Letters167 Letter CLXVII. 1138.) to the same, on the same subject

Most gracious Father, did you not strictly enjoin that in the Church of Langres some suitable and religious person should be elected, with the advice of your son? Did not my lord of Lyons receive in person this same command from your Apostolic mouth, which he was to carry out as faithfully as it had been irrevocably given and frequently impressed on him? Did he not, moreover, promise to obey? What, then, has made him endeavour to set aside what had been most wisely and prudently determined, and to presumptuously take another course which was not convenient, to make your majesty contemptible, and my littleness a laughing-stock? How is it that this good man was not ashamed to have "yea and nay" found in his mouth, and to attempt to put so base a yoke on the necks of such a large number of religious men who are your servants, contrary to your command and his own promise? Ask, my Father, ask diligently, what kind of repute this man, on whom he is eager to lay his hands, bears, both with those that are near and those that are far off. Very shame prevents me from saying what common rumour says of him, nay, what his well-known evil reputation has made known to the world. What can I say? My soul is sorrowful even unto death. Perhaps even now I should have fled away had I not been kept back by the hope of the consolation that I look for from your kindness. I had it in my mind to write to you in order the distressing story of my misery; but my hand fails for very sadness, my mind clouds over, my tongue shrinks from speaking of the iniquitous treachery, the underhand dealing, the dishonesty, the audacity, the perfidy. What is it, then? Your son, Ponce the Archdeacon, who has shown himself in this matter constant and faithful, will tell yau everything, my Father, both what we grieve for as already done, and what we implore may not be done. Trust him as myself. But this one thing I must say from the midst of my pangs, that unless these men are made to desist from their wicked and audacious undertaking, I feel that, as I am now, my life will fail in grief and my years in mourning.