Saint Basil The Great
A tale of Photios Kontoglou
(Describes a visit of St. Basil on the eve of his feast, years after his repose. Translated from the Greek original.*)
The
Nativity Feast having passed, St. Basil took his staff and traversed
all of the towns, in order to see who would celebrate his Feast Day with
purity of heart. He passed through regions of every sort and through
villages of prominence, yet regardless of where he knocked, no door
opened to him, since they took him for a beggar. And he would depart
embittered, for, though he needed nothing from men, he felt how much
pain the heart of every impecunious person must have endured at the
insensitivity that these people showed him. One day, as he was leaving
such a merciless village, he went by the graveyard, where he saw that
the tombs were in ruins, the headstones broken and turned topsy-turvy,
and how the newly dug graves had been turned up by jackals. Saint that
he was, he heard the dead speaking and saying: “During the time that we
were on the earth, we labored, we were heavy-burdened, leaving behind us
children and grandchildren to light just a candle, to burn a little
incense on our behalf; but we behold nothing, neither a Priest to read
over our heads a memorial service nor kóllyva, as though we had left
behind no one.” Thus, St. Basil was once again disquieted, and he said
to himself, “These villagers give aid neither to the living nor to the
deceased,” departing from the cemetery and setting out alone in the
midst of the freezing snow.
On the eve of the New Year, he came
upon a certain hamlet, which was the poorest of the poor villages in all
of Greece. The freezing wind howled through the scrub bush and the
rocky cliffs, and not a living soul was to be found in the pitch-dark
night! Then, he beheld in front of him a small knoll, below which there
was secreted away a sheepfold. St. Basil went into the pen and, knocking
on the door of the hut with his staff, called out: “Have mercy on me, a
poor man, for the sake of your deceased relatives, for even Christ
lived as a beggar on this earth.” Awakening, the dogs lunged at him.
But
as they drew near him and sniffed him, they became gentle, wagged their
tails, and lay down at his feet, whimpering imploringly and with joy.
Thereupon, a shepherd, a young man of twenty-five or so, with a curly
black beard, opened the door and stepped out: John Barbákos—a demure and
rugged man, a sheepman. Before taking a good look at who was knocking,
he had already said, “Enter, come inside. Good day, Happy New Year!”
Inside
the hut, a lamp was suspended overhead from a cradle that was attached
to two beams. Next to the hearth was their bedding, and John’s wife was
sleeping. As soon as St. Basil went inside, John, seeing that the old
man was a clergyman, took his hand and kissed it, saying, “Your
blessing, Elder,” as though he had known him previously and as though he
were his father. And the Saint said to him: “May you and all of your
household be blessed, together with your sheep, and may the peace of God
be upon you.” The wife then arose, and she, too, reverenced the Elder
and kissed his hand, and he blessed her. St. Basil looked like a
mendicant monk, with an old skoúphia, his rása worn and patched, and his
tsaroúchia [a traditional leather slipper, usually adorned with a
pompom at the end of the shoe] full of holes; as well, he had an old
empty-looking satchel. John the blessed put wood on the fire.
Straightway the hut began to glisten, as though seemingly a palace. The
rafters seemed to be gilded with gold, while the hanging cheesecloth
bags [filled with curing cheese] looked like vigil lamps, and the wooden
containers, cheese presses, and all of the accessories used by John in
making cheese became like silver, as though decorated by diamonds, as
did all of the other humble things that John the blessed had in his hut.
The wood burning in the hearth crackled and sang like the birds that
sing in Paradise, giving off a fragrance wholly delightful. The couple
placed St. Basil near the fire, where he sat, and the wife put down
pillows on which he could rest. Then the Elder took the satchel from
around his neck, placing it next to him, and removed his old ráson
(outside cassock), remaining in his zostikó [inner cassock].
Together
with his farmhand, John the blessed went out to milk the sheep and to
place the newborn lambs in the lambing pen, and afterwards he separated
the ewes that were ready to birth and confined them within the
enclosure, while his helper put the other sheep out to graze. His flock
was sparse and John was poor; yet, he was blessed. And he was possessed
of great joy at all times, day and night, for he was a good man and he
had a good wife. Anyone who happened to pass by their hut they cared for
as though he were a brother. And it is thus that St. Basil found
lodging in their home and settled in, as if it were his own, blessing it
from top to bottom. On that night, he was awaited, in all of the cities
and villages of the known world, by rulers, Hierarchs, and officials;
but he went to none of these. Instead, he went to lodge in the hut of
John the blessed.
So, John, after pasturing the sheep, came back
in and said to the Saint, “Elder, I am greatly joyful. I wish to have
you read to us the writings about St. Basil [i.e., the appointed hymns
to the Saint]. I am an illiterate man, but I like all of the writings of
our religion [once again, the hymns and services of the Church]. In
fact, I have a small book from an Hagiorite Abbot [i.e., from Mt.
Athos], and whenever someone who can read and write happens to pass by, I
get him to read out of the booklet, since we have no Church near us.”
In
the East, it was dimly dawning. St Basil rose and stood, facing
eastward, making his Cross. He then bent down, took a booklet from his
satchel, and said, “Blessed is our God, always, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages.”
John the blessed went and stood behind him, and his wife, having nursed
their baby, also went to stand near him, with her arms crossed [over
her chest]. St. Basil then said the hymn, “God is the Lord...” and the Apolytikion of the Feast of the Circumcision, “Without change, Thou hast assumed human form,” omitting his own Apolytikion, which states, “Thy sound is gone forth unto all the earth.”
His voice was sweet and humble, and John and his wife felt great
contrition, even though they did not understand all of the words. St.
Basil now said the whole of Matins and the Canon of the Feast, “Come, O ye peoples, and let us chant a song unto Christ God,” without reciting his own canon, which goes, “O Basil, we would that thy voice were present....”
Thereafter, he said aloud the entire Liturgy, pronounced the dismissal,
and blessed the household. As they sat at the table, having eaten and
finished their food, the wife brought the Vasilopeta [a sweet bread or
cake baked in honor of St. Basil on the New Year] and placed it on the
serving table. Then St. Basil took a knife and with it traced the sign
of the Cross on the Vasilopeta, saying, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” He cut a first piece, saying, “for Christ,” a second, afterwards, saying, “for the Panagia,” and then “for the master of the house, John the blessed.” John exclaimed, “Elder, you forgot St. Basil!” The Saint replied, “Yes, indeed,” and thus said, “And for the servant of God, Basil.” After this, he resumed: “...and for the master of the house,” “for the mistress of the house,” “for the child,” “for the farmhand,” “for the animals,” and “for the poor.”
Thereupon, John the blessed said, “Elder, why did you not cut a piece
for your reverendship?” And the Saint said, “But I did, O blessed one!”
But John, this blissful man, did not understand.
Afterwards, St. Basil stood up and said the prayer, “O Lord my God, I know that I am not worthy that Thou shouldest enter under the roof of the house of my soul.”
John the Blessed then said: “I wonder if you can tell me, Elder, since
you know many things, to what palaces St. Basil went this evening? And
the rulers and monarchs—what sins do they have? We poor people are
sinners, since our poverty leads us into sin.” St. Basil said the same
prayer, again—with tears—though changing it: “O Lord my God, I have
seen that Thy servant John the simple is worthy and that it is meet that
Thou shouldest enter into his shelter. He is a babe, and it is to babes
that Thy Mysteries are revealed.” And again John the blissful, John the blessed, understood nothing....
*
This well-known and charming short story by Phótios Kóntoglou has
appeared in several versions, both in Greek and in what are,
unfortunately, largely poor English translations. Kontoglou’s Greek is
quite difficult to translate, since he uses many words common to the
dialect of Greeks in Asia Minor. Though some of these words are actually
derived from ancient Greek, in general they are part of a language
spoken today by less literate Greeks. Thus, there is a tendency to
render them in English slang, which detracts from the power of
Kontoglou’s Greek and his writing and imagery. At other times,
translators fail at finding the middle ground between stilted literal
translations and translations which add so much to the original Greek
texts that Kontoglou’s characteristic literary style is lost. I have
used, here, the Greek text published by Harmos Publications (Athens,
Greece, 1994) in its collection Diegémata ton Christougénnon, and have
tried to capture in my rendering the style, simple eloquence, and
sensitivity of the author’s story as it reads in Greek—Archbishop Chrysostomos of Etna.
Κάποτε,
όταν ήμουν νέος, έθεσα το συγκεκριμένο ερώτημα σε έναν ηλικιωμένο
ιερέα, ο οποίος μου αποκρίθηκε: «Ξέρεις, νομίζω ότι όταν οι άνθρωποι
έρχονταν στον Ιωάννη, και εξομολογούνταν τις αμαρτίες τους, τα ψεύδη
τους, τις πνευματικές και σαρκικές ακαθαρσίες τους, καθαρίζονταν κατά
κάποιο τρόπο συμβολικά στα ύδατα του Ιορδάνη. Και τα νερά του ποταμού,
όντας καθαρά, όπως ολα τα τρεχούμενα νερά, βαθμιαία ρυπαίνονταν, όπως
συμβαίνει με τα νεκρά (στάσιμα) ύδατα, που έχουν χάσει κάθε ζωντάνια και
δεν μπορούν να μεταδώσουν παρά μόνο το θάνατο. Τούτα τα νερά γεμάτα με
τις ακαθαρσίες, τα ψεύδη, τις αμαρτίες, τον ανθρώπινο αθεϊσμο, σιγά-σιγά
πέθαιναν, έχοντας την ικανότητα μόνο να σκοτώνουν. Και να που ο Χριστός
καταδύεται στα ύδατα, γιατί ήθελε όχι μόνο να γίνει τέλειος σε όλα,
αλλά ως άνθρωπος τέλειος ν’ αναλάβει όλη τη φρίκη, όλο το φορτίο της
ανθρώπινης αμαρτίας. Βυθίστηκε σε αυτά τα νεκρά ύδατα, που Του μετέδωσαν
τον θάνατο, την θνητότητα, που ήταν ιδιότητα όσων είχαν αμαρτήσει και
ήταν φορείς της θνητότητας και του θανάτου, δηλαδή των οψωνίων της
αμαρτίας (Ρωμ. 6,23), της τιμωρίας για την αμαρτία.
