巴蘭與約撒法 第 1 章 第 2/18 段

That pious man, then, held what was said as worth nothing, yet on account of the commandment he ordered that the man be taken home, and did not deprive him of the care that was fitting

But those aforementioned envious and malicious men, bringing to light the wickedness with which they had long been in travail, slandered the man to the king, saying that he had not only forgotten his friendship with the king and disregarded the service of the gods, inclining toward Christianity, but was also plotting terrible things against his kingdom, perverting the crowd and winning everyone over to himself

'But,' they said, 'if you wish to be assured that we are speaking nothing feigned, summon him privately, and say, to test him, that you wish him — having forsaken the ancestral religion and the glory of the kingdom — to become a Christian, and to put on the monastic habit which you formerly persecuted, as though this had not, indeed, been rightly done'

For those who thus terribly plotted against the man knew the readily contrite bent of his disposition — that, if he heard such things from the king, he would give his counsel to him, as to one who had resolved on the better course, not to put off what had been well determined; and thereby they themselves would be found to be speaking the truth.

But the king, not being unaware of how great the man's goodwill toward him was, considered what was said to be improbable and false, and, holding that these things ought not to be accepted without examination, resolved to put the matter and the slander to the test

And having summoned him privately, he said, testing him:

You know, my friend, how much enmity I have displayed toward the so-called monks and toward all the Christians.

But now, having repented of this and condemned the things present, I wish to partake of those hopes which I heard them speak of — of some immortal kingdom that is to be in another life.

For the present life is certainly cut short by death.

And I do not think this can be accomplished otherwise, nor that I can avoid missing the mark, unless I become a Christian, and, bidding farewell to the glory of my kingship and to the rest of the pleasant and delightful things of life, seek out those ascetics and monks — wherever they may be — whom I unjustly drove away, and mingle myself among them.

To this, what do you yourself say, and what counsel do you give? Speak, by the truth itself.

For I know that you are truthful and fair-minded above all others.

That good man, when he heard these things, having no idea of the guile hidden within them, was pierced in his soul, and, overcome with tears, answered guilelessly:

"O King, live forever;

for you have taken counsel that is good and salutary, because, even though the kingdom of heaven is hard to find, nevertheless it must be sought with all one's strength;

for, as it is said, 'He who seeks shall find it.'

As for the enjoyment of present things, even though it delights and pleases in appearance, it is good to reject it;

for even in its very existing it does not truly exist, and those whom it gladdens it again grieves sevenfold.

For both its good things and its grievous things are weaker than a shadow, and, like the wake of a ship sailing the sea or of a bird passing through the air, they vanish all too quickly.

But the hope of the things to come, which the Christians proclaim, is firm and most secure;

but our present pleasures are short-lived, and there amount to nothing at all, or rather procure only punishment and chastisement that shall not be dissolved for ages;

for their pleasure is temporary, but their pain is perpetual;

whereas for the Christians the toil is temporary, but the pleasure and benefit are immortal."

May the king's good counsel, then, be guided aright;

for it is good, exceedingly good, to exchange corruptible things for eternal ones.

The king heard these things and was greatly displeased, yet he restrained his anger, and for the time being said nothing at all to the man.

But he, being prudent and shrewd, perceived that the king had received his words with displeasure, and that he had been testing him with guile.

Returning home, he was grieved and distressed, at a loss as to how he might appease the king and escape the danger hanging over him.

As he passed the whole night without sleep, he called to mind the man with the crushed foot, and, having summoned him to himself, said:

"I remember you saying that you are a mender of troubles gone wrong.

And if you have need, I will display the skills of my art."

Taking up the conversation, the senator recounted to him his own goodwill toward the king from the beginning, and the freedom of speech he had possessed, and the deceitful conversation lately proposed to him, and how he himself had answered well, but the king, having received his words with displeasure, had shown by the alteration of his countenance the anger lurking within him.

That poor and infirm man, having deliberated, said:

"Be it known to you, most honorable one, that the king holds an evil suspicion of you, namely that you are seeking to seize his kingdom, and it was testing you that he spoke what he spoke.

Rise up, then, and shave your hair, and cast off these bright garments, and clothe yourself in haircloth, and go to the king at daybreak.

And when he asks, 'What does this attire of yours mean?' — answer:

'Concerning what you spoke to me yesterday, O king, behold, I am here, ready to follow you upon the way which you were eager to journey;

for even though luxury is desirable and most pleasant, may it never be mine to take it up once you are gone;

but the way of virtue, which you are about to walk, even though it is difficult and rough, yet, being with you, it is to me easy and pleasant and desirable;

for just as you have had me as a companion in the good things of this world, so too shall you have me in its griefs, that I may also share with you in the things to come.'"

That illustrious man, having welcomed the words of the infirm one, did just as he had told him;

when the king saw and heard him, he was pleased at this, greatly admiring his goodwill toward him, and, recognizing that the things spoken against him were false, he caused him to enjoy greater honor and freedom of speech toward himself;

but against the monks he was again filled to overflowing with anger, saying that these were their teachings — that men should abstain from the pleasures of life and be beguiled with dreams by uncertain hopes.

Going out again to hunt, he saw two monks passing through the wilderness; and having commanded that they be seized and brought before his chariot, and glaring at them with anger, and breathing fire, as the saying goes, he said:

"Did you not hear, O deceivers and impostors, the heralds crying out plainly that none of your ill-starred company should, after three days, be found in any city or district of my dominion, or else he shall certainly be burned with fire?" And the monks said:

"Behold," they said, "just as you have commanded, we are departing from your cities and your lands;

but since a long journey lies before us to go to our brethren, and we are lacking in food, we were procuring it, so as to have provisions and not become the prey of famine.

He who fears the threat of death does not busy himself with procuring food;

those who fear death are anxiously concerned with how they may escape it.

But who are these, if not those who are attached to fleeting things and are terrified over them, who, expecting to find no good beyond,

and so cling tenaciously to things present, and for this reason fear death? But we, who long ago came to hate the world and the things in the world, and who walk the narrow and afflicted way for Christ's sake, neither fear death, nor desire present things, but yearn only for the things to come.

Since, then, the death that you would bring upon us becomes a passage to the everlasting and better life, it is to us a thing to be desired rather than feared."

At this, the king, wishing, as it were out of cleverness, to catch the monks in their words, said:

"What then? Did you not just now say that you were withdrawing, just as I had commanded? And if you do not fear death,

why have you resorted to flight? Behold, in boasting these things also, you have lied in vain."

"It is not because we fear the death threatened by you that we flee, but out of pity for you — lest we should become for you the cause of greater condemnation — that we were eager to withdraw;

since, as far as it depends on us, we never at all fear your threats."

At this the king, enraged, commanded that they be burned with fire;

and the servants of Christ were perfected through fire, obtaining the crowns of martyrdom.

He also issued a decree that if any monk should anywhere be found, he should be put to death without trial.

And none of that order remained in that land, except those who had hidden themselves in mountains and caves and the holes of the earth.

Now the king's son, concerning whom this account set out from the beginning to speak, remained without going out from the palace built for him, and reached the age of youth, having gone through the whole education of the Ethiopians and the Persians, being well-formed and comely no less in soul than in body, sensible and prudent, and shining forth in all good qualities; and he would propose natural questions to his teachers, so that they themselves marveled at the boy's quickness of mind and understanding, and the king too was astonished both at the great charm of his countenance and at the disposition of his soul.

And he gave orders to those who were with him, that they should make known to him nothing at all of the grievous things of life, nor that death at all succeeds the present pleasant things.

But he rested upon empty hopes, and, as the saying goes, was attempting to shoot an arrow at heaven.

For how could death remain hidden from human nature? Indeed, it did not remain hidden from the boy either.

For he, having a mind richly furnished with all understanding, considered within himself for what reason his father had condemned him to remain confined, and did not permit entry to him for anyone who wished it.

For he knew within himself that this was not without his father's command.

Nevertheless, he was ashamed to ask him;

on the one hand saying that it was implausible that his father should not have his interest in mind, and on the other considering that, if the matter were according to his father's own judgment, even if he should ask, his father would not make known to him the truth of it.

Wherefore he determined to learn these things from others, and not from his father.

Now, having one of his tutors who was the most beloved and closest to him of the rest, he drew him even closer and won him over with lavish gifts, and inquired of him what the king might mean by his confinement within that walled enclosure, saying, "If you will teach me this clearly, you shall be preferred by me above all others, and I will establish with you a covenant of perpetual friendship."

The tutor, being himself a man of sound judgment, and knowing the boy's wise and mature discernment, and that he would not become for him an occasion of danger, related to him everything in detail — the persecution which the king had instituted against the Christians, and especially against the ascetics, how they had been driven away and expelled from that region, and such things as, at his birth,

the astrologers had foretold concerning him.

"So then," he said, "in order that you should not, upon hearing their teaching, prefer it above our religion, the king took care that not many, but only a few in number, should associate with you, giving us orders to make known to you nothing of the grievous things of life."

When the young man heard these things, he added nothing else to say;

but a saving word touched his heart, and the grace of the Paraclete began to open the eyes of his understanding, leading him by the hand toward the God who does not lie, as the account, as it proceeds, shall make clear.

His father the king would often come to see the boy (for he loved him with surpassing love), and on one occasion the son said to him:

"I have desired to learn something from you, O master and king, on account of which continual grief and unceasing anxiety devours my soul."

But the father, being pained in his very inward parts at these words, said:

"Tell me, most beloved child, what is the grief that holds you fast, and I will hasten quickly to change it into joy."

"What is the manner of my confinement here, that you have shut me within walls and gates, rendering me wholly unable to go out and unseen by all?" And the father said:

"I do not wish, O child, that you should see anything that would displease your heart and cut short your gladness."

"For I intend that you should live in continual luxury and all joy and gladness of heart all your life."

"But know well, O master," says the son to the father, "that in this manner I do not live in joy and gladness, but rather in affliction and much anguish, so that even food and drink appear to me unpleasant and bitter."

"For I long to see all that is outside these gates."

"If therefore you wish that I not live in pain, command that I go forth as I wish, and that my soul be delighted by the sight of things hitherto unseen by me."

The king was grieved when he heard this, and considered that, if he should hinder the request, it would be the cause of even greater distress and anxiety to him.

And saying, "I, child, will do what is pleasing to your heart,"

having at once commanded choice horses and a bodyguard befitting a king to be made ready, he decreed that he go forth whenever he wished, charging those attending him to bring nothing unpleasant into his sight, but to show the boy every good thing that produced delight, and to arrange harmonious choruses along the roads striking up songs and setting up various spectacles, so that his mind might be occupied and delighted by these things.

So indeed, the king's son, frequenting his outings in this way, saw on one of the days, through the forgetfulness of the attendants, two men, of whom the one was maimed, and the other was blind;

whom having seen, and being displeased in soul, he says to those with him:

"Who are these, and what is this unpleasant sight of theirs?" But they, unable to conceal what had come into his view, said:

"These are human sufferings, which are wont to happen to mortals from corrupted matter and an ill-humored body."

"Is it customary for these things to happen to all men?" Those ones say:

"Not to all, but to those in whom health is turned aside through the depravity of the humors."

Then the boy inquired again: "If this, he says, is not wont to happen to all men, but to some, are they who are going to be overtaken by these terrors known beforehand? Or does it occur without definition and without foresight?" Those ones say:

"And who among men is able to perceive and know accurately things to come? For this is greater than human nature, and allotted only to the immortal gods."

And the king's son ceased his questioning, but was pained at heart over what he had seen, and the form of his countenance was altered by the unfamiliarity of the matter.

Not many days later, passing by again, he encounters an old man advanced in days,

many, wrinkled in face, with legs enfeebled, bent over, and entirely grey-haired, deprived of his teeth, and speaking haltingly.

Astonishment then seizes him;

and having brought this man near, he questioned him, wishing to learn the strangeness of the sight.

"This man is already of very many years, and as his strength has diminished little by little, and his limbs grown weak, he has arrived at the wretchedness which you see."

"And what," he says, "is the end of this?" And they said to him:

"Nothing else but death will succeed him."

"But is this set before all men," he said, "or does this too happen to only some of them?" Those ones answered:

"Unless death, taking someone beforehand, removes them from here, it is impossible, as the years advance, not to come to this experience of the appointed order."

"In how many years then does this come upon a person? And if death is altogether set before one, and there is no way to escape it, and not even to come to this wretchedness?" They say to him:

"At eighty years, or even a hundred years, men arrive at this old age, then they die, it being impossible otherwise."

"For death is a debt of nature, laid upon men from the beginning, and its coming is inescapable."

When that intelligent and prudent young man had seen and heard all these things, groaning from the depth of his heart, he said:

"Bitter is this life and full of all pain and unpleasantness, if these things are so."

"And how shall one be free from care in expectation of uncertain death, whose coming is, as you have said, not only inescapable but also uncertain?" And he went away turning these things over in himself, and reasoning without ceasing, and making frequent remembrances concerning death, living together with toils and despondencies because of this, and possessing unceasing grief.

"Will death ever seize me? And who will there be to make remembrance of me after death, since time delivers all things to oblivion? And if, having died, shall I be dissolved into non-being? Or is there some other life and another world?" Pondering these things and things like them without ceasing, he grew pale and wasted away, but in his father's sight, whenever it happened that he came into his presence, he feigned cheerfulness and freedom from grief, not wishing that what he was pondering should come to his father's knowledge.

And he longed with an uncontrollable longing and desired earnestly to meet with someone able to satisfy his heart, and to sound a good word in his ears.

He again asked the aforementioned tutor whether he knew of anyone anywhere able to contribute to what he desired, and to steady his mind, which was reeling terribly amid its reasonings, and unable to cast off its anxiety concerning these things.

And he, calling to mind again what had been said before, said:

"I told you before how your father dealt with those wise men and ascetics who were always philosophizing about such things — some he killed, and some he pursued with wrath, and I know of no one such now in this region."

And he, filled with much heaviness at these things, and grievously wounded in soul, was like a man who had lost a great treasure and was occupying his whole mind in seeking it.

From then on he lived together with continual struggle and anxiety, and all the pleasant and delightful things of the world were in his eyes as a kind of pollution and abomination.

The young man being thus disposed, and imploring in his soul to find the good, the all-seeing eye beheld him, and he who wills all to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth did not overlook him, but, showing his accustomed loving-kindness in this matter also, made known to him the way he ought to walk, in the following manner:

For at that time there was a certain monk, wise in divine things, adorned in life

and in word, and who had attained to the summit of the whole monastic way of life;

from where he came and of what family, I am not able to say, but making his dwelling in a certain total wilderness of the land of Senaar, and having been perfected in the grace of the priesthood —

Barlaam was the name of this old man.

This man, then, having learned by a certain revelation made to him from God the things concerning the king's son, went forth from the wilderness, and came down to the inhabited world.

and, having changed his own habit, and put on worldly garments, and boarded a ship, he arrived at the kingdom of the Indians, and, assuming the guise of a merchant, took possession of the city where the king's son had his palace.

and, having spent many days there, he inquired precisely into his affairs and who were those close to him.

Having learned, then, that the aforementioned tutor was more intimate with him than all others, he approached him privately, and said:

"I want you to know, my lord, that I am a merchant who has come from a far country, and I possess a precious stone, the like of which has never before been found;"

"and to no one have I revealed it up to now;"

"but I make it known to you already, seeing you to be an intelligent and sensible man, so that you may bring me in to the king's son, and I will present it to him;"

"for it surpasses incomparably all beautiful things;"

"it is able to grant to those blind in heart the light of wisdom, and to open the ears of the deaf, and to give voice to the mute, and to grant strength to the sick;"

"it makes the foolish wise, drives away demons, and abundantly supplies everything good and lovely to him who possesses it."

The tutor says to him:

"I see you to be a man of steady and settled mind;"

"but your words show you to boast beyond measure."

"For how could I describe to you the costly and precious stones and pearls, how many I have seen? But possessing such powers as you have said, I have neither seen nor heard."

"Nevertheless, show it to me, and if it is according to your word, I will quickly bring it in to the king's son, and you will receive the greatest honors and gifts from him."

"But before I am assured by the unerring sight of my own eyes, it is impossible for me to report to my master and king these exceedingly great things concerning an unseen matter."

"You have spoken well in saying that you have neither seen nor heard such powers and workings before;"

"for my word to you is not concerning some ordinary thing, but something wondrous and great."

"But since you have sought to behold it, hear my words."

"This precious stone, besides the aforementioned workings and powers, possesses also this strength:"

"it cannot be seen at hand by one who does not have vision that is sound and healthy, and a body that is pure and altogether undefiled."

"For if anyone, not possessing these two excellences, should rashly gaze upon this precious stone, he would doubtless lose thereby the very power of sight which he has, together with his wits.

But I, being not unversed in the science of medicine, perceive that your eyes are not in a healthy state, and I fear lest I also bring about the loss of the sight which you still have.

But I have heard that the king's son leads a temperate life, and that his eyes are fair and see in health;

for this reason I have taken courage to show him this treasure.

You, then, do not be negligent concerning this matter, nor deprive your lord of such a thing."

And he said to him, "If this is indeed so," he said, "do not show me the stone;

for my life has been defiled by many sins;

nor, as you said, do I possess healthy sight.

But I, persuaded by your words, will not hesitate to make this known to my lord and king."

He said this, and going in, he reported everything in detail to the king's son.

And he, when he heard the words of the tutor, felt a certain joy and spiritual gladness breathed into his heart, and, as one inspired

in soul, he ordered the man to be brought in quickly.

So when Barlaam entered, and had given him the fitting greeting of peace, he permitted him to be seated, and, the tutor having withdrawn, Ioasaph says to the elder:

"Show me the precious stone, concerning which my tutor related that you spoke certain great and marvelous things."

And Barlaam thus began his discourse with him:

"It is not right, O king, for me to speak anything false and thoughtless before your excellent glory;

for all the things declared to you by me are true and indisputable;

but, unless I first receive proof of your understanding, it is not lawful to reveal the mystery to you.

For my Master says:

'The sower went out to sow his seed;

and as he sowed, some fell beside the road, and the birds came and devoured them;

and other fell upon the rocky ground, where it had not much earth, and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth;

but when the sun rose it was scorched, and, because it had no root, it withered away;

and other fell among the thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them;

and other fell upon the good earth, and gave fruit, a hundredfold.'

If, then, I find in your heart earth that is fruitful and good, I will not hesitate to implant in you the divine seed and to reveal to you the great mystery;

but if this is rocky and thorny, and a road trodden by whoever wishes, it is better not to cast down this saving seed at all, nor to set it out as plunder for the birds and wild beasts, before which I have been charged never to cast pearls.

But I am persuaded concerning you of the better things pertaining to salvation, that you shall both see the priceless stone, and by the radiance of its light you yourself shall be deemed worthy to become light, and that you shall bring forth fruit, a hundredfold.

For on your account I undertook this task and completed a long journey, to show you what you have never seen, and to teach you what you have not heard."

And Ioasaph said to him:

"As for me, honored elder, with a certain longing and irrepressible desire I seek to hear some new and good word, and a fire has been kindled within, in my heart, burning me terribly and urging me to learn certain necessary matters;

but until now I have not met a man able to give me full assurance concerning these things.

But if I should meet some wise and learned man, and hear a word of salvation, I will, I think, deliver it neither to birds nor to beasts, nor indeed shall I prove rocky, as you said, nor thorny, but I will receive it gratefully and keep it knowingly.

But you, if you know any such thing, do not hide it from me, but declare it to me.

For when I heard that you had come from a distant land, my soul rejoiced, and I became hopeful that through you I would obtain the thing I longed for.

For this reason I both brought you in to me quickly, and received you kindly, as one of my familiars and companions of my own age—if indeed I shall not be deceived of my hope."

"You did well in this, and worthily of your royal magnificence, in that you did not attend to the outward appearing meanness, but gave heed to the hope that lay hidden.

For there was once a certain great and glorious king, and it happened, as he passed by upon a gold-inlaid chariot with the escort befitting a king, that two men met him, clothed in torn and filthy garments, with wasted faces and greatly pallid;

and the king knew that these men had, by the mortification of the body and the sweat of asceticism, worn away their flesh.

So when he saw them, at once leaping down from the chariot and falling upon the ground, he made obeisance; and rising up, he embraced them, kissing them most affectionately.

But his magnates and rulers were displeased at this, thinking that he had done things unworthy of royal glory;

but not daring to reprove him to his face, they told his own

brother to speak to the king, that he should not thus insult the majesty of the diadem.

So when he had told this to the king, and had reproached him for his untimely pettiness, the king gave him an answer, which his brother did not understand.

For it was a custom of that king, whenever he passed a sentence of death against someone, to send a herald to that man's door with a trumpet appointed for this purpose;

and by the sound of that trumpet all perceived that that man was liable to death.

So when evening came on, the king sent the trumpet of death to sound at the door of his brother's house.

So when that man heard the trumpet of death, he despaired of his own safety, and spent the whole night setting his affairs in order;