ABOUT the beginning of the eighth century there lived at Alexandria an eccentric monk called Vitalis, who had set himself the special task of luring away the lost souls of women from the path of sin, and restoring them to virtue. But his methods were so singular, and the infatuation with which he untiringly followed his aim was mixed with such remarkable self-renunciation and hypocrisy, that the world has scarcely seen his like again.
In his cap he carried about with him a small silver case containing a parchment scroll with the names of those to be converted. This he took out again and again to add some new-discovered suspicious name to the list, or to count over those he already had, and to decide which one of their owners should be the next to be regenerated.
As a matter of fact, his reputation was of the worst. For while in secret he touched the heart of many a lost one with his burning words of exhortation and the sweet whisperings of his fervid prayers, and was the means of leading them into virtuous ways, in public he gave himself the air of being a lascivious, sinful monk, gaily paddling in the pool of the world, and making his cowl a flag of shame.
Finding himself at dusk of evening in respectable company, he would suddenly exclaim, “Ah, what am I thinking of? I had well-nigh forgotten that brown-eyed Doris. My little friend is awaiting me! The deuce! I must begone at once, lest she should pout!”
Returning at dawn to his cell, he would cast himself down before the Mother of God, to whose honour and glory alone he undertook these adventures and bore the world’s reproaches; and if he had been successful in leading back one lamb that had gone astray, and placing it safe in the same holy monastery, he thought himself more blessed in the sight of the heavenly queen than if he had converted a thousand heathens. For this was pre-eminently to his taste, to bear the martyrdom of appearing before the world as a libertine, while our purest Lady in Heaven well knew that he had not so much as touched a woman’s hand, and that he wore an invisible crown of white roses upon his reviled head.
Once he heard of a particularly alluring young person, whose beauty and unusual charms had wrought much mischief and even bloodshed, as a noble and ferocious warrior kept guard at her door, making short work of any one who made bold to enter into dispute with him. Vitalis resolved to attack this hell and to conquer it. He walked straight to the disreputable house, and at the door encountered the soldier attired in bright scarlet, and walking haughtily up and down, spear in hand.
“Get thee gone, holy father!” he cried scornfully at the sight of pious Vitalis. “How canst thou venture to crawl about my lion’s den? Heaven is for thee, the world is for us!”
“Heaven and earth and all that is therein,” cried Vitalis, “belong to the Lord and to his jolly servants! Begone, thou gaudy fool, and let me go where it pleases me!”
“THE MONK PARRIED THE BLOW.”