Produced by Jim Adcock. Special Thanks to the Internet Archive.
LETTERS
of
Abelard and Heloise.
LETTERS
OF
Abelard and
Heloise.
To which is prefix'd
A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT
OF
THEIR
_Lives, Amours, and Misfortunes._
BY THE LATE JOHN HUGHES, ESQ.
Together with the
_POEM OF ELOISA TO ABELARD._
BY
MR. POPE.
And, (to which is now added) the
_POEM OF ABELARD TO ELOISA,_
BY MRS. MADAN.
------------
LONDON:
Printed
for W. OSBORNE, and T. GRIFFIN in
Holborn, and J. MOZLEY, in
Gainsborough.
MDCCLXXXII.
PREFACE
It is very surprising that the _Letters of Abelard and Heloise_
have not sooner appeared in English, since it is generally allowed,
by all who have seen them in other languages, that they are written
with the greatest passion of any in this kind which are extant. And
it is certain that the _Letters from a Nun to a Cavalier_, which
have so long been known and admired among us, are in all respects
inferior to them. Whatever those were, these are known to be genuine
Pieces occasioned by an amour which had very extraordinary
consequences, and made a great noise at the time when it happened,
being between two of the most distinguished Persons of that age.
These _Letters_, therefore, being truly written by the
Persons themselves, whose names they bear, and who were both
remarkable for their genius and learning, as well as by a most
extravagant passion for each other, are every where full of
sentiments of the heart, (which are not to be imitated in a feigned
story,) and touches of Nature, much more moving than any which could
flow from the Pen of a Writer of Novels, or enter into the
imagination of any who had not felt the like emotions and distresses.
They were originally written in Latin, and are extant in a
Collection of the Works of _Abelard_, printed at Paris in the
year 1616. With what elegance and beauty of stile they were written
in that language, will sufficiently appear to the learned Reader,
even by those few citations which are set at the bottom of the page
in some places of the following history. But the Book here mentioned
consisting chiefly of school-divinity, and the learning of those
times, and therefore being rarely to be met with but in public
libraries, and in the hands of some learned men, the Letters of
_Abelard_ and _Heloise_ are much more known by a Translation,
or rather Paraphrase of them, in French, first published at
the Hague in 1693, and which afterwards received several other
more complete Editions. This Translation is much applauded, but who
was the Author of it is not certainly known. Monsieur Bayle says he
had been informed it was done by a woman; and, perhaps, he thought no
one besides could have entered so thoroughly into the passion and
tenderness of such writings, for which that sex seems to have a more
natural disposition than the other. This may be judged of by the
Letters themselves, among which those of _Heloise_ are the most
moving, and the Master seems in this particular to have been excelled
by the Scholar.
In some of the later Editions in French, there has been prefixed
to the Letters an Historical Account of _Abelard_ and _Heloise_;
this is chiefly extracted from the Preface of the Editor of _Abelard's_
Works in Latin, and from the _Critical Dictionary_ of Monsieur
Bayle*, who has put together, under several articles, all the
particulars he was able to collect concerning these two famous
Persons; and though the first Letter of _Abelard to Philintus_,
in which he relates his own story, may seem to have rendered this
account in part unnecessary; yet the Reader will not be displeased to
see the thread of the relation entire, and continued to the death of
the Persons whose misfortunes had made their lives so very
remarkable.
* _Vide Artic_. Abelard, Heloise, Foulques, _and_ Paraclete
It is indeed impossible to be unmoved at the surprising and
multiplied afflictions and persecutions which befel a man of
_Abelard's_ fine genius, when we see them so feelingly described
by his own hand. Many of these were owing to the malice of such as
were his enemies on the account of his superior learning and merit;
yet the great calamities of his life took their rise from his unhappy
indulgence of a criminal passion, and giving himself a loose to
unwarrantable pleasures. After this he was perpetually involved in
sorrow and distress, and in vain sought for ease and quiet in a
monastic life. The _Letters_ between him and his beloved _Heloise_
were not written till long after their marriage and separation, and
when each of them was dedicated to a life of religion. Accordingly we
find in them surprising mixtures of devotion and tenderness, and
remaining frailty, and a lively picture of human nature in its
contrarieties of passion and reason, its infirmities, and its
sufferings.
CONTENTS.
The History of Abelard and Heloise
LETTERS.
I. Abelard to Philintus.
II. Heloise to Abelard.
III. Abelard to Heloise.
IV. Heloise to Abelard.
V. Heloise to Abelard.
VI. Abelard to Heloise.
VII. Eloisa to Abelard. A poem. by Mr. Pope.
VIII. Abelard to Eloisa. A poem. by Mrs. Madan.
The History of Abelard and Heloise
_Peter Abelard_ was born in the village of Palais in Britany.
He lived in the twelfth century, in the reigns of _Louis the Gross_,
and _Louis the Young_. His Father's name was _Beranger_, a
gentleman of a considerable and wealthy family. He took care to give
his children a liberal and pious education, especially his eldest
son _Peter_, on whom he endeavoured to bestow all possible
improvements, because there appeared in him an extraordinary vivacity
of wit joined with sweetness of temper, and all imaginable presages
of a great man.
When he had made some advancement in learning, he grew so fond of
his books, that, lest affairs of the world might interrupt his
proficiency in them, he quitted his birthright to his younger
brothers, and applied himself entirely to the studies of Philosophy
and Divinity.
Of all the sciences to which he applied himself, that which
pleased him most, and in which he made the greatest progress, was
Logick. He had a very subtile wit, and was incessantly whetting it by
disputes, out of a restless ambition to be master of his weapons. So
that in a short time he gained the reputation of the greatest
philosopher of his age; and has always been esteemed the founder of
what we call the _Learning of the Schoolmen_.
He finished his studies at Paris, where learning was then in a
flourishing condition. In this city he found that famous professor of
philosophy William des Champeaux, and soon became his favourite
scholar; but this did not last long. The professor was so hard put to
it to answer the subtle objections of his new scholar, that he grew
uneasy with him. The school soon run into parties. The senior
scholars, transported with envy against _Abelard_, seconded
their master's resentment. All this served only to increase the young
man's presumption, who now thought himself sufficiently qualified to
set up a school of his own. For this purpose he chose an advantageous
place, which was the town of Melun, ten leagues from Paris, where the
French court resided at that time. Champeaux did all that he could to
hinder the erecting of this school; but some of the great courtiers
being his enemies, the opposition he made to it only promoted the
design of his rival.
The reputation of this new professor made a marvellous progress,
and eclipsed that of Champeaux. These successes swelled _Abelard_
so much that he removed his school to Corbeil, in order to engage his
enemy the more closer in more frequent disputations. But his
excessive application to study brought upon him a long and dangerous
sickness, which constrained him to return to his own native air.
After he had spent two years in his own country he made a second
adventure to Paris, where he found that his old antagonist Champeaux
had resigned his chair to another, and was retired into a convent of
Canons Regular, among whom he continued his lectures. _Abelard_
attacked him with such fury, that he quickly forced him to renounce
his tenets. Whereupon the poor monk became so despicable, and his
antagonist in such great esteem, that nobody went to the lectures of
Champeaux, and the very man who succeeded him in his professorship,
listed under _Abelard_, and became his scholar.
He was scarce fixed in his chair before he found himself exposed
more than ever to the strokes of the most cruel envy. Endeavours were
used to do him ill offices by all those who were any ways disaffected
to him. Another professor was put into his place, who had thought it
his duty to submit to _Abelard_, in short so many enemies were
raised against him that he was forced to retreat from Paris to Melun,
and there revived his logick lectures. But this held not long; for
hearing that Champeaux with all his infantry was retired into a
country village, he came and posted himself on mount St. Genevieve,
where he erected a new school, like a kind of battery against him
whom Champeaux had left to teach at Paris.
Champeaux understanding that his substitute was thus besieged in
his school, brought the Regular Canons attack again to their
monastery. But this, instead of relieving his friend, caused all his
scholars to desert him. At which the poor philosopher was so
mortified, that he followed the example of his patron Champeaux, and
turned monk too.
The dispute now lay wholly between Abelard and Champeaux, who
renewed it with great warmth on both sides; but the senior had not
the best on't. While it was depending, _Abelard_ was obliged to
visit his father and mother, who, according to the fashion of those
times, had resolved to forsake the world, and retire into convents,
in order to devote themselves more seriously to the care of their
salvation.
Having assisted at the admission of his parents into their
respective monasteries and received their blessing, he returned to
Paris, where during his absence, his rival had been promoted to the
bishoprick of Chalons. And now being in a condition to quit his
school without any suspicions of flying from his enemy, he resolved
to apply himself wholly to Divinity.
To this end he removed to Laon, where one _Anselm_ read
divinity-lectures with good reputation. But _Abelard_ was so
little satisfied with the old man's abilities, who has he says, had a
very mean genius, and a great fluency of words without sense, that he
took a resolution for the future to hear no other master than the
Holy Scriptures. A good resolution! if a man takes the Spirit of God
for his guide, and be more concerned to distinguish truth from
falsehood, than to confirm himself in those principles into which
his, own fancy or complexion, or the prejudices of his birth and
education, have insensibly led him.
_Abelard_, together with the Holy Scriptures, read the
ancient fathers and doctors of the church, in which he spent whole
days and nights, and profited so well, that instead of returning to
_Anselm's_ lectures, he took up the same employment, and began
to explain the Prophet _Ezekiel_ to some of his fellow-pupils.
He performed this part so agreeably; and in so easy a method that he
soon got a crowd of auditors.
The jealous _Anselm_ could not bear this; he quickly found
means to get the lecturer silenced. Upon this _Abelard_ removed
to Paris once more, where he proceeded with his public exposition on
Ezekiel, and soon acquired the same reputation for his divinity he
had before gained for his philosophy. His eloquence and learning
procured him an incredible number of scholars from all parts; so that
if he had minded saving of money, he might have grown rich with ease
in a short time. And happy had it been for him, if, among all the
enemies his learning exposed him to, he had guarded his heart against
the charms of love. But, alas! the greatest doctors are not always
the wisest men, as appears from examples in every age; but from none
more remarkable than that of this learned man, whose story I am now
going to tell you.
_Abelard_, besides his uncommon merit as a scholar, had all
the accomplishments of a gentleman. He had a greatness of soul which
nothing could shock; his passions were delicate, his judgment solid,
and his taste exquisite. He was of a graceful person, and carried
himself with the air of a man of quality. His conversation was sweet,
complaisant, easy, and gentleman-like. It seemed as tho' Nature had
designed him for a more elevated employment than that of teaching the
sciences. He looked upon riches and grandeur with contempt, and had
no higher ambition than to make his name famous among learned men,
and to be reputed the greatest doctor of his age: but he had human
frailty, and all his philosophy could not guard him from the attacks
of love. For some time indeed, he had defended himself against this
passion pretty well, when the temptation was but slight; but upon a
more intimate familiarity with such agreeable objects, he found his
reason fail him: yet in respect to his wisdom, he thought of
compounding the matter and resolved at first, that love and
philosophy should dwell together in the same breast. He intended only
to let out his heart to the former, and that but for a little while;
never considering that love is a great ruiner of projects; and that
when it has once got a share in a heart, it is easy to possess itself
of the whole.
He was now in the seven or eight and twentieth year of his age,
when he thought himself completely happy in all respects, excepting
that he wanted a mistress. He considered therefore of making a
choice, but such a one as might be most suitable to his notions, and
the design he had of passing agreeably those hours he did not employ
in his study. He had several ladies in his eye, to whom as he says in
one of his _Letters_, he could easily have recommended himself.
For you must understand, that besides his qualifications mentioned
before, he had a vein of poetry, and made abundance of little easy
songs, which he would sing with all the advantage of a gallant air
and pleasant voice. But tho' he was cut out for a lover, he was not
over-hasty in determining his choice. He was not of a humour to be
pleased with the wanton or forward; he scorned easy pleasures, and
sought to encounter with difficulties and impediments, that he might
conquer with the greater glory. In short, he had not yet seen the
woman he was to love.
Not far from the place where _Abelard_ read his lectures
lived one _Doctor Fulbert_, a canon of the church of Notre-Dame.
This canon had a niece named _Heloise_ in his house whom he
educated with great care and affection. Some writers say*, that she
was the good man's natural daughter; but that, to prevent a public
scandal, he gave out that she was his niece by his sister, who upon
her death-bed had charged him with her education. But though it was
well known in those times, as well as since, that the niece of an
ecclesiastick is sometimes more nearly related to him, yet of this
damsel's birth and parentage we have nothing very certain.
There is reason to think, from one of her _Letters to Abelard_,
that she came of a mean family; for she owns that great honour was
done to her side by this alliance, and that he married much below
himself. So that what Francis d'Amboise says, that she was of the
name and family of Montmorency has no manner of foundation. It is
very probable she was really and truly Fulbert's niece, as he
affirmed her to be. Whatever she was for birth, she was a very
engaging woman; and if she was not a perfect beauty, she
appeared such at least in _Abelard's_ eyes. Her person was well
proportioned, her features regular, her eyes sparkling, her lips
vermillion and well formed, her complexion animated, her air fine,
and her aspect sweet and agreeable. She had a surprising quickness of
wit, an incredible memory, and a considerable share of learning,
joined with humility; and all these accomplishments were attended
with something so graceful and moving, that it was impossible for
those who kept her company not to be in love with her.
* Papyr. Maffo. Annal. 1. 3. "Joannes Canonicus Pariflus,
Heloysiam naturalem filiam habehat prastanti ingenio formaque."
As soon as _Abelard_ had seen her, and conversed with her,
the charms of her wit and beauty made such an impression upon his
heart, that he presently conceived a most violent passion for her,
and resolved to make it his whole endeavour to win her affections.
And now, he that formerly quitted his patrimony to pursue his
studies, laid aside all other engagements to attend his new passion.
In vain did Philosophy and Reason importune him to return; he was
deaf to their call, and thought of nothing but how to enjoy the sight
and company of his dear _Heloise_. And he soon met with the
luckiest opportunity in the world. Fulbert who had the greatest
affection imaginable for his niece, finding her to have a good share
of natural wit, and a particular genius for learning, thought himself
obliged to improve the talents which Nature had so liberally bestowed
on her. He had already put her to learn several languages, which she
quickly came to understand so well, that her fame began to spread
itself abroad, and the wit and learning of _Heloise_ was every
where discoursed of. And though her uncle for his own share was no
great scholar, he was very felicitous that his niece should have all
possible improvements. He was willing, therefore, she should have
masters to instruct her in what she had a mind to learn: but he loved
his money, and this kept him from providing for her education so well
as she desired.
_Abelard_, who knew _Heloise's_ inclinations, and the
temper of her uncle, thought this an opportunity favourable to his
design. He was already well acquainted with Fulbert, as being his
brother canon in the same church; and he observed how fond the other
was of his friendship, and what an honour he esteemed it to be
intimate with a person of his reputation. He therefore told him one
day in familiarity, that he was at a loss for some house to board in;
and if you could find room for me, said he, in yours, I leave to you
name the terms.
The good man immediately considering that by this means he should
provide an able master for his niece who, instead of taking money of
him, offered to provide him well for his board, embraced his proposal
with the joy imaginable, gave him a thousand caresses, and desired he
would consider him for the future as one ambitious of the strictest
friendship with him.
What an unspeakable joy was this to the amorous _Abelard_! to
consider that he was going to live with her, who was the only object
of his desires! that he should have the opportunity of seeing and
conversing with her every day, and of acquainting her with his
passion! However, he concealed his joy at present lest he should make
his intention suspected. We told you before how liberal Nature had
been to our lover in making his person every way so agreeable; so
that he flattered himself that it was almost impossible * that any
woman should reject his addresses. Perhaps he was mistaken: the sex
has variety of humour. However, consider him as a philosopher who had
therto lived in a strict chastity **, he certainly reasoned
well in the business of love; when he concluded that _Heloise_
would be an easier conquest to him than others because her learning
gave him an opportunity of establishing a correspondence by letters,
in which he might discover his passion with greater freedom than he
dared presume to use in conversation.
* _Tanti quippe tune nominis eram & juventutis & forma
gratia praeminebam, ut quamcunque foeminartn nostre dignarer amore
nullam verer repulsam._ 1 Epist. Abel. p. 10. Abel.
** _Froena libidini coepi laxare, qui antea viveram continantissime._
Ibid.
Some time after the Canon had taken _Abelard_ into his own
house, as they were discoursing one day about things somewhat above
Fulbert's capacity, the latter turned the discourse insensibly to the
good qualities of his niece; he informed _Abelard_ of the
excellency of her wit, and how strong a propensity she had to improve
in learning; and withal made it his earnest request, that he would
take the pains to instruct her. _Abelard_ pretended to be
surprised at a proposal of this nature. He told him that learning was
not the proper business of women; that such inclinations in them had
more of humour or curiosity than a solid desire of knowledge; and
could hardly pass, among either the learned or ignorant, without
drawing upon them the imputation of conceit and affectation. Fulbert
answered, that this was very true of women of common capacities; but
he hoped, when he had discoursed with his niece, and found what
progress she had made already, and what a capacity she had for
learning, he would be of another opinion. _Abelard_ assured him,
he was ready to do all he could for her improvement, and if she was
not like other women, who hate to learn any thing beyond their
needle, he would spare no pains to make _Heloise_ answer the
hopes which her uncle had conceived of her.
The canon was transported with the civility of the young doctor;
he returned him thanks, and protested he could not do him a more
acceptable service than to assist his niece in her endeavours to
learn; he therefore entreated him once more to set apart some of his
time, which he did not employ in public, for this purpose: and, (as
if he had known his designed intrigue, and was willing to promote it)
he committed her entirely to his care, and begged of him to treat her
with the authority of a master; not only to chide her, but even to
correct her whenever she was guilty of any neglect or disobedience to
his commands.
Fulbert, in this, showed a simplicity without example but the
affection which he had for his niece was so blind, and _Abelard_
had so well established his reputation for wisdom, that the uncle
never scrupled in the least to trust them together, and thought he
had all the security in the world for their virtue. _Abelard_
you may be sure, made use of the freedom which was given him. He saw
his beautiful creature every hour, he set her lessons every day, and
was extremely pleased to see what proficiency she made. _Heloise_,
for her part, was so taken with her master, that she liked nothing so
well as what she learned from him; and the master was charmed with
that quickness of apprehension with which his scholar learned the
most difficult lessons. But he did not intend to stop here. He knew
so well how to insinuate into the affections of this young person, he
gave her such plain intimations of what was in his heart and spoke so
agreeably of the passion which he had conceived for her, that he had
the satisfaction of seeing himself well understood. It is no
difficult matter to make a girl of eighteen in love; and _Abelard_
having so much wit and agreeable humour, must needs make a greater
progress in her affections than she did in the lessons which he
taught her; so that in a short time she fell so much in love with
him, that she could deny him nothing.
Fulbert had a country-house at Corbeil, to which the lovers often
resorted, under pretence of applying themselves more closely to their
studies: there they conversed freely and gave themselves up entirely
to the pleasure of a mutual passion. They took advantage of that
privacy which study and contemplation require without subjecting
themselves to the censure of those who observed it.
In this retirement _Abelard_ owns that more time was employ'd
in soft caresses than in lectures of philosophy. Sometimes he
pretended to use the severity of a master; the better to deceive such
as might be spies upon them, he exclaimed against _Heloise_, and
reproached her for her negligence. But how different were his menaces
from those which are inspired by anger!
Never did two lovers give a greater loose to their delights than
did these two for five or six months; they lived in all the
endearments which could enter into the hearts of young beginners.
This is _Abelard's_ own account of the matter. He compares
himself to such as have been long kept in a starving condition, and
at last are brought to a feast. A grave and studious man exceeds a
debauchee in his enjoyments of a woman whom he loves and of whom he
is passionately beloved.
_Abelard_ being thus enchanted with the caresses of his
mistress, neglected all his serious and important affairs. His
performances in public were wretched. His scholars perceived it, and
soon guessed the reason. His head was turned to nothing but amorous
verses. His school was his aversion, and he spent as little time in
it as he could. As for his lectures they were commonly the old ones
served up again: the night was wholly lost from his studies; and his
leisure was employed in writing songs, which were dispersed and sung
in diverse provinces of France many years after. In short our lovers,
who were in their own opinion the happiest pair in the world, kept so
little guard, that their amours were every where talked of, and all
the world saw plainly that the sciences were not always the subject
of their conversation. Only honest Fulbert, under whose nose all this
was done, was the last man that heard any thing of it; he wanted eyes
to see that which was visible to all the world; and if any body went
about to tell him of it, he was prepossessed with so good an opinion
of his niece and her master, that he would believe nothing against
them.
But at last so many discoveries were daily made to him, that he
could not help believing something; he therefore resolved to separate
them, and by that means prevent the ill consequences of their too
great familiarity. However, he thought it best to convict them
himself, before he proceeded further; and therefore watched them so
closely, that he had one day an opportunity of receiving ocular
satisfaction that the reports he had heard were true. In short he
surprised them together. And though he was naturally cholerick, yet
he appeared so moderate on this occasion as to leave them under
dismal apprehensions of something worse to come after. The result
was, that they must be parted.
Who can express the torment our lovers felt upon this separation!
However, it served only to unite their hearts more firmly; they
were but the more eager to see one another. Difficulties increased
their desires, and put them upon any attempts without regarding
what might be the consequence. _Abelard_ finding it impossible
to live without his dear _Heloise_, endeavoured to settle a
correspondence with her by her maid Agaton, who was a handsome brown
girl, well shaped, and likely enough to have pleased a man who was
not otherwise engaged. But what a surprise was it to our Doctor, to
find this girl refuse his money, and in recompence of the services
she was to do him with his mistress, demanded no less a reward than
his heart, and making him at once a plain declaration of love!
_Abelard_ who could love none but _Heloise_, turned from
her abruptly, without answering a word. But a rejected woman is a
dangerous creature. Agaton knew well how to revenge the affront put
upon her, and failed not to acquaint Fulbert with _Abelard's_
offers to her, without saying a word how she had been disobliged.
Fulbert thought it was time to look about him. He thanked the maid
for her care, and entered into measures with her, how to keep _Abelard_
from visiting his niece.
The Doctor was now more perplexed than ever: he had no ways left
but to apply himself to _Heloise's_ singing-master; and the gold
which the maid refused prevailed with him. By this means _Abelard_
conveyed a letter to _Heloise_, in which he told her, that he
intended to come and see her at night, and that the way he had
contrived was over the garden-wall by a ladder of cords. This project
succeeded, and brought them together. After the first transports of
this short interview, _Heloise_, who had found some more than
ordinary symptoms within her, acquainted her lover with it. She had
informed him of it before by a letter; and now having this
opportunity to consult about it; they agreed that she should go to a
sister of his in Britany, at whose house she might be privately
brought to bed. But before they parted, he endeavored to comfort her,
and make her easy in this distress, by giving her assurances of
marriage. When _Heloise_ heard this proposal she peremptorily
rejected it, and gave such reasons * for her refusal, as left _Abelard_
in the greatest astonishment.
* See _Abelard's_ letter to _Philintus_, and _Heloise's_
first _Letter to Abelard_.
Indeed a refusal of this nature is so extraordinary a thing, that
perhaps another instance of it is not to be found in history. I
persuade myself, therefore, that I shall not offend my reader, if I
make some few remarks upon it. It often happens, that the passion of
love stifles or over-rules the rebukes of conscience; but it is
unusual for it to extinguish the sensibility of honour. I don't speak
of persons of mean birth and no education; but for others, all young
women, I suppose, who engage in love-intrigues, flatter themselves
with one of these views; either they hope they shall not prove with
child, or they shall conceal it from the world, or they shall get
themselves married. As for such as resolve to destroy the fruit of
their amours, there are but few so void of all natural affections as
to be capable of this greatest degree of barbarity. However, this
shows plainly, that if Love tyrannizes sometimes, it is such a tyrant
as leaves honour in possession of its rights. But _Heloise_ had
a passion so strong, that she was not at all concerned for her honour
or reputation. She was overjoyed to find herself with child, and yet
she did her utmost not to be married. Never fore was so odd an
example as these two things made when put together. The first was
very extraordinary; and how many young women in the world would
rather be married to a disagreeable husband than live in a state of
reproach? They know the remedy is bad enough, and will cost them
dear; but what signifies that, so long as the name of husband hides
the flaws made in their honour? But as for _Heloise_, she was
not so nice in this point. An excess of passion, never heard of
before, made her chuse to be _Abelard's_ mistress rather than
his wife. We shall see, in the course of this history, how firm she
was in this resolution, with what arguments she supported it, and how
earnestly she persuaded her gallant to be of the same mind.
_Abelard_, who was willing to lose no time, least his dear
_Heloise_ should fall into her uncle's hands, disguised her in
the habit of a nun, and sent her away with the greatest dispatch,
hoping that after she was brought to bed, he should have more leisure
to persuade her to marriage, by which they might screen themselves
from the reproach which must otherwise come upon them, as soon as the
business should be publickly known.
As soon as _Heloise_ was set forward on her journey, _Abelard_
resolved to make Fulbert a visit in order to appease him, if
possible, and prevent the ill effects of his just indignation.
The news that _Heloise_ was privately withdrawn soon made a
great noise in the neighbourhood; and reaching Fulbert's ears, filled
him with grief and melancholy. Besides, that he had a very tender
affection for his niece, and could not live without her, he had the
utmost resentment of the affront which _Abelard_ had put upon
him, by abusing the freedom he had allowed him. This fired him with
such implacable fury, as in the end fell heavy upon our poor lovers,
and had very dreadful consequences.
When Fulbert saw _Abelard_, and heard from him the reason why
_Heloise_ was withdrawn, never was man in such a passion. He
abandoned himself to the utmost distractions of rage, despair, and
thirst of revenge. All the affronts, reproaches, and menaces that
could be thought of, were heaped upon _Abelard_; who was, poor
man, very passive, and ready to make the Canon all the satisfaction
he was able. He gave him leave to say what he pleased; and when he
saw that he tired himself with exclaiming, he took up the discourse,
and ingenuously confess'd his crime. Then he had recourse to all the
prayers, submissions, and promises, he could invent; and begged of
him to consider the force of Love, and what foils this tyrant has
given to the greatest men: that the occasion of the present
misfortunes was the most violent passion that ever was; that this
passion continued still; and that he was ready to give both him and
his niece all the satisfaction which this sort of injury required.
Will you marry her then? said Fulbert, interrupting him. Yes, replied
_Abelard_, if you please, and she will consent. If I please!
said the Canon, pausing a little; if she will consent! And do you
question either? Upon this he was going to offer him his reasons,
after his hasty way, why they should be married: But _Abelard_
entreated him to suppress his passion a while, and hear what he had
to offer: which was, that their marriage might for some time be kept
secret. No, says the Canon, the dishonor you have done my niece is
public, and the reparation you make her shall be so too, But _Abelard_
told him, that since they were to be one family, he hoped he would
consider his interest as his own. At last after a great many
intreaties, Fulbert seemed content it should be as _Abelard_
desired; that he should marry _Heloise_ after she was brought to
bed, and that in the mean time the business should be kept secret.
_Abelard_, having given his scholars a vacation, returned
into Britany to visit his designed spouse, and to acquaint her with
what had passed. She was not at all concerned at her uncle's
displeasure; but that which troubled her was, the resolution which
she saw her lover had taken to marry her, She endeavoured to dissuade
him from it with all the arguments she could think of. She begun with
representing to him the wrong he did himself in thinking of marriage:
that as she never loved him but for his own sake, she preferred his
glory, reputation, and interest, before her own. I know my uncle,
said she, will never be pacified with any thing we can do, and what
honour shall I get by being your wife, when at the same time I
certainly ruin your reputation? What curse may I not justly fear,
should I rob the world of so eminent a person as you are? What an
injury shall I do the Church? how much shall I disoblige the learned?
and what a shame and disparagement will it be to you, whom Nature has
fitted for the public good, to devote yourself entirely to a wife?
Remember what St. _Paul_ says, _Art thou loosed from a wife?
seek not a wife._ If neither this great man, not the fathers of
the church, can make you change your resolution, consider at least
what your philosophers say of it. Socrates has proved, by many
arguments, that a wife man ought not to marry. Tully put away his
wife Terentia; and when Hircius offered him his sister in marriage he
told him, he desired to be excused, because he could never bring
himself to divide his thoughts between his books and his wife. In
short, said she, how can the study of divinity and philosophy comport
with the cries of children, the songs of nurses, and all the hurry of
a family? What an odd fight will it be to see maids and scholars,
desks and cradles, books and distaffs, pens and spindles, one among
another? Those who are rich are never disturbed with the care and
charges of housekeeping; but with you scholars it is far otherwise*.
* _Heloissa dehortabat me nuptiis. Nuptia non conveniunt cum
philosophia_, &c. Oper. Abel. p 14.
He that will get an estate must mind the affairs of the world, and
consequently is taken off from the study of divinity and philosophy.
Observe the conduct of the wife Pagans in this point, who preferred a
single life before marriage, and be ashamed that you cannot come up
to them. Be more careful to maintain the character and dignity of a
philosopher. Don't you know, that there is no action of life which
draws after it so sure and long a repentance, and to so little
purpose? You fancy to yourself the enjoyments you shall have in being
bound to me by a bond which nothing but death can break: but know
there is no such thing as sweet chains; and there is a thousand times
more glory, honour, and pleasure, in keeping firm to an union which
love alone has established, which is supported by mutual esteem and
merit, and which owes its continuance to nothing but the satisfaction
of seeing each other free. Shall the laws and customs which the gross
and carnal world has invented hold us together more surely than the
bonds of mutual affection? Take my word for it, you'll see me too
often when you see me ev'ry day: you'll have no value for my love nor
favours when they are due to you, and cost you no care. Perhaps you
don't think of all this at present; but you'll think of nothing else
when it will be too late. I don't take notice what the world will
say, to see a man in your circumstances get him a wife, and so throw
away your reputation, your fortune and your quiet. In short,
continued she, the quality of mistress is a hundred times more
pleasing to me than that of a wife. Custom indeed, has given a
dignity to this latter name, and we are imposed upon by it; but
Heaven is my witness, I had rather be _Abelard's_ mistress than
lawful wife to the Emperor of the whole world. I am very sure I shall
always prefer your advantage and satisfaction before my own honour,
and all the reputation, wealth, and enjoyments, which the most
splendid marriage could bring me. Thus _Heloise_ argued, and
added a great many more reasons, which I forbear to relate, lest I
should tire my reader. It is enough for him to know, that they are
chiefly grounded upon her preference of love to marriage, and liberty
to necessity.
We might therefore suppose that _Heloise_ was afraid lest
marriage should prove the tomb of love. The Count de Buffi, who
passes for the translator of some of her Letters, makes this to be
her meaning, though cloathed in delicate language. But if we examine
those which she writ to _Abelard_ after their separation, and
the expressions she uses to put him in mind, that he was indebted for
the passion she had for him to nothing but love itself, we must allow
that she had more refined notions, and that never woman was so
disinterested. She loved _Abelard_ 'tis true; but she declared
it was not his sex that she most valued in him.
Some authors * are of opinion, that it was not an excess of love
which made _Abelard_ press _Heloise_ to marriage, but only
to quiet his conscience: but how can any one tell his reasons for
marriage better than he himself? Others say ** that if _Heloise_
did really oppose _Abelard's_ design of marrying her so
earnestly, it was not because she thought better of concubinage than
a married life, but because her affection and respect for her lover
leading her to seek his honour and advantage in all things, she was
afraid that by marrying him she should stand between him and a
bishoprick, which his wit and learning well deserved. But there is no
such thing in her Letters, nor in the long account which _Abelard_
has left us of the arguments which his mistress used to dissuade him
from marriage. These are the faults of many authors, who put such
words in the mouths of persons as are most conformable to their own
ideas. It is often more advantageous, that a woman should leave her
lover free for church dignities, than render him incapable of them by
marriage: but is it just therefore to suppose that _Heloise_ had
any such motives? There is indeed a known story of a man that was
possessed of a prebend, and quitted it for a wife. The day after the
wedding, he said to his bride, My dear, consider how passionately I
loved you, since I lost my preferment to marry you. You have done a
very foolish thing, said she; you might have kept that, and have had
me notwithstanding.
* _D'ctionnaire de Moreri_
** _Fran. d'Amboise._
But to return to our lovers. A modern author, who well understood
human nature, has affirmed, "That women by the favours they
grant to men, grow she fonder of them; but, on the contrary, the men
grow more indifferent*." This is not always true, _Abelard_
was not the less enamoured with _Heloise_ after she had given
him the utmost proofs of her love; and their familiarity was
so far from having abated his flame, that it seems all the
eloquence of _Heloise_ could not persuade _Abelard_ that he wronged
himself in thinking to marry her. He admired the wit, the passion,
and the ingenuity of his mistress, but in these things he did not
come short of her. He knew so well how to represent to her the
necessity of marriage, the discourse which he had about it with
Fulbert, his rage if they declined it, and how dangerous it might be
to both of them, that at last she consented to do whatever he
pleased: but still with an inconceivable reluctance, which showed
that she yielded for no other reason but the fear of disobliging him.
* _M. de la Bruyere._
_Abelard_ was willing to be near his mistress till she was
brought to bed, which in a short time she was of a boy. As soon as
_Heloise_ was fit to go abroad, _Abelard_ carried her to
Paris, where they were married in the most private manner that could
be, having no other company but Fulbert, and two or three particular
friends. However, the wedding quickly came to be known. The news of
it was already whispered about; people soon began to talk of it more
openly, till at last they mentioned it to the married pair.
Fulbert who was less concerned to keep his word than to cover the
reproach of his family, took care to spread it abroad. But _Heloise_,
who loved _Abelard_ a thousand times better than she did
herself, and always valued her dear Doctor's honour above her own,
denied it with the most solemn protestations, and did all she could
to make the world believe her. She constantly affirmed, that the
reports of it were mere slanders; that _Abelard_ never proposed
any such thing; and if he had, she would never have consented to it.
In short, she denied it so constantly, and with such earnestness,
that she was generally believed. Many people thought, and boldly
affirmed, that the Doctor's enemies had spread this story on purpose
to lessen his character. This report came to Fulbert's ears, who,
knowing that _Heloise_ was the sole author of it, fell into so
outrageous a passion at her, that after a thousand reproaches and
menaces, he proceeded to use her barbarously. But _Abelard_, who
loved her never the worse for being his wife, could not see this many
days with patience. He resolved therefore to order matters so as to
deliver her from this state of persecution. To this purpose they
consulted together what course was to be taken; and agreed, that for
setting them both free, her from the power and ill-humour of her
uncle, and him from the persecuting reports which went about of him,
_Heloise_ should retire into a convent, where she should take
the habit of a nun, all but the veil, that so she might easily come
out again, when they should have a more favourable opportunity. This
design was proposed, approved, and executed, almost at the same time.
By this means they effectually put a stop to all reports about a
marriage. But the Canon was too dangerous a person to be admitted to
this consultation; he would never have agreed to their proposal; nor
could he hear of it without the utmost rage. 'Twas then that he
conceived a new desire of revenge, which he pursued till he had
executed it in the most cruel manner imaginable. This retreat of
_Heloise_ gave him the more sensible affliction, because she was
so far from covering her own reputation, that she completed his
shame. He considered it as _Abelard's_ contrivance, and a
fresh instance of his perfidious dealing towards him. And this
reflection put him upon studying how to be revenged on them both at
one stroke; which, aiming at the root of the mischief, should forever
disable them from offending again.
While this plot was in agitation, the lovers, who were not apt to
trouble their heads about what might happen, spent their time in the
most agreeable manner that could be. _Abelard_ could not live
long without a sight of his dear wife. He made her frequent visits in
the convent of Argenteuil, to which she was retired. The nuns of
this abbey enjoyed a very free kind of life: the grates and parlours
were open enough. As for _Heloise_, she had such excellent
qualifications as made the good sisters very fond of her, and
extremely pleased that they had such an amiable companion. And as
they were not ignorant what reports there were abroad, that she was
married to the famous _Abelard_, (though she denied it to the
last,) the most discerning among them, observing the frequent visits
of the Doctor, easily imagined that she had reasons for keeping
herself private, and so they took her case into consideration, and
expressed a wonderful compassion for her misfortunes.
Some of them, whom _Heloise_ loved above the rest, and in
whom she put great confidence, were not a little aiding and assisting
in the private interviews which she had with _Abelard_, and in
giving him opportunities to enter the convent. The amorous Doctor
made the best use of every thing. The habit which _Heloise_ wore
the place where he was to see her, the time and seasons proper for
his visit, the stratagems which must be used to facilitate his
entrance, and carry him undiscovered to _Heloise's_ chamber, the
difficulties they met with, the reasons they had for not letting it
be known who they were, and the fear they were in of being taken
together; all this gave their amours an air of novelty, and added to
their lawful embraces all the taste of stolen delights.
These excesses had then their charms, but in the end had fatal
consequences. The furious Canon persisting in his design of being
revenged on _Abelard_, notwithstanding his marriage with his
niece, found means to corrupt a domestic of the unfortunate Doctor,
who gave admittance into his master's chamber to some assassins hired
by Fulbert, who seized him in his sleep, and cruelly deprived him of
his manhood, but not his life. The servant and his accomplices fled
for it. The wretched _Abelard_ raised such terrible outcries,
that the people in the house and the neighbours being alarmed,
hastened to him, and gave such speedy assistance, that he was soon
out of a condition of fearing death.
The news of this accident made great noise, and its singularity
raised the curiosity of abundance of persons, who came the next day
as in procession, to see, to lament and comfort him. His scholars
loudly bewailed his misfortune, and the women distinguished
themselves upon this occasion by extraordinary marks of tenderness.
And 'tis probable among the great number of ladies who pitied
_Abelard_, there were some with whom he had been very intimate:
for his philosophy did not make him scrupulous enough to esteem every
small infidelity a crime, when it did not lessen his constant love of
_Heloise_.
This action of Fulbert was too tragical to pass unpunished: the
traiterous servant and one of the assassins were seized and condemned
to lose their eyes, and to suffer what they had done to _Abelard_.
But Fulbert denying he had any share in the action saved himself from
the punishment with the loss only of his benefices. This sentence did
not satisfy _Abelard_; he made his complaint to no purpose to
the bishop and canons; and if he had made a remonstrance at Rome,
where he once had a design of carrying the matter, 'tis probable he
would have had no better success. It requires too much money to gain
a cause there. One _Foulques_, prior of Deuil, and intimate
friend of _Abelard_, wrote thus to him upon the occasion of his
misfortune: "If you appeal to the Pope without bringing an
immense sum of money, it will be useless: nothing can satisfy the
infinite avarice and luxury of the Romans. I question if you have
enough for such an undertaking; and if you attempt it, nothing will
perhaps remain but the vexation of having flung away so much money.
They who go to Rome without large sums to squander away, will return
just as they went, the expence of their journey only excepted*."
But since I am upon Foulques's letters which is too extraordinary to
be passed over in silence, I shall give the reader some reflections
which may make him amends for the trouble of a new digression.
* _This Letter is extant in_ Latin _in _Abelard's _Works_.