Having devoured my substance in riotous living, I was beginning to feel the first attacks of poverty, when I saw one of my companions in pleasure suddenly struck with a terrible disease.His knees could not sustain him; his twitching hands refused to obey him; his glazed eyes closed.Only horrible groans came from his breast.His mind, heavier than his body, slumbered.To punish him for having lived like a beast, God had changed him into a beast.The loss of my property had already inspired me with salutary reflections, but the example of my friend was of yet greater efficacy; it made such an impression on my heart that I quitted the world and retired into the desert.There I have enjoyed for twenty years a peace that nothing has troubled.I work with my monks as weaver, architect, carpenter, and even as scribe, though, to say the truth, I have little taste for writing, having always preferred action to thought.My days are full of joy, and my nights without dreams, and I believe that the grace of the Lord is in me, because, even in the midst of the most frightful sins, I have never lost hope."On hearing these words, Paphnutius lifted his eyes to heaven and murmured--"Lord, Thou lookest with kindness upon this man polluted by adultery, sacrilege, and so many crimes, and Thou turnest away from me, who have always kept Thy commandments! How inscrutable is Thy justice, O my God! and how impenetrable are Thy ways!"Zozimus extended his arms.
"Look, venerable father! On both sides of the horizon are long, black files that look like emigrant ants.They are our brothers, who, like us, are going to meet Anthony."When they came to the place of meeting, they saw a magnificent spectacle.The army of monks extended, in three ranks, in an immense semicircle.In the first rank stood the old hermits of the desert, cross in hand, and with long beards that almost touched the ground.
The monks, governed by the abbots Ephrem and Serapion, and also all the cenobites of the Nile, formed the second line.Behind them appeared the ascetics, who had come from their distant rocks.Some wore, on their blackened and dried-up bodies, shapeless rags; others had for their only clothes, bundles of reeds held together by withies.
Many of them were naked, but God had covered them with a fell of hair as thick as a sheep's fleece.All held branches of palm; they looked like an emerald rainbow, or they might have been also compared to the host of the elect--the living walls of the city of God.
Such perfect order reigned in the assembly, that Paphnutius found, without difficulty, the monks he governed.He placed himself near them, after having taken care to hide his face under his hood, that he might remain unknown, and not disturb them in their pious expectation.
Suddenly, an immense shout arose--
"The saint!" they all cried."The saint! Behold the great saint, against whom hell has not prevailed, the well-beloved of God! Our father, Anthony!"Then a great silence followed, and every forehead was lowered to the sand.
From the summit of a dune, in the vast void space, Anthony advanced, supported by his beloved disciples, Macarius and Amathas.He walked slowly, but his figure was still upright, and showed the remains of a superhuman strength.His white beard spread over his broad chest, his polished skull reflected the rays of sunlight like the forehead of Moses.The keen gaze of the eagle was in his eyes; the smile of a child shone on his round cheek.To bless his people, he raised his arms, tired by a century of marvellous works, and his voice burst forth for the last time, with the words of love.
"How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel!"Immediately, from one end to the other of the living wall, like a peal of harmonious thunder, the psalm, "Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord," broke forth.
Accompanied by Macarius and Amathas, Anthony passed along the ranks of the old hermits, anchorites, and cenobites.This seer, who had beheld heaven and hell; this hermit, who from a cave in the rock, governed the Christian Church; this saint, who had sustained the faith of the martyrs; this scholar, whose eloquence had paralysed the heretics, spoke tenderly to each of his sons, and bade them a kindly farewell, on the eve of the blessed death, which God, who loved him, had at last promised him.
He said to the abbots Ephrem and Serapion--"You command large armies, and you are both great generals.Therefore, you shall put on in heaven an armour of gold, and the Archangel Michael shall give you the title of kiliarchs of his hosts."Perceiving the old man Philemon, he embraced him, and said--"Behold, the kindest and best of all my children.His soul exhales a perfume as sweet as the flower of the beans he sows every year."To Abbot Zozimus he addressed these words--"Thou hast never mistrusted divine goodness, and therefore the peace of the Lord is in thee.The lily of thy virtues has flowered upon the dunghill of thy corruption."To all he spoke words of unerring wisdom.
To the old hermits he said--
"The apostle saw, round the throne of God, eighty old men seated, clad in white robes, and wearing crowns on their heads."To the young men--"Be joyful; leave sadness to the happy ones of this world."Thus he passed along the front of his filial army, exhorting and comforting.Paphnutius, seeing him approach, fell on his knees, his heart torn by fear and hope.
"My father! my father!" he cried in his agony."My father! come to my help, for I perish.I have given to God the soul of Thais; I have lived upon the top of a column, and in the chamber of a tomb.My forehead, unceasingly in the dust, has become horny as a camel's knee.
