THAIS(塞斯)

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THAIS

by ANATOLE FRANCE

Translated By Robert B. Douglas

THAIS

PART THE FIRST

THE LOTUS

In those days there were many hermits living in the desert. On both

banks of the Nile numerous huts, built by these solitary dwellers, of

branches held together by clay, were scattered at a little distance from each

other, so that the inhabitants could live alone, and yet help one another in

case of need. Churches, each surmounted by a cross, stood here and there

amongst the huts, and the monks flocked to them at each festival to

celebrate the services or to partake of the Communion. There were also,

here and there on the banks of the river, monasteries, where the cenobites

lived in separate cells, and only met together that they might the better

enjoy their solitude.

Both hermits and cenobites led abstemious lives, taking no food till

after sunset, and eating nothing but bread with a little salt and hyssop.

Some retired into the desert, and led a still more strange life in some cave

or tomb.

All lived in temperance and chastity; they wore a hair shirt and a hood,

slept on the bare ground after long watching, prayed, sang psalms, and, in

short, spent their days in works of penitence. As an atonement for original

sin, they refused their body not only all pleasures and satisfactions, but

even that care and attention which in this age are deemed indispensable.

They believed that the diseases of our members purify our souls, and the

flesh could put on no adornment more glorious than wounds and ulcers.

Thus, they thought they fulfilled the words of the prophet, "The desert

shall rejoice and blossom as the rose."

Amongst the inhabitants of the holy Thebaid, there were some who

passed their days in asceticism and contemplation; others gained their

livelihood by plaiting palm fibre, or by working at harvest-time for the

neighbouring farmers. The Gentiles wrongly suspected some of them of

living by brigandage, and allying themselves to the nomadic Arabs who

robbed the caravans. But, as a matter of fact, the monks despised riches,

and the odour of their sanctity rose to heaven.

THAIS

Angels in the likeness of young men, came, staff in hand, as travellers,

to visit the hermitages; whilst demons--having assumed the form of

Ethiopians or of animals--wandered round the habitations of the hermits in

order to lead them into temptation. When the monks went in the morning

to fill their pitcher at the spring, they saw the footprints of Satyrs and

Aigipans in the sand. The Thebaid was, really and spiritually, a battlefield,

where, at all times, and more especially at night, there were terrible

conflicts between heaven and hell.

The ascetics, furiously assailed 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

THAIS

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

THAIS

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 that that he had eaten food properly dressed, and

frequented the public baths. In fact, until his twentieth year he had

continued to lead the ordinary existence of those times, which now seemed

to him rather death than life; but, owing to the lessons of the priest

Macrinus, he then became a new man.

The truth penetrated him through and through, and--as he used to say--

entered his soul like a sword. He embraced the faith of Calvary, and

worshipped Christ crucified. After his baptism he remained yet a year

amongst the Gentiles, unable to cast off the bonds of old habits. But one

day he entered a church, and heard a deacon read from the Bible, the verse,

"If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor."

Thereupon he sold all that he had, gave away the money in alms, and

embraced the monastic life.

During the ten years that he had lived remote from men, he no longer

seethed in the cauldron of false delights, but more profitably macerated his

flesh in the balms of penitence.

One day when, according to his pious custom, he was recalling to

mind the hours he had lived apart from God, and examining his sins one

by one, that he might the better ponder on their enormity, he remembered

that he had seen at the theatre at Alexandria a very beautiful actress named

Thais. This woman showed herself in the public games, and did not

scruple to perform dances, the movements of which, arranged only too

cleverly, brought to mind the most horrible passions. Sometimes she

imitated the horrible deeds which the Pagan fables ascribe to Venus, Leda,

or Pasiphae. Thus she fired all the spectators with lust, and when

THAIS

handsome young men, or rich old ones, came, inspired with love, to hang

wreaths of flowers round her door, she welcomed them, and gave herself

up to them. So that, whilst she lost her own soul, she also ruined the souls

of many others.

She had almost led Paphnutius himself into the sins of the flesh. She

had awakened desire in him, and he had once approached the house of

Thais. But he stopped on the threshold of the courtesan's house, partly

restrained by the natural timidity of extreme youth--he was then but fifteen

years old--and partly by the fear of being refused on account of his want of

money, for his parents took care that he should commit no great

extravagances.

God, in His mercy, had used these two means to prevent him from

committing a great sin. But Paphnutius had not been grateful to Him for

that, because at that time he was blind to his own interests, and did not

know that he was lusting after false delights. Now, kneeling in his cell,

before the image of that holy cross on which hung, as in a balance, the

ransom of the world, Paphnutius began to think of Thais, because Thais

was a sin to him, and he meditated long, according to ascetic rules, on the

fearful hideousness of the carnal delights with which this woman had

inspired him in the days of his sin and ignorance. After some hours of

meditation the image of Thais appeared to him clearly and distinctly. He

saw her again, as he had seen her when she tempted him, in all the beauty

of the flesh. At first she showed herself like a Leda, softly lying upon a

bed of hyacinths, her head bowed, her eyes humid and filled with a strange

light, her nostrils quivering, her mouth half open, her breasts like two

flowers, and her arms smooth and fresh as two brooks. At this sight

Paphnutius struck his breast and said--

"I call Thee to witness, my God, that I have considered how heinous

has been my sin."

Gradually the face of the image changed its expression. Little by little

the lips of Thais, by lowering at the corners of the mouth, expressed a

mysterious suffering. Her large eyes were filled with tears and lights; her

breast heaved with sighs, like the sighing of a wind that precedes a

tempest. At this sight Paphnutius was troubled to the bottom of his soul.

THAIS

Prostrating himself on the floor, he uttered this prayer--

"Thou who hast put pity in our hearts, like the morning dew upon the

fields, O just and merciful God, be Thou blessed! Praise! praise be unto

Thee! Put away from Thy servant that false tenderness which tempts to

concupiscence, and grant that I may only love Thy creatures in Thee, for

they pass away, but Thou endurest for ever. If I care for this woman, it is

only because she is Thy handiwork. The angels themselves feel pity for

her. Is she not, O Lord, the breath of Thy mouth? Let her not continue to

sin with many citizens and strangers. There is great pity for her in my

heart. Her wickednesses are abominable, and but to think of them makes

my flesh creep. But the more wicked she is, the more do I lament for her. I

weep when I think that the devils will torment her to all eternity."

As he was meditating in this way, he saw a little jackal lying at his feet.

He felt much surprised, for the door of his cell had been closed since the

morning. The animal seemed to read the Abbot's thoughts, and wagged its

tail like a dog. Paphnutius made the sign of the cross and the beast

vanished. He knew then that, for the first time, the devil had entered his

cell, and he uttered a short prayer; then he thought again about Thais.

"With God's help," he said to himself, "I must save her." And he slept.

The next morning, when he had said his prayers, he went to see the

sainted Palemon, a holy hermit who lived some distance away. He found

him smiling quietly as he dug the ground, as was his custom. Palemon was

an old man, and cultivated a little garden; the wild beasts came and licked

his hands, and the devils never tormented him.

"May God be praised, brother Paphnutius," he said, as he leaned upon

his spade.

"God be praised!" replied Paphnutius. "And peace be unto my

brother."

"The like peace be unto thee, brother Paphnutius," said Palemon; and

he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Brother Palemon, all our discourse ought to be solely the praise of

Him who has promised to be wheresoever two or three are gathered

together in His Name. That is why I come to you concerning a design I

have formed to glorify the Lord."

THAIS

"May the Lord bless thy design, Paphnutius, as He has blessed my

lettuces. Every morning He spreads His grace with the dew on my garden,

and His goodness causes me to glorify Him in the cucumbers and melons

which He gives me. Let us pray that He may keep us in His peace. For

nothing is more to be feared than those unruly passions which trouble our

hearts. When these passions disturb us we are like drunken men, and we

stagger from right to left unceasingly, and are like to fall miserably.

Sometimes these passions plunge us into a turbulent joy, and he who gives

way to such, sullies the air with brutish laughter. Such false joy drags the

sinner into all sorts of excess. But sometimes also the troubles of the soul

and of the senses throw us into an impious sadness which is a thousand

times worse than the joy. Brother Paphnutius, I am but a miserable sinner,

but I have found, in my long life, that the cenobite has no foe worse than

sadness. I mean by that the obstinate melancholy which envelopes the soul

as in a mist, and hides from us the light of God. Nothing is more contrary

to salvation, and the devil's greatest triumph is to sow black and bitter

thoughts in the heart of a good man. If he sent us only pleasurable

temptations, he would not be half so much to be feared. Alas! he excels in

making us sad. Did he not show to our father Anthony a black child of

such surpassing beauty that the very sight of it drew tears? With God's

help, our father Anthony avoided the snares of the demon. I knew him

when he lived amongst us; he was cheerful with his disciples, and never

gave way to melancholy. But did you not come, my brother, to talk to me

of a design you had formed in your mind? Let me know what it is--if, at

least, this design has for its object the glory of God."

"Brother Palemon, what I propose is really to the glory of God.

Strengthen me with your counsel, for you know many things, and sin has

never darkened the clearness of your mind."

"Brother Paphnutius, I am not worthy to unloose the latchet of thy

sandals, and my sins are as countless as the sands of the desert. But I am

old, and I will never refuse the help of my experience."

"I will confide in you, then, brother Palemon, that I am stricken with

grief at the thought that there is, in Alexandria, a courtesan named Thais,

who lives in sin, and is a subject of reproach unto the people."

THAIS

"Brother Paphnutius, that is, in truth, an abomination which we do

well to deplore. There are many women amongst the Gentiles who lead

lives of that kind. Have you thought of any remedy 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

THAIS

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 is

sometimes a danger for him to read in the Scriptures that the Divine

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THAIS1THAISbyANATOLEFRANCETranslatedByRobertB.DouglasTHAIS2PARTTHEFIRSTTHELOTUSInthosedaysthereweremanyhermitslivinginthedesert.OnbothbanksoftheNilenumeroushuts,builtbythesesolitarydwellers,ofbranchesheldtogetherbyclay,werescatteredatalittledistancefromeachother,sothattheinhabitantscouldlivealone,an...

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