Letter 162: The same cause seems to make me hesitate to write, and to prove that I must write. When I think of the visit which I owe, and reckon up the gain at meeting you, I cannot help despising letters, as being not even shadows in comparison with the reality. Then, again, when I reckon that my only consolation, deprived as I am of all that is best and m...

The same thing that makes me hesitate to write also proves that I must. When I think of the visit I owe you and calculate how much I would gain from seeing you in person, letters seem worthless -- not even shadows compared to the reality. But then, when I consider that my only consolation, cut off as I am from everything best and most important, is to greet a man like you and beg you (as I always do) not to forget me in your prayers -- well, then letters seem worth quite a lot after all. I have not given up hope of visiting you. I would be ashamed to show so little confidence in your prayers that I couldn't expect to be transformed from an old man into a young one, if it came to that -- let alone from a sick, wasted invalid into someone merely a little stronger. It's not easy to explain in words why I haven't come already. I am not only held back by actual illness, but I lack even the strength to give you a proper account of such complicated and overlapping ailments. I can only tell you that since Easter until now, fever, intestinal trouble, and digestive collapse have been drowning me like waves, not letting me lift my head above the surface. Brother Barachus may be able to describe my condition for you -- if not as severely as it deserves, at least clearly enough for you to understand the delay. If you join wholeheartedly in praying for me, I have no doubt my troubles will pass.

ST. BASIL OF CAESAREA To Eusebius, bishop of Samosata. The same cause seems to make me hesitate to write, and to prove that I must write. When I think of the visit which I owe, and reckon up the gain at meeting you, I cannot help despising letters, as being not even shadows in comparison with the reality. Then, again, when I reckon that my only consolation, deprived as I am of all that is best and most important, is to salute such a man and beg him, as I am wont, not to forget me in his prayers, I bethink me that letters are of no small value. I do not, myself, wish to give up all hope of my visit, nor to despair of seeing you. I should be ashamed not to seem to put so much confidence in your prayers as even to expect to be turned from an old man into a young one, if such a need were to arise, and not merely from a sick and emaciated one, as I am now, into one a little bit stronger. It is not easy to express in words the reason of my not being with you already, because I am not only prevented by actual illness, but have not even force of speech enough at any time to give you an account of such manifold and complex disease. I can only say that, ever since Easter up to now, fever, diarrhœa, and intestinal disturbance, drowning me like waves, do not suffer me to lift my head above them. Brother Barachus may be able to tell you the character of my symptoms, if not as their severity deserves, at least clearly enough to make you understand the reason of my delay. If you join cordially in my prayers, I have no doubt that my troubles will easily pass away.

[Πρός: Εὐσεβίῳ, ἐπισκόπῳ Σαμοσάτων] Ἔοικέ μοι τοῦτο καὶ ὄκνον ἐμποιεῖν πρὸς τὸ γράφειν καὶ ἀναγκαῖον αὐτὸ πάλιν ὑποδεικνύναι. ὅταν μὲν γὰρ πρὸς τὸ τῆς ἐπιδημίας τῆς ἐμαυτοῦ ἀπίδω χρέος καὶ τὸ τῆς συντυχίας ὑπολογίσωμαι ὄφελος, πάνυ μοι τῶν ἐπιστολῶν ὑπερορᾷν ἔπεισιν ὡς οὐδὲ σκιᾶς λόγον ἐκπληροῦν δυναμένων πρὸς τὴν ἀλήθειαν· ὅταν δὲ πάλιν λογίσωμαι, ὅτι μόνη παραμυθία ἐστὶ τῶν μεγίστων καὶ πρώτων διαμαρτόντα προσειπεῖν ἄνδρα τοσοῦτον, καὶ ἱκετεῦσαι συνήθως ὥστε μὴ ἐπιλανθάνεσθαι ἡμῶν ἐπὶ τῶν προσευχῶν, οὐ μικρόν τί μοι κρίνειν τὸ τῶν ἐπιστολῶν ἔπεισι. τὴν μὲν οὖν ἐλπίδα τῆς παρουσίας οὔτε αὐτὸς ῥίψαι τῆς ψυχῆς βούλομαι, οὔτε τὴν σὴν θεοσέβειαν ἀπογνῶναι. αἰσχύνομαι γὰρ εἰ μὴ ταῖς σαῖς εὐχαῖς τοσοῦτον φανείην θαρσῶν, ὡς καὶ νέος ἐκ γέροντος ἔσεσθαι, εἰ τούτου γένοιτο χρεία, οὐχ ὅπως ἐρρωμενέστερος μικρὸν ἐξ ἀσθενοῦς καὶ ἐξιτήλου παντάπασιν, ὁποῖος δὴ νῦν εἰμί. Τοῦ δὲ μὴ ἤδη παρεῖναι τὰ αἴτια λόγῳ μὲν εἰπεῖν οὐ ῥᾴδιον, οὐ μόνον ὑπὸ τῆς παρούσης ἀσθενείας ἐξειργομένῳ, ἀλλʼ οὐδὲ σχόντι ποτὲ τοσαύτην τοῦ λόγου δύναμιν, ὥστε παντοδαπὴν καὶ ποικίλην νόσον ἐναργῶς ἐξαγγεῖλαι. πλὴν ὅτι ἀπὸ τῆς ἡμέρας τοῦ Πάσχα μέχρι νῦν πυρετοὶ καὶ διάρροιαι, καὶ σπλάγχνων ἐπαναστάσεις, ὥσπερ κύματά με ἐπιβαπτίζοντα ὑπερσχεῖν οὐκ ἐᾷ. τὰ δὲ παρόντα οἷα καὶ τίνα ἦν, εἴποι ἂν καὶ ὁ ἀδελφὸς Βάραχος, εἰ καὶ μὴ τῆς ἀληθείας ἀξίως, ἀλλʼ ὅσον μαρτυρῆσαι τῇ αἰτίᾳ τῆς ὑπερθέσεως. πάνυ δὲ πέπεισμαι, εἰ γνησίως ἡμῖν συνεύξαιο, πάνθʼ ἡμῖν λυθήσεσθαι ῥᾳδίως τὰ δυσχερῆ.