“God is unity, for He is the truth, which is one.  The world is many, because it is error.  We should turn away from all the sights of nature, even those which appear the most innocent.  Their diversity renders them pleasant, which is a sign that they are evil.  For that reason, I cannot see a tuft of papyrus by the side of still waters without my soul being imbued with melancholy.  All things that the senses perceive are detestable.  The least grain of sand brings danger.  Everything tempts us.  Woman is but a combination of all the temptations scattered in the thin air, on the flowering earth, in the clear waters.  Happy is he whose soul is a sealed vase!  Happy is he who knows how to be deaf, dumb, and blind, and who knows nothing of the world, in order that he may know God!”

Zozimus, having meditated upon these words, replied as follows—­

“Venerable father, it is fitting that I should avow my sins to thee, since thou hast shown me thy soul.  Thus we shall confess to each other, according to the apostolic custom.  Before I was a monk, I led an abominable life.  At Madaura, a city celebrated for its courtesans, I sought out all kinds of worldly love.  Every night I supped in company with young debauchees and female flute players, and I took home with me the one who pleased me the best.  A saint like thee could never imagine to what a pitch the fury of my desires carried me.  Suffice it to say that it spared neither matrons nor nuns, and spread adultery and sacrilege everywhere.  I excited my senses with wine, and was justly known as the heaviest drinker in Madaura.  Yet I was a Christian, and, in all my follies, kept my faith in Jesus crucified.  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!”