Letter CCLXV. To Peter, Abbot of Cluny (Reply to the Above)

(A.D. 1149.)

He disclaims praises as being unworthy.

What are you doing, my dear friend? You are praising a sinner, you are beatifying a wretched man. You must now pray that I may not be led into error. I shall certainly be led into it, if I begin to be ignorant of myself from the delight I might take in your praises. That did well-nigh happen to me when I saw the letters of your Beatitude which beatified me. How happy should I now be if words could effect it! Still let me call myself happy, not, how ever, because of my own merit, but your good-will. I am happy in being loved by you, and in loving you. However, I do not think that this sweet morsel which you offer me ought to be swallowed whole, nor, as they say, even admitted even into the mouth. You wonder why, perhaps. Because I cannot see anything in myself which makes me worthy of love, especially such as yours. I know, too, that a righteous man will never wish to be loved more than is right. Would that I could as easily imitate as admire so great an example of humility! Would that I might enjoy what I so greatly long for, your holy conversation — I do not say always, I do not say often, but even once in a yearl I think that I should never return from it empty. It would not be in vain that I beheld a model of virtue, a perfection of discipline, a mirror of sanctity. Nor would it be fruitless for one to see with the eye of faith how well you have learnt from Christ what I have not yet learnt — his meekness and lowliness of heart. But if I go on to do to you what I complain that you have done to me, though I speak the truth, yet I shall not agree with the law of truth, which says, What you do not wish done to yourself do not to another (Tob. iv. 15). And in answer to the little request with which you ended your letter I have to say that the brother whom you asked me to send you is not just now with me, but with the Bishop of Auxerre, and he is so ill that I am told that he cannot yet come to us without the greatest risk.