81. To Hato, the Bishop of Troyes (1122/46)

You wrote, I wrote back nothing. You sent, I sent back nothing. You spoke, I replied nothing. Why is this? When speaking with an apostolic man, I will make use of the apostolic words: Why do I not love you? God knows I do. But what benefit is it to me if God knows this, but a friend does not? And, O what did I say! Does a friend not know this? But, for what covenant does a friend keep who does not know that he is loved? Or how does that ancient definition of friendship still remain (in which it is said that friendship is nothing but an unanimity of divine and human things with goodwill and charity)? This unanimity, or as another of the learned has said, this charity can not exist between less than two persons? Neither according to Cicero, nor according to Gregory [the Great] are two or more persons able to come together under a single goodwill or charity, when they are unaware of the mutual affections of their souls, when they do not communicate their perceptions to each other, when they ignore whether they love or hate themselves. Where am I going with this? Since I heard, I say I heard, and what is better, I saw in your letters (for it is more sure to see than to hear) that it was suggested to Your Beatitude by an ignorant person, as I name him as an ex-monk, that an ardor for you not of a novice friendship but of my already aged friendship either cools completely or overly heats up. But if this was only heard, and not believed, I give thanks; if it was heard and believed, I must note my disagreement. But since neither has been ascertained by me, I can neither give thanks nor note my disagreement. I will say this first: that thus far I have not been inconstant in friendship, thus far I have not been capricious, thus far I have not been instable even if I reject what I recognize to be sweet, honest and useful in this life which we possess and in that life for which we hope, even if I abandon the great sweetness of life for the solitary bitterness set aside for me. For what life, as Ennius said, is able to be vital which does not consist of the mutual goodwill of a friend. What is sweeter than to have this with one whom you dare to tell everything, as I do with you?

Therefore it is not abandoned, nor has it cooled, nor has the mutual friendship between us (at least to me) grown lukewarm. But as it is licit to make a complaint in sound mutual charity, nonetheless the same friendship seems to you to cool –even if friendship does not cool– when it is doubtful that you consider his words sufficient cause to write to me, even if the matter is not to be believed from the words of a liar. But enough about this. Indeed because once and then again, and then a third time I did not write back to one writing: this is the reason. Firstly, the criminal health of my body, secondly, the rushing couriers, thirdly, the misfortune of a hectic time (which then compelled me to remove myself wholly from you) compelled me to keep silent with a forceful command. Since there was not the urgency of great necessity, my discourse could be mute for a while with him to whom always my soul cleaves and talks. I had proposed to write many words about many topics, but since they were not of little necessity, more to be conferred about with you privately than to be publicized in letters, I constrain my spirit wishing to pour out with words, and in present letter I refrain from those matters which should not be poured out to one absent without due consideration. I ask therefore, or rather, I entreat and if this is not yet enough, I even beg that terrestrial distance or the burdens of episcopal affairs do not further prevent your presence before me or in your Cluniac house, and allow at least for the Feast of the Apostles that your Cluniacs may their bishop whom they have hungered to see for so long now, see, see I say and rejoice, because nothing will be able delight them more than if for even a moment they are able to enjoy so intimate a friend, so longed for a father. Other issues, which I do not wish to commit to a letter, I committed to the trust of the bearer, so that since he is known and, I believe, loved both by you and me, he may carry my words to you and bring back yours to me.