I desire to hear of your affairs, as I desire to learn what it is that stirs you, and so I am constantly eager to receive letters, that I might learn continuously—which is what I desire—that you are passing your time in great contentment and security. For that you are enjoying these things, because you take great care of your soul, and, looking past worldly affairs, are walking the road toward heaven, I do not think there is any need to doubt. For I know the nobility of your soul, and its freedom, and that it is full of freedom from business and exempt from worldly cares. Since you know, then, how great a favor you grant us by doing this, whenever it is possible and feasible, be exhorted to write to us constantly, as we have said before, so that we may receive from this, even here in this desert where we dwell, great consolation. For when the letters of you who love us are brought to us constantly, declaring your health, they fill us with no ordinary joy, but produce such pleasure in us that we do not even feel the slightest sense of this desert in which we dwell.
XXXIII. To Adolia. In this too you have shown your love—genuine and fervent—that even when you were in such illness, you wrote to us so constantly. We, for our part, desire that you be delivered from your illness and, whenever it is possible, that we might see you arriving here. And this you know yourself, most respectable and most reverent lady. Since, therefore, as I have written before, we are now in greater anxiety (for from your letters we conjectured the extent of your illness), because of this, whenever your body improves for the better, be exhorted to declare this very thing to us with speed, so that you might ease us of a very heavy anxiety. For that we are even now in no small despondency because of your illness, you yourself are not unaware. Knowing, then, the anxiety in which we now are, be eager to do what we have requested. Even if there is no need at all to exhort you to this, yet I know well that as many letter-carriers as you might obtain, you will not cease writing to us through each one.
XXXIV. To Carteria. This too is a sign of your love, of your soul which is so deeply concerned for us: that you not only sent the [polyarchion], but also considered how it might be useful, and added to it both the nard and the sweet oil, to correct its dryness from the long journey. And that you should prepare it yourself, and not entrust it to others, and not allow it to be delayed, but strive to have it be done quickly—this is what has truly made us admire your disposition toward us. For this we give you thanks, and find fault in only one thing: that you did not send in your letters what was most desirable for us, I mean the good news of your health. And as we are now in anxiety, not knowing the state of your illness, so if you send us letters with speed announcing that your sickness is dissolved, you will grant us a great favor. Knowing then how strongly we desire to learn that you have recovered from this infirmity, grant us this joy, which will be no small consolation to us in this most difficult desert and siege.
XXXV. To Alphius. May God give you your reward, both in the present life and in the age to come, for your genuine and fervent love for us—sincere and unfeigned, immobile and unchangeable. For you have shown no small proofs of your disposition toward us—and these, sitting at such a great distance, most honorable and noble sir—but many and great ones. For this we give you thanks, and we wish to write constantly, but we are not able to every time we wish; we write, however, as often as we are able. You know yourself the difficulty that arises in the roads on account of the winter and the raids of robbers. Do not, then, think that we are slothful when we remain silent for a long time, but attribute this to the scarcity of letter-carriers, not to any neglect of ours. If it were possible to write more constantly, we would not have shrunk from sending you frequent letters. For we would be doing a favor to ourselves, by paying you the customary greeting more constantly. Knowing these things, then, write to us constantly yourself concerning your health. As for what you said you had sent us, no one brought it here; the person who had it turned back on account of the fear of robbers. But we exhort you not to do this, nor to provide difficulties and troubles for yourself. For your great gifts are your genuine and fervent disposition, the enjoyment of which we continually relish as we remember your love.
XXXVI. To Maro, presbyter and monk. We are bound to you by love and by disposition, and we see you as if you were present here. For such are the eyes of love; they are not cut off by distance, nor do they wither with time. We wish to write more constantly to your reverence, but since this is not easy due to the difficulty of the road and the lack of travelers, whenever it is possible we greet your honor and make it clear to you that we hold you in memory continuously, carrying you in our soul wherever we may be. Declare, then, also to us more constantly the state of your health, so that, though we are separated in body, by learning constantly of your well-being, we may become more cheerful and receive consolation while sitting in this desert. For it brings us no small joy to hear of your health. And before all things, I entreat you to pray for us.
XXXVII. To Tranquillinus, bishop. My most honorable lord bishop Seleucus—the longing for us roused him from his home, and here...