OF THE SUFFERING OF HIS BODY--OF HOW HE BECAME A MONK IN THE
MONASTERY OF ST. DENIS AND HÉLOISE A NUN AT ARGENTEUIL
When morning came the whole city was assembled before my dwelling.
It is difficult, nay, impossible, for words of mine to describe the
amazement which bewildered them, the lamentations they uttered, the
uproar with which they harassed me, or the grief with which they
increased my own suffering. Chiefly the clerics, and above all my
scholars, tortured me with their intolerable lamentations and
outcries, so that I suffered more intensely from their compassion
than from the pain of my wound. In truth I felt the disgrace more
than the hurt to my body, and was more afflicted with shame than
with pain. My incessant thought was of the renown in which I had so
much delighted, now brought low, nay, utterly blotted out, so
swiftly by an evil chance. I saw, too, how justly God had punished
me in that very part of my body whereby I had sinned. I perceived
that there was indeed justice in my betrayal by him whom I had
myself already betrayed; and then I thought how eagerly my rivals
would seize upon this manifestation of justice, how this disgrace
would bring bitter and enduring grief to my kindred and my friends,
and how the tale of this amazing outrage would spread to the very
ends of the earth.
What path lay open to me thereafter? How could I ever again hold up
my head among men, when every finger should be pointed at me in
scorn, every tongue speak my blistering shame, and when I should be
a monstrous spectacle to all eyes? I was overwhelmed by the
remembrance that, according to the dread letter of the law, God
holds eunuchs in such abomination that men thus maimed are
forbidden to enter a church, even as the unclean and filthy; nay,
even beasts in such plight were not acceptable as sacrifices. Thus
in Leviticus (xxii, 24) is it said: "Ye shall not offer unto the
Lord that which hath its stones bruised, or crushed, or broken, or
cut." And in Deuteronomy (xxiii, 1), "He that is wounded in the
stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the
congregation of the Lord."
I must confess that in my misery it was the overwhelming sense of
my disgrace rather than any ardour for conversion to the religious
life that drove me to seek the seclusion of the monastic cloister.
Héloïse had already, at my bidding, taken the veil and entered a
convent. Thus it was that we both put on the sacred garb, I in the
abbey of St. Denis, and she in the convent of Argenteuil, of which
I have already spoken. She, I remember well, when her fond friends
sought vainly to deter her from submitting her fresh youth to the
heavy and almost intolerable yoke of monastic life, sobbing and
weeping replied in the words of Cornelia:
"... O husband most noble,
Who ne'er shouldst have shared my couch! Has fortune such power
To smite so lofty a head? Why then was I wedded
Only to bring thee to woe? Receive now my sorrow,
The price I so gladly pay."
(Lucan, "Pharsalia," viii, 94.)
With these words on her lips did she go forthwith to the altar, and
lifted therefrom the veil, which had been blessed by the bishop,
and before them all she took the vows of the religious life. For my
part, scarcely had I recovered from my wound when clerics sought me
in great numbers, endlessly beseeching both my abbot and me myself
that now, since I was done with learning for the sake of gain or
renown, I should turn to it for the sole love of God. They bade me
care diligently for the talent which God had committed to my
keeping (Matthew, xxv, 15), since surely He would demand it back
from me with interest. It was their plea that, inasmuch as of old I
had laboured chiefly in behalf of the rich, I should now devote
myself to the teaching of the poor. Therein above all should I
perceive how it was the hand of God that had touched me, when I
should devote my life to the study of letters in freedom from the
snares of the flesh and withdrawn from the tumultuous life of this
world. Thus, in truth, should I become a philosopher less of this
world than of God.
The abbey, however, to which I had betaken myself was utterly
worldly and in its life quite scandalous. The abbot himself was as
far below his fellows in his way of living and in the foulness of
his reputation as he was above them in priestly rank. This
intolerable state of things I often and vehemently denounced,
sometimes in private talk and sometimes publicly, but the only
result was that I made myself detested of them all. They gladly
laid hold of the daily eagerness of my students to hear me as an
excuse whereby they might be rid of me; and finally, at the
insistent urging of the students themselves, and with the hearty
consent of the abbot and the rest of the brotherhood, I departed
thence to a certain hut, there to teach in my wonted way. To this
place such a throng of students flocked that the neighbourhood
could not afford shelter for them, nor the earth sufficient
sustenance.
Here, as befitted my profession, I devoted myself chiefly to
lectures on theology, but I did not wholly abandon the teaching of
the secular arts, to which I was more accustomed, and which was
particularly demanded of me. I used the latter, however, as a hook,
luring my students by the bait of learning to the study of the true
philosophy, even as the Ecclesiastical History tells of Origen, the
greatest of all Christian philosophers. Since apparently the Lord
had gifted me with no less persuasiveness in expounding the
Scriptures than in lecturing on secular subjects, the number of my
students in these two courses began to increase greatly, and the
attendance at all the other schools was correspondingly diminished.
Thus I aroused the envy and hatred of the other teachers. Those who
sought to belittle me in every possible way took advantage of my
absence to bring two principal charges against me: first, that it
was contrary to the monastic profession to be concerned with the
study of secular books; and, second, that I had presumed to teach
theology without ever having been taught therein myself. This they
did in order that my teaching of every kind might be prohibited,
and to this end they continually stirred up bishops, archbishops,
abbots and whatever other dignitaries of the Church they could
reach.