Chapter 4

For there was a certain man in the palace, foremost among those in office, decent in his manner of life and godly in his faith; and, trading, so far as he could, for his own salvation, he kept it hidden for fear of the king. Hence some men, envying his freedom of speech with the king, set about slandering him, and made this their constant care. And once, when the king went out to the hunt with his usual bodyguard, this good man was among those hunting with him. As he walked alone — this happening, I think, by a divine dispensation — he found a man cast upon the ground in a thicket, his foot grievously crushed by a wild beast, who, seeing him pass by, entreated him not to hurry past, but to take pity on his misfortune and bring him to his own house, adding this also: "May I not be found," he said, "useless to you and altogether without effect."

That illustrious man said to him: "For the sake of goodness itself I will take you up and grant you such care as I am able; but what is the benefit which you said would come to me from you?" And that poor and feeble man said: "I am a man who heals words. For if ever in words or conversations some wound or hurt should be found, I will heal these with fitting remedies, that the evil may not go further." Now that godly man counted what was said as nothing, but for the commandment's sake ordered him to be brought home and did not deny him fitting care. But those envious and spiteful men mentioned before, bringing into the light the malice they had long been in labour with, slandered the man to the king, saying that, not only had he forgotten the king's friendship and slighted the worship of the gods and inclined toward Christianity, but he was also plotting dreadful things against his kingdom, perverting the crowd and making all men his own. "But if you wish," they said, "to be assured that we are saying nothing made up, call him privately and say, to test him, that you wish to leave the ancestral religion and the glory of the kingdom, to become a Christian, and to put on the monastic habit which you once persecuted, as though it had not rightly come into being."

For those who were thus cunningly scheming against the man knew the easily-moved bent of his mind, that if he heard such things from the king he would, supposing the king to have resolved on the better course, advise him not to delay over what was well resolved — and from this they would be found to be speaking the truth. But the king, not unaware how great the man's goodwill toward him was, held what was said to be improbable and false; and resolving that he must not accept these things without testing, he determined to prove the matter and the slander. And, calling the man privately, he said, to test him: "You know, my friend, all that I have shown against the so-called monks and against all the Christians. But now, having repented of this and condemned present things, I wish to gain those hopes of which I have heard them speak — of some immortal kingdom that is to be in another life; for the present one is altogether cut short by death. And I do not think this can be brought about for me and that I shall not fail of my aim, unless I become a Christian, and, bidding farewell to the glory of my kingdom 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 you to be truthful and well-meaning above all men." When that good man heard these things, not at all recognizing the deceit hidden within them,

he was pricked in his soul, and, overcome with tears, answered in his simplicity: "O king, live forever; for you have resolved a good and saving resolution. Though the kingdom of heaven be hard to find, yet one must seek it with all one's power; for 'he who seeks,' it says, 'will find it.' But the enjoyment of present things, even if to appearance it delights and gives pleasure, is good to thrust away; for in its very being it has no being, and those whom it gladdens it afterward grieves sevenfold. For both its goods and its sorrows are weaker than a shadow, and, like the tracks of a ship sailing the sea or of a bird passing through the air, they vanish more swiftly. But the hope of things to come, which the Christians proclaim, is sure and most secure; though it has affliction in the world. For our present pleasures are short-lived, while there they bring nothing at all but only punishment and a chastisement unending forever; for the pleasure of these things is temporary, but the pain perpetual; whereas with the Christians the toil is temporary, but the pleasant and profitable thing is immortal. May the good resolution of the king, then, be set straight; for it is good, exceedingly good, to exchange the eternal for the corruptible."

The king heard these things and was greatly displeased, yet he held back his anger and for the time said nothing to the man. But the man, being shrewd and quick of mind, perceived that the king had received his words heavily and that he had been testing him by deceit. Returning home, he was distressed and troubled, at a loss by what means he should appease the king and escape the danger that hung over him. And as he lay sleepless the whole night, there came to his memory the man whose foot had been crushed; and, bringing him to himself, he said: "I remember that you said you were a healer of hurt words." And he said, "Yes; and, if you have need, I will show forth the things of my art." Then the senator related to him his goodwill toward the king from the beginning, and the freedom of speech he had enjoyed, and the deceitful conversation lately set before him, and how he himself had answered well, but the king, receiving the words ill, had shown by the change of his face the anger lurking within him. That poor and feeble man considered and said: "Be it known to you, most honoured one, that the king has an evil suspicion of you, that you seek to seize his kingdom, and that, testing you, he said what he said. Rise, then, and cut your hair, and cast off these splendid garments,

and, putting on a garment of hair, go at dawn to the king. And when he asks, 'What does this attire mean for you?' answer: 'Concerning the things you spoke to me yesterday, O king, behold, I am present, ready to follow you on the road you have desired to travel; for though luxury is desirable and most sweet, yet may it not be mine to take it up after you; but the road of virtue which you are about to walk, though hard and rough, yet to one who is with you it is easy and pleasant and desirable. For as you have had me a sharer in the goods here, so you shall have me a sharer in the sorrows, that I may share with you in things to come as well.'" That illustrious man, accepting the words of the feeble one, did just as he had been told; and when the king saw and heard him, he was glad at it, marvelling greatly at the man's goodwill toward him, and, knowing that what had been said against him was false, he made him enjoy still greater honour and freedom of speech with him. But again he was filled to overflowing with anger against the monks, saying that these were their teachings — that men should abstain from the pleasant things of life and dream after uncertain hopes. And going out once more to the hunt, he saw two monks passing through the desert, and, ordering them to be seized and brought to his chariot,

he looked angrily upon them and, breathing fire, as the saying goes, he said: "Did you not hear, you deceivers and impostors, the heralds crying out plainly that no one of your wretchedness should after three days be found in a city or country of my dominion, or surely be burned with fire?" The monks said: "Behold, just as you commanded, we are going out from your cities and countries; but a long road lies before us to go to our brethren, and being in want of food, we provided ourselves with this, that we might have supplies and not become a victim of famine." The king said: "He who fears the threat of death does not busy himself with the providing of food." The monks said: "You have spoken well, O king. Those who fear death make it their care how they may escape it. But who are these, except those who are wasted away with attachment to fleeting things and excited about them, who, hoping to find no good thing from thence, hold to present things and can hardly be torn from them, and for this reason fear death? But we who long ago hated the world and the things in the world, and walk the narrow and afflicted road for Christ's sake, neither fear death nor desire present things, but reach out for things to come alone. Since, then, the death you 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 which the king, wishing, with feigned shrewdness, to catch the monks, said: "What then? Did you not just now say that you were withdrawing, just as I commanded? And if you do not fear death, why did you take to flight? See, in this too you have lied, boasting in vain." The monks answered: "It is not from fear of the death you threaten that we flee, but, pitying you, that we might not become to you the cause of a heavier condemnation, we were eager to withdraw; since, so far as concerns us, we never in the least dread your threats." At this the king, angered, ordered them to be burned with fire; and the servants of Christ were perfected through fire, obtaining the crowns of martyrdom. And he set forth a decree that, if anywhere a monk should be found, he should be put to death without inquiry. And no one of that order was left in that country, save those who hid themselves in mountains and caves and the holes of the earth. Such, then, were these things.