful has no part in the
divine nature?" Then, feeling that he had spoken blasphemy, he
ceased and began to repeat aloud penitential psalms and prayers for
the forgiveness of sins. So he hastened, feeble and breathless, on
his way, looking neither before him nor behind, where, on the edge of
the grove, the slim, straight-robed figure of a girl stood with one
hand shading her eyes, watching him.
When he reached his cell he threw down the water skin and the palm
leaves, not caring, in his despair, what became of them, and,
flinging open the door, he staggered in and fell on his face in the
oratory. At first he lay as one stunned, neither praying nor
thinking, but after an hour of this prostration he came to his senses
and began to pray feverishly, torrentially, like a man in a burning
house or a sinking ship, pouring out passionate phrases and
ejaculations so rapidly that his mind almost ceased to follow the
sense of what his lips uttered. As he prayed, the light began to
fail, and it seemed that the shadows that gathered silently into his
cell were bodily presences. Soon the darkness would come, and with
it the hosts of Satan into whose power he had so recklessly given
himself.
But the night fell calm and silent. Not the remotest howl of hyena
or jackal disturbed the crystal silence. And as the silence
continued unbroken, Malchus, racked by fearful expectancy, became
fascinated by it like a bird by the eye of a snake. He waited cold
and breathless, more and more certain every minute that it would be
shivered suddenly, appallingly, by some diabolical tumult which would
be the prelude to his destruction. His mind had grown numb beneath
the unendurable suspense, when at last the silence was broken and all
his being concentrated into the one act of listening.
[Illustration: woodcut]
Instead of the horrors he was awaiting, it was a gentle, clear voice
which had called softly outside his cell, A broken square of
primrose-colored moonlight lay on the wall and floor of the oratory.
For a time there was deep silence again. Then near the door the same
sweet voice sent a thrill of delight through him, speaking a word
that he did not understand. A sense of unreality possessed him; he
must be asleep and dreaming, and he remembered with a feeling of
infinite relief that Serapion had told him that a man is not
responsible in the sight of God for his dreams. His fears were gone
now, but his sense was still alert and soon he heard a faint sound in
the outer room of his cell. He was too exhausted to wonder what it
could be, and next moment something touched him in the dark--a hand,
it seemed; but not the fierce hand of evil, but a gentle,
ingratiating hand that stroked him. Malchus did not move. As in a
dream, his will was nerveless and he lay with eyes closed while the
groping hand explored him. Then two arms wound themselves about him
and a soft cheek was laid against his. "Helena!" he whispered,
ardently, and suddenly he threw off his passivity and, freeing his
arms, he clasped to his own body the warm body that lay on the floor
beside him.
_Chapter
Twelve_
He awoke next morning to a cold despair. He knew that what he had
experienced had been no dream, and he knew, too, that one small spark
of consciousness, which he had willfully muffled, had affirmed at the
time that it was real. He had sinned consciously and willingly; his
delusion had been deliberate. He dared not pray, for to take the
name of God into his mouth, vile as he was, would itself be mortal
sin; and even if he had dared to pray, the prayers of a wretch like
himself, who had implored God's help and protection only to scorn it
when the moment of temptation came, would, he knew, be no better than
an insolent mockery in the ear of Heaven. Now he was alone indeed,
cut off not only from the worldly life which he had abandoned, but
also from the holy life of the desert and the eternal life which is
its reward. He was exhausted by long fasting and the violence of his
emotions; and as with eyes fixed starkly on vacancy he contemplated
his state, the horror of it numbed his understanding. "It is
impossible," he muttered to himself, "impossible that it was not a
dream." Slowly and painfully he rose to his feet. His brain reeled
and for a moment he could do no more than stand, steadying himself
with both hands pressed against the walls. Then with groping hands
and feet he staggered into the outer room and so to the doorway of
the cell. On the smooth sand outside, the print of small bare feet
was set as a witness against him; and, as if for a sign that all his
good works had been brought to naught, all the mats that he had woven
were gone. Then his gaze fell on the sack of loaves, and a light
came into his eyes, for he saw in food and drink a last consolation
for his misery. He plunged both arms into the sack, bringing out all
the loaves that were left, and, carrying them outside the cell, he
sat down beside the full water skin which he had left there on the
previous evening. He untied the neck and dipped each loaf into the
water. But to dip them only was not enough; the loaves were still
too hard to eat. He gnawed at one, holding it in both hands and
chawing at it like a dog at a bone. But he could not break the
crust, and at last he flung it away from him in fury and, getting on
to his knees, he reached an earthenware dish from the table and set
the loaves to soak. And as they soaked he crouched beside them,
snatching impatiently at one and another and putting them to his
teeth. Crouching solitary there, now immovable, now breaking into
convulsive activity as he seized a loaf and raised it to his mouth,
he looked like a great ape playing with stones. At last the loaves
were soft enough and he fell upon them ravenously, stuffing fragment
after fragment into his mouth and then bowing his face to the dish
and sucking in draughts of water to soften the mass. So he fed, a
fierce and uncouth spectacle, while water and a paste of masticated
bread exuded from the corners of his mouth and clung to his ragged
beard. He did not remember how on that day a year ago he had lain,
exquisitely dressed, at table in his own house, the host of one of
the most marvelous of all the marvelous feasts for which he and his
friends were famed throughout Alexandria. At that feast the guests
had been delighted by the novelty of the little silver ovens in which
the slaves handed small newly baked loaves, each cunningly molded
into a fantastic shape.
When he had eaten all the bread, he sat for a while, staring before
him; then untying the water skin again, he took a long draught from
it and, letting it slip from his hands so that it lay gulping out its
contents into the thirsty sand, he rose and reached for his staff.
Without a glance behind him he stepped out into the empty desert.
His mind was empty, barren. He had no plan, no hope, nothing but the
instinct to fly from a place accursed, to fly further and further
into the desert, as if by unceasing flight he could at last outrun
the terrible consequences of his sin. But the moment he left the
shelter of the cell an invisible host of evil flung itself upon him,
beating up the sand in clouds into his eyes and mouth, wrapping him
round in a bewildering whirlwind and hurling broadcast the heap of
palm leaves which on the previous evening he had flung down outside
the door. He blundered on blindly, with no thought of his direction,
beating the air with his hands in an attempt to drive off the unseen
adversaries that surrounded him with jeers and whistlings, owlish
hoots and derisive laughter. Behind him he heard his door beat and
beat again upon its hinges, and he knew that demons had taken
possession of his deserted cell and were desecrating it with their
foul revelries. He ran on blindly, falling headlong and rising
again, till his strength was exhausted and he lay where he fell....