"Why hast Thou let mankind do outrage unto Thee?"
The ancient words of the prophet Daniel took on an unwonted meaning—
"The Lord has delivered us to the evil king, the cunningest in all the earth!..."
Late in the night, when the sun had sunk upon the streets, the monks went back to their cells.
Brother Parphenas could not even think of sleeping. His face was pale and gentle, and in his great eyes, clear as a maiden's, perplexity was visible when he spoke about worldly matters.
He spoke rarely, indistinctly, and in a fashion so quaint, on topics so childish, that it was difficult to hear him without smiling. Sometimes he laughed without cause; and austere monks would say to him—
"What are you cackling at? Is it to please the Devil?"
Then he would timidly explain that he was laughing at his own thoughts, and thus convince everybody that Parphenas was mad.
One great art he possessed—that of illuminating manuscripts; and this art of Brother Parphenas brought to the monastery not only money, but renown in the most distant provinces. Of this he had no suspicion, and if he had been able to understand what reputation means, would rather have been dismayed than delighted.
His artistic occupations, which cost him vast pains (Brother Parphenas pushed perfection of detail to an exquisite finish), were not in his eyes a labour, but an amusement. He never said, "I'm going to work." But he always asked of the old Father Superior Pamphilus, who loved him tenderly, "Father, give me your blessing, I am going to play."