OF HOW, BROUGHT LOW BY HIS LOVE FOR HÉLOISE, HE WAS WOUNDED IN BODY
AND SOUL
Now there dwelt in that same city of Paris a certain young girl
named Héloïse, the niece of a canon who was called Fulbert. Her
uncle's love for her was equalled only by his desire that she
should have the best education which he could possibly procure for
her. Of no mean beauty, she stood out above all by reason of her
abundant knowledge of letters. Now this virtue is rare among women,
and for that very reason it doubly graced the maiden, and made her
the most worthy of renown in the entire kingdom. It was this young
girl whom I, after carefully considering all those qualities which
are wont to attract lovers, determined to unite with myself in the
bonds of love, and indeed the thing seemed to me very easy to be
done. So distinguished was my name, and I possessed such advantages
of youth and comeliness, that no matter what woman I might favour
with my love, I dreaded rejection of none. Then, too, I believed
that I could win the maiden's consent all the more easily by reason
of her knowledge of letters and her zeal therefor; so, even if we
were parted, we might yet be together in thought with the aid of
written messages. Perchance, too, we might be able to write more
boldly than we could speak, and thus at all times could we live in
joyous intimacy.
Thus, utterly aflame with my passion for this maiden, I sought to
discover means whereby I might have daily and familiar speech with
her, thereby the more easily to win her consent. For this purpose I
persuaded the girl's uncle, with the aid of some of his friends, to
take me into his household--for he dwelt hard by my school--in
return for the payment of a small sum. My pretext for this was that
the care of my own household was a serious handicap to my studies,
and likewise burdened me with an expense far greater than I could
afford. Now, he was a man keen in avarice, and likewise he was most
desirous for his niece that her study of letters should ever go
forward, so, for these two reasons, I easily won his consent to the
fulfillment of my wish, for he was fairly agape for my money, and
at the same time believed that his niece would vastly benefit by my
teaching. More even than this, by his own earnest entreaties he
fell in with my desires beyond anything I had dared to hope,
opening the way for my love; for he entrusted her wholly to my
guidance, begging me to give her instruction whensoever I might be
free from the duties of my school, no matter whether by day or by
night, and to punish her sternly if ever I should find her
negligent of her tasks. In all this the man's simplicity was
nothing short of astounding to me; I should not have been more
smitten with wonder if he had entrusted a tender lamb to the care
of a ravenous wolf. When he had thus given her into my charge, not
alone to be taught but even to be disciplined, what had he done
save to give free scope to my desires, and to offer me every
opportunity, even if I had not sought it, to bend her to my will
with threats and blows if I failed to do so with caresses? There
were, however, two things which particularly served to allay any
foul suspicion: his own love for his niece, and my former
reputation for continence.
Why should I say more: We were united first in the dwelling that
sheltered our love, and then in the hearts that burned with it.
Under the pretext of study we spent our hours in the happiness of
love, and learning held out to us the secret opportunities that our
passion craved. Our speech was more of love than of the book which
lay open before us; our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned words.
Our hands sought less the book than each other's bosoms; love drew
our eyes together far more than the lesson drew them to the pages
of our text. In order that there might be no suspicion, there were,
indeed, sometimes blows, but love gave them, not anger; they were
the marks, not of wrath, but of a tenderness surpassing the most
fragrant balm in sweetness. What followed? No degree in love's
progress was left untried by our passion, and if love itself could
imagine any wonder as yet unknown, we discovered it. And our
inexperience of such delights made us all the more ardent in our
pursuit of them, so that our thirst for one another was still
unquenched.
In measure as this passionate rapture absorbed me more and more, I
devoted ever less time to philosophy and to the work of the school.
Indeed it became loathsome to me to go to the school or to linger
there; the labour, moreover, was very burdensome, since my nights
were vigils of love and my days of study. My lecturing became
utterly careless and lukewarm; I did nothing because of
inspiration, but everything merely as a matter of habit. I had
become nothing more than a reciter of my former discoveries, and
though I still wrote poems, they dealt with love, not with the
secrets of philosophy. Of these songs you yourself well know how
some have become widely known and have been sung in many lands,
chiefly, methinks, by those who delighted in the things of this
world. As for the sorrow, the groans, the lamentations of my
students when they perceived the preoccupation, nay, rather the
chaos, of my mind, it is hard even to imagine them.
A thing so manifest could deceive only a few, no one, methinks,
save him whose shame it chiefly bespoke, the girl's uncle, Fulbert.
The truth was often enough hinted to him, and by many persons, but
he could not believe it, partly, as I have said, by reason of his
boundless love for his niece, and partly because of the well-known
continence of my previous life. Indeed we do not easily suspect
shame in those whom we most cherish, nor can there be the blot of
foul suspicion on devoted love. Of this St. Jerome in his epistle
to Sabinianus (Epist. 48) says: "We are wont to be the last to know
the evils of our own households, and to be ignorant of the sins of
our children and our wives, though our neighbours sing them aloud."
But no matter how slow a matter may be in disclosing itself, it is
sure to come forth at last, nor is it easy to hide from one what is
known to all. So, after the lapse of several months, did it happen
with us. Oh, how great was the uncle's grief when he learned the
truth, and how bitter was the sorrow of the lovers when we were
forced to part! With what shame was I overwhelmed, with what
contrition smitten because of the blow which had fallen on her I
loved, and what a tempest of misery burst over her by reason of my
disgrace! Each grieved most, not for himself, but for the other.
Each sought to allay, not his own sufferings, but those of the one
he loved. The very sundering of our bodies served but to link our
souls closer together; the plentitude of the love which was denied
to us inflamed us more than ever. Once the first wildness of shame
had passed, it left us more shameless than before, and as shame
died within us the cause of it seemed to us ever more desirable.
And so it chanced with us as, in the stories that the poets tell,
it once happened with Mars and Venus when they were caught together.
It was not long after this that Héloïse found that she was
pregnant, and of this she wrote to me in the utmost exultation,
at the same time asking me to consider what had best be done.
Accordingly, on a night when her uncle was absent, we carried out
the plan we had determined on, and I stole her secretly away from
her uncle's house, sending her without delay to my own country. She
remained there with my sister until she gave birth to a son, whom
she named Astrolabe. Meanwhile her uncle, after his return, was
almost mad with grief; only one who had then seen him could rightly
guess the burning agony of his sorrow and the bitterness of his
shame. What steps to take against me, or what snares to set for me,
he did not know. If he should kill me or do me some bodily hurt, he
feared greatly lest his dear-loved niece should be made to suffer
for it among my kinsfolk. He had no power to seize me and imprison
me somewhere against my will, though I make no doubt he would have
done so quickly enough had he been able or dared, for I had taken
measures to guard against any such attempt.
At length, however, in pity for his boundless grief, and bitterly
blaming myself for the suffering which my love had brought upon him
through the baseness of the deception I had practiced, I went to
him to entreat his forgiveness, promising to make any amends that
he himself might decree. I pointed out that what had happened could
not seem incredible to any one who had ever felt the power of love,
or who remembered how, from the very beginning of the human race,
women had cast down even the noblest men to utter ruin. And in
order to make amends even beyond his extremest hope, I offered to
marry her whom I had seduced, provided only the thing could be kept
secret, so that I might suffer no loss of reputation thereby. To
this he gladly assented, pledging his own faith and that of his
kindred, and sealing with kisses the pact which I had sought of
him--and all this that he might the more easily betray me.