Letter 14: My brother Gregory writes me word that he has long been wishing to be with me, and adds that you are of the same mind; however, I could not wait, partly as being hard of belief, considering I have been so often disappointed, and partly because I find myself pulled all ways by business. I must at once make for Pontus, where, perhaps, God willing,...

My brother Gregory tells me he's been wanting to visit me for a long time, and says you feel the same way. But honestly, I've been disappointed too many times to get my hopes up easily, and on top of that I'm being pulled in every direction by responsibilities. I need to head straight for Pontus, where — God willing — I may finally stop wandering. After painfully letting go of the plans I once had (or rather the daydreams — someone rightly said that hopes are just waking dreams), I went to Pontus looking for a place to live. And God showed me a spot that matches exactly what I'd always imagined. Picture a tall mountain thick with forest, watered on the north side by cool, clear streams. At its foot lies a plain, constantly enriched by the water draining down, ringed by trees so dense they practically form a wall. It rivals Calypso's island — the place Homer considered the most beautiful on earth. It really is like an island: deep ravines cut off two sides; a river that recently plunged over a cliff runs the entire length of the front, as impassable as a fortress wall; and the mountain itself curves around behind in a crescent, blocking the path at its base. There's only one way in, and I control it. Behind my dwelling, another gorge rises to a ridge that overlooks the whole plain and the river bounding it. I think it's as beautiful as the view of the Strymon from Amphipolis — maybe more so. The Strymon is broad and lazy, swelling almost into a lake, too still to feel like a river. But my stream is the fastest I've ever seen, even a little muddy from the rocks above. It comes shooting down, hits a massive boulder, and scatters into a deep pool below — a stunning sight for me and for anyone. It could easily supply a city with fish, and it powers two mills at the water's edge. The land is naturally gifted in other ways too. Shall I describe the fragrant breezes from the earth? The cool air off the river? The wildflowers carpeting the meadows? The birdsong? And the best part: the spot's solitude. Apart from the occasional hunter, no one comes here. It produces goats, deer, and hares — not bears and wolves like your country. What more could I trade it for? Alcmaeon found his Echinades. I've found this. I hope this won't become yet another empty plan. As it is, the memory of our time together stings. If I could carry one spot on earth with me the way snails carry their shells, I'd choose either your Tiberina or the retreat opposite — the one overlooking the river — where so many of our memories live.

ST. BASIL OF CAESAREA To Gregory his friend. My brother Gregory writes me word that he has long been wishing to be with me, and adds that you are of the same mind; however, I could not wait, partly as being hard of belief, considering I have been so often disappointed, and partly because I find myself pulled all ways by business. I must at once make for Pontus, where, perhaps, God willing, I may make an end of wandering. After renouncing, with trouble, the idle hopes which I once had, [about you] or rather the dreams, (for it is well said that hopes are waking dreams), I departed into Pontus in quest of a place to live in. There God has opened on me a spot exactly answering to my taste, so that I actually see before my eyes what I have often pictured to my mind in idle fancy. There is a lofty mountain covered with thick woods, watered towards the north with cool and transparent streams. A plain lies beneath, enriched by the waters which are ever draining off from it; and skirted by a spontaneous profusion of trees almost thick enough to be a fence; so as even to surpass Calypso's Island, which Homer seems to have considered the most beautiful spot on the earth. Indeed it is like an island, enclosed as it is on all sides; for deep hollows cut off two sides of it; the river, which has lately fallen down a precipice, runs all along the front and is impassable as a wall; while the mountain extending itself behind, and meeting the hollows in a crescent, stops up the path at its roots. There is but one pass, and I am master of it. Behind my abode there is another gorge, rising into a ledge up above, so as to command the extent of the plains and the stream which bounds it, which is not less beautiful, to my taste, than the Strymon as seen from Amphipolis. For while the latter flows leisurely, and swells into a lake almost, and is too still to be a river, the former is the most rapid stream I know, and somewhat turbid, too, from the rocks just above; from which, shooting down, and eddying in a deep pool, it forms a most pleasant scene for myself or any one else; and is an inexhaustible resource to the country people, in the countless fish which its depths contain. What need to tell of the exhalations from the earth, or the breezes from the river? Another might admire the multitude of flowers, and singing birds; but leisure I have none for such thoughts. However, the chief praise of the place is, that being happily disposed for produce of every kind, it nurtures what to me is the sweetest produce of all, quietness; indeed, it is not only rid of the bustle of the city, but is even unfrequented by travellers, except a chance hunter. It abounds indeed in game, as well as other things, but not, I am glad to say, in bears or wolves, such as you have, but in deer, and wild goats, and hares, and the like. Does it not strike you what a foolish mistake I was near making when I was eager to change this spot for your Tiberina, the very pit of the whole earth? Pardon me, then, if I am now set upon it; for not Alcmæon himself, I suppose, could endure to wander further when he had found the Echinades. About this page Source. Translated by Blomfield Jackson. From Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 8. Edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace. (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1895.) Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. <https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/3202014.htm>. Contact information. The editor of New Advent is Kevin Knight. My email address is feedback732 at newadvent.org. (To help fight spam, this address might change occasionally.) Regrettably, I can't reply to every letter, but I greatly appreciate your feedback — especially notifications about typographical errors and inappropriate ads.