121. to Hato, the Bishop of Troyes (1145)

It is read in Solomon: Like new wine, let a new friendship mature and when it is sweet you may drink it. What does this mean? Take note, my beloved. It says this, which is commonly known. For wine, when it is fresh, certainly entices a taster by its newness, even though it is initially avoided due to the bitter sweetness of the stum. But just as with the immature recklessness of the young, one repents the taste of the drink. Simultaneously smooth and caustic, it delights and disgusts; it is restorative when swallowed, but it is less pleasant when sipped. And like an old man who has come to control his youthful passions, when new wine starts to age and to take on a smooth taste –the mild sweetness of maturity as it were– it not only becomes good, but is made enjoyable; it is drunk not only for good health, but also for pleasure. And there is no hint of a bite or sting in it. The heart of man rejoices –even literally as Scripture suggests– and the onerous course of the mortal life is mitigated by the sweetness granted to him by the Creator of all things. So clearly, my beloved, so completely I recognize Solomon’s text to be fulfilled in you. When you were a new friend, you often indeed were such a benefit; but never, even now when you are an old man, did you delight in pleasantries. The friendship with you has grown old, not in terms of a weakening nor an agedness, but in the longness of time alone. Building on the previous simile, you grasped it handily, you drank it sweetly, you drained it joyfully. With the sourness of either recent friendship or young age, you have greatly resisted, for a long time lest I cleave to you or transport you to the Cluniac body. But I hope and I am confident about the grace of His spirit which breathes where it wishes, since what a youth does not give in friendship, he offers it at least when an old man....

Since already I have formerly written many pages in frequent letters to friends, the words must cease so that at length works can follow, lest I seem or I may be like hot air or cymbals crashing.