Part 9

During that day Malchus found that his despair, so far from having been relieved by his recent escape from solitude, had increased. Pondering in his cell upon his meetings with the hunter and the shepherd, he understood that God had driven him out of his cell in order that he might learn from them that all he had achieved in the life of solitude and fasting was in itself nothing and that others had accomplished much more in the mere course of their business; and as he examined his life, he knew that, for all his desire to pursue excellence, it was stagnant. Yet what else could he do but pray? Despair came upon him, and thenceforward he was even more restless than before. He found himself inventing small reasons to leave his cell, and when he had set his mind against them he felt none of the triumph of conquest, but only a darker despair. And more and more he was tormented by dreams, dreams that rose from his buried desires, setting before him fearful temptations to which sometimes he yielded with a frenzied self-abandonment. Then he awoke with the terror of sin upon him and the dreadful certainty that evil--evil in the material form of horrible physical presences--was closing inexorably about him. In the worst of all these dreams it seemed that his whole life had become a mockery and a snare. It was the familiar scene of a feast at the house of Diocles, the scene that haunted him so persistently. He himself, in the dream, kept changing from the old Malchus to Malchus the hermit; for his impulse was to obey his desires, but when he began to do so immediately a freezing fear held him back. And all the material things of his dream changed, too, from one nature to another. He reached out his hand to a peach, but when it touched his lips it was changed to vileness and corruption. The wine in his glass turned in his mouth to mud and sand. Last of all, Helena, leaping from one of the couches as the girl Thaïs had done at that last feast in the house of Diocles, came across the dining hall toward him with her lovely, half-mocking smile. He smiled back at her, stretching out his arms; but, when she drew nearer, a white terror like leprosy laid hold of him and he thrust her off, covering his face with one hand. But Helena forced herself upon him, bending over him, weighing upon him; and gazing up at her in mortal terror, he saw that she had changed to a vile hag with parched skin and bleared and yellow eyes. He struggled wildly. A great weight on his chest smothered his cries, but at length he broke through the dream into consciousness as through a thicket of terrifying deceits. He was awake now, but still some foul creature was fastened upon him. He felt its weight; the filthy stench of it sickened him. He thrust out his hands and they touched coarse hair. Then a great cry burst from him and he was free. Close under his window a loud howling broke out. Showers of sand fell upon his face and the door of his cell swung to and fro on its hinges. He sprang to his feet and ran out in terror into the open. There he was received into clouds of wind-blown sand, and, rushing on through the storm, he descended the slope, half running and half falling, to the level ground below. He ran on in the blind hope that he was running toward Serapion, and at last, stumbling in the clogging sand, he fell on his face and lay where he fell, insensible.

[Illustration: woodcut]

_Chapter Eleven_

When he came to himself the night was gone. The dawn, an unfathomable dome of cool yellow flame, towered immensely above the yellow aisles and ambulatories of the desert.

Having spent some time in prayer, he went on his way northward, 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.