Prologue

I am thinking, Most Holy Father, Eugenius, of writing something which may edify, delight, or console you. But when I would fain begin I experience a strange hesitation, and my words falter, for your Majesty and the love I have for you, like rival commanders, issue conflicting orders. The one bids me advance, the other holds me in check. Your condescension reconciles their differences, inasmuch as though you might more fitly enjoin a task, you beg of me a favour. If then your Majesty unbends, my modesty should surely also yield. True, you sit on Peter's seat. What of that ? Though you walk on the wings of the wind, you will never outstrip my affection. Love knows no lord ; it recognizes a son even in the robes of office. Love, by its very nature, is lowly enough ; it needs no prompting to kindness, seeks no reward for obedience, sets no bounds to its respect. It is not so with some, not so : but they are moved with fear or avarice. These are they who seem to bless, but there is evil in their hearts ; they flatter to one's face, but in the time of need they desert us. But charity never faileth. To confess the truth, though I no longer act as a mother to you, I have not lost a mother's affection for you. In days gone by you were rooted in my very heart ; you are not so easily to be plucked out. Ascend into heaven, or descend into the abyss, you shall not leave me : I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest. I loved you when you were poor, I will love you now