speak to her. Lovers either find or make all things easy. By the
offices of common friends I gained the acquaintance of Fulbert. And,
can you believe it, _Philintus_? he allowed me the privilege of
his table, and an apartment in his house. I paid him, indeed, a
considerable sum; for persons of his character do nothing without
money. But what would I not have given! You my dear friend, know what
love is; imagine then what a pleasure it must have been to a heart so
inflamed as mine to be always so near the dear object of desire! I
would not have exchanged my happy condition for that of the greatest
monarch upon earth. I saw _Heloise_, I spoke to her: each
action, each confused look, told her the trouble of my soul. And she,
on the other side, gave me ground to hope for every thing from her
generosity. Fulbert desired me to instruct her in philosophy; by this
means I found opportunities of being in private with her and yet I
was sure of all men the most timorous in declaring my passion.
As I was with her one day, alone, Charming _Heloise_, said I,
blushing, if you know yourself, you will not be surprised with what
passion you have inspired me with. Uncommon as it is, I can express
it but with the common terms;--I love you, adorable _Heloise_!
Till now I thought philosophy made us masters, of all our passions,
and that it was a refuge from the storms in which weak mortals are
tossed and shipwrecked; but you have destroyed my security, and
broken this philosophic courage. I have despised riches; honour and
its pageantries could never raise a weak thought in me; beauty alone
hath fired my soul. Happy, if she who raised this passion kindly
receives the declaration; but if it is an offence--No, replied
_Heloise_; she must be very ignorant of your merit who can be
offended at your passion. But, for my own repose, I wish either that
you had not made this declaration, or that I were at liberty not to
suspect your sincerity. Ah, divine _Heloise_, said I, flinging
myself at her feet, I swear by yourself--I was going on to
convince her of the truth of my passion, but heard a noise, and it
was Fulbert. There was no avoiding it, but I must do a violence to my
desire, and change the discourse to some other subject. After this I
found frequent opportunities to free _Heloise_ from those
suspicions which the general insincerity of men had raised in her;
and she too much desired what I said were truth, not to believe it.
Thus there was a most happy understanding between us. The same house,
the same love, united our persons and our desires. How many soft
moments did we pass together! We took all opportunities to express to
each other our mutual affections, and were ingenious in contriving
incidents which might give us a plausible occasion for meeting.
Pyramus and Thisbe's discovery of the crack in the wall was but a
slight representation of our love and its sagacity. In the dead of
night, when Fulbert and his domestics were in a sound sleep, we
improved the time proper to the sweets of love. Not contenting
ourselves, like those unfortunate loves, with giving insipid kisses
to a wall, we made use of all the moments of our charming interviews.
In the place where we met we had no lions to fear, and the study of
philosophy served us for a blind. But I was so far from making any
advances in the sciences that I lost all my taste of them; and when I
was obliged to go from the sight of my dear mistress to my
philosophical exercises, it was with the utmost regret and
melancholy. Love is incapable of being concealed; a word, a look, nay
silence, speaks it. My scholars discovered it first: they saw I had
no longer that vivacity thought to which all things were easy: I
could now do nothing but write verses to sooth my passion. I quitted
Aristotle and his dry maxims, to practise the precepts of the more
ingenious Ovid. No day passed in which I did not compose amorous
verses. Love was my inspiring Apollo. My songs were spread abroad,
and gained me frequent applauses. Those whom were in love as I was
took a pride in learning them; and, by luckily applying my thoughts
and verses, have obtained favours which, perhaps, they could not
otherwise have gained. This gave our amours such an _eclat_,
that the loves of _Heloise_ and _Abelard_ were the subject
of all conversations.
The town-talk at last reached Fulbert's ears. It was with great
difficulty he gave credit to what he heard, for he loved his niece,
and was prejudiced in my favour; but, upon closer examination, he
began to be less incredulous. He surprised us in one of our more soft
conversations. How fatal, sometimes, are the consequences of
curiosity! The anger of Fulbert seemed to moderate on this occasion,
and I feared in the end some more heavy revenge. It is impossible to
express the grief and regret which filled my soul when I was obliged
to leave the canon's house and my dear _Heloise_. But this
separation of our persons the more firmly united our minds; and the
desperate condition we were reduced to, made us capable of attempting
any thing.
My intrigues gave me but little shame, so lovingly did I esteem
the occasion. Think what the gay young divinities said, when Vulcan
caught Mars and the goddess of Beauty in his net, and impute it all
to me. Fulbert surprised me with _Heloise_, and what man that
had a soul in him would not have borne any ignominy on the same
conditions? The next day I provided myself of a private lodging near
the loved house, being resolved not to abandon my prey. I continued
some time without appearing publickly. Ah, how long did those few
moments seem to me! When we fall from a state of happiness, with what
impatience do we bear our misfortunes!
It being impossible that I could live without seeing _Heloise_,
I endeavoured to engage her servant, whose name was _Agaton_, in
my interest. She was brown, well shaped, a person superior to the
ordinary rank; her features regular, and her eyes sparkling; fit to
raise love in any man whose heart was not prepossessed by another
passion. I met her alone, and intreated her to have pity on a
distressed lover. She answered, she would undertake any thing to
serve me, but there was a reward.--At these words I opened my
purse and showed the shining metal, which lays asleep guards, forces
away through rocks, and softens the hearts of the most obdurate fair.
You are mistaken, said she, smiling, and shaking her head--you
do not know me. Could gold tempt me, a rich abbot takes his nightly
station, and sings under my window: he offers to send me to his
abbey, which, he says, is situate in the most pleasant country in the
world. A courtier offers me a considerable sum of money, and assures
me I need have no apprehensions; for if our amours have consequences,
he will marry me to his gentleman, and give him a handsome
employment. To say nothing of a young officer, who patroles about
here every night, and makes his attacks after all imaginable forms.
It must be Love only which could oblige him to follow me; for I have
not like your great ladies, any rings or jewels to tempt him: yet,
during all his siege of love, his feather and his embroidered coat
have not made any breach in my heart. I shall not quickly be brought
to capitulate, I am too faithful to my first conqueror--and then
she looked earnestly on me. I answered, I did not understand her
discourse. She replied, For a man of sense and gallantry you have a
very slow apprehension; I am in love with you _Abelard_. I know
you adore _Heloise_, I do not blame you; I desire only to enjoy
the second place in your affections. I have a tender heart as well as
my mistress; you may without difficulty make returns to my passion.
Do not perplex yourself with unfashionable scruples; a prudent man
ought to love several at the same time; if one should fail, he is not
then left unprovided.
You cannot imagine, _Philintus_, how much I was surprised at
these words. So entirely did I love _Heloise_ that without
reflecting whether Agaton spoke any thing reasonable or not, I
immediately left her. When I had gone a little way from her I looked
back, and saw her biting her nails in the rage of disappointment,
which made me fear some fatal consequences. She hastened to Fulbert,
and told him the offer I had made her, but I suppose concealed the
other part of the story. The Canon never forgave this affront. I
afterwards perceived he was more deeply concerned for his niece than
I at first imagined. Let no lover hereafter follow my example, A
woman rejected is an outrageous creature. Agaton was day and night at
her window on purpose to keep me at a distance from her mistress, and
so gave her own gallants opportunity enough to display their several
abilities.
I was infinitely perplexed what course to take; at last I applied
to _Heloise_ singing-master. The shining metal, which had no
effect on Agaton, charmed him; he was excellently qualified for
conveying a billet with the greatest dexterity and secrecy. He
delivered one of mine to _Heloise_, who, according to my
appointment was ready at the end of a garden, the wall of which I
scaled by a ladder of ropes. I confess to you all my failings,
_Philintus_. How would my enemies, Champeaux and Anselm, have
triumphed, had they seen the redoubted philosopher in such a wretched
condition? Well--I met my soul's joy, my _Heloise_. I shall
not describe our transports, they were not long; for the first
news _Heloise_ acquainted me with plunged me in a thousand
distractions. A floating _delos_ was to be sought for, where she
might be safely delivered of a burthen she began already to feel.
Without losing much time in debating, I made her presently quit the
Canon's house, and at break of day depart for Britany; where, she
like another goddess, gave the world another Apollo, which my sister
took care of.
This carrying off _Heloise_ was sufficient revenge upon
Fulbert. It filled him with the deepest concern, and had like to have
deprived him of all the little share of wit which Heaven had allowed
him. His sorrow and lamentation gave the censorious an occasion of
suspecting him for something more than the uncle of _Heloise_.
In short, I began to pity his misfortune, and think this robbery
which love had made me commit was a sort of treason. I endeavoured to
appease his anger by a sincere confession of all that was past, and
by hearty engagements to marry _Heloise_ secretly. He gave me
his consent and with many protestations and embraces confirmed our
reconciliation. But what dependence can be made on the word of an
ignorant devotee. He was only plotting a cruel revenge, as you will
see by what follows.
I took a journey into Britany, in order to bring back my dear
_Heloise_, whom I now considered as my wife. When I had
acquainted her with what had passed between the Canon and me, I found
she was of a contrary opinion to me. She urged all that was possible
to divert me from marriage: that it was a bond always fatal to a
philosopher; that the cries of children, and cares of a family, were
utterly inconsistent with the tranquility and application which the
study of philosophy required. She quoted to me all that was written
on the subject by Theophrastus, Cicero, and, above all, insisted on
the unfortunate Socrates, who quitted life with joy, because by that
means he left Xantippe. Will it not be more agreeable to me, said
she, to see myself your mistress than your wife? and will not love
have more power than marriage to keep our hearts firmly united?
Pleasures tasted sparingly, and with difficulty, have always a higher
relish, while every thing, by being easy and common, grows flat and
insipid.
I was unmoved by all this reasoning. _Heloise_ prevailed upon
my sister to engage me. Lucille (for that was her name) taking me
aside one day, said, What do you intend, brother? Is it possible that
_Abelard_ should in earnest think of marrying _Heloise_?
She seems indeed to deserve a perpetual affection; beauty, youth, and
learning, all that can make a person valuble, meet in her. You may
adore all this if you please; but not to flatter you, what is beauty
but a flower, which may be blasted by the least fit of sickness? When
those features, with which you have been so captivated, shall be
sunk, and those graces lost, you will too late repent that you have
entangled yourself in a chain, from which death only can free you. I
shall see you reduced to the married man's only hope of survivorship.
Do you think learning ought to make _Heloise_ more amiable? I
know she is not one of those affected females who are continually
oppressing you with fine speeches, criticising books, and deciding
upon the merit of authors, When such a one is in the fury of her
discourse, husbands, friends, servants, all fly before her. _Heloise_
has not this fault; yet it is troublesome not to be at liberty to use
the least improper expression before a wife, that you bear with
pleasure from a mistress.
But you say, you are sure of the affections of _Heloise_ I
believe it; she has given you no ordinary proofs. But can you be sure
marriage will not be the tomb of her love? The name of Husband and
Master are always harsh, and _Heloise_ will not be the phenix
you now think her. Will she not be a woman? Come, come, the head of a
philosopher is less secure than those of other men. My sister grew
warm in the argument, and was going to give me a hundred more reasons
of this kind; but I angrily interrupted her, telling her only, that
she did not know _Heloise_.
A few days after, we departed together from Britany, and came to
Paris, where I completed my project. It was my intent my marriage
should be kept secret, and therefore _Heloise_ retired among the
nuns of Argenteuil.
I now thought Fulbert's anger disarmed; I lived in peace: but,
alas! our marriage proved but a weak defence against his revenge.
Observe, _Philintus_, to what a barbarity he pursued it! He
bribed my servants; an assassin came into my bed chamber by night
with a razor in his hand, and found me in a deep sleep. I suffered
the most shameful punishment that the revenge of an enemy could
invent; in short without losing my life, I lost my manhood. I was
punished indeed in the offending part; the desire was left me, but
not the possibility of satisfying the passion. So cruel an action
escaped not unpunished; the villain suffered the same infliction;
poor comfort for so irretrievable an evil; I confess to you, shame,
more than any sincere penitence; made me resolve to hide myself from
my _Heloise_. Jealousy took possession of my mind; at the very
expence of her happiness I decreed to disappoint all rivals. Before I
put myself in a cloister, I obliged her to take the habit, and
retire into the nunnery of Argenteuil. I remember somebody would have
opposed her making such a cruel sacrifice of herself, but she
answered in the words of Cornelia, after the death of Pompey the
Great;
"--O conjux, ego te scelereta peremi,
--Te fata extrema petente
Vita digna fui? Moriar----&c.
O my lov'd lord! our fatal marriage draws
On thee this doom, and I the guilty cause!
Then whilst thou go'st th' extremes
of Fate to prove,
I'll share that fate, and expiate thus my love."
Speaking these verses, she marched up to the altar, and took the
veil with a constancy which I could not have expected in a woman who
had so high a taste of pleasure which she might still enjoy. I
blushed at my own weakness; and without deliberating a moment longer,
I buried myself in a cloister, resolving to vanquish a fruitless
passion. I now reflected that God had chastised me thus grievously,
that he might save me from that destruction in which I had like to
have been swallowed up. In order to avoid idleness, the unhappy
incendiary of those criminal flames which had ruined me in the world,
I endeavoured in my retirement to put those talents to a good use
which I had before so much abused. I gave the novices rules of
divinity agreeable to the holy fathers and councils. In the mean
while, the enemies which my fame had raised up, and especially
Alberic and Lotulf, who after the death of their masters Champeaux
and Anselm affirmed the sovereignty of learning, began to attack me.
They loaded me with the falsest imputations, and, notwithstanding all
my defence, I had the mortification to see my books condemned by a
council and burnt. This was a cutting sorrow, and, believe me,
_Philintus_, the former calamity suffered by the cruelty of
Fulbert was nothing in comparison to this.
The affront I had newly received, and the scandalous debaucheries
of the monks, obliged me to banish myself, and retire near Nogent. I
lived in a desart, where I flattered myself I should avoid fame, and
be secure from the malice of my enemies. I was again deceived. The
desire of being taught by me, drew crowds of auditors even thither.
Many left the towns and their houses, and came and lived in tents;
for herbs, coarse fare, and hard lodging, they abandoned the
delicacies of a plentiful table and easy life. I looked like a
prophet in the wilderness attended by his disciples. My lectures were
perfectly clear from all that had been condemned. And happy had it
been if our solitude had been inaccessible to Envy! With the
considerable gratuities I received I built a chapel, and dedicated it
to the Holy Ghost, by the name of the Paraclete. The rage of my
enemies now awakened again, and forced me to quit this retreat. This
I did without much difficulty. But first the Bishop of Troies gave me
leave to establish there a nunnery, which I did, and committed the
care of it to my dear _Heloise_. When I had settled her here,
can you believe it, _Philintus_? I left her without taking any
leave. I did not wander long without settled habitation; for the Duke
of Britany, informed of my misfortunes, named me to the Abbey of
_Guildas_, where I now am, and where I now suffer every day
fresh persecutions.
I live in a barbarous country, the language of which I do not
understand. I have no conversation with the rudest people. My walks
are on the inaccessible shore of a sea which is perpetually stormy.
My monks are known by their dissoluteness, and living without rule or
order. Could you see the abbey _Philintus_, you would not call
it one. The doors and walls are without any ornament except the heads
of wild boars and hinds' feet, which are nailed up against them, and
the heads of frightful animals. The cells are hung with the skins of
deer. The monks have not so much as a bell to wake them; the cocks
and dogs supply that defect. In short, they pass their whole days in
hunting; would to Heaven that were their greatest fault, or that
their pleasures terminated there! I endeavour in vain to recall them
to their duty; they all combine against me, and I only expose myself
to continual vexations and dangers. I imagine that every moment a
naked sword hang over my head. Sometimes they surround me and load me
with infinite abuses; sometimes they abandon me, and I am left alone
to my own tormenting thoughts. I make it my endeavour to merit by my
sufferings, and to appease an angry God. Sometimes I grieve for the
house of the _Paraclete_, and wish to see it again. Ah,
_Philintus_! does not the love of _Heloise_ still burn in
my heart_?_ I have not yet triumphed over that happy passion. In
the midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear
name of _Heloise_, pleased to hear the sound, I complain of the
severity of Heaven. But, oh! let us not deceive ourselves: I have not
made a right use of grace. I am thoroughly wretched. I have not yet
torn from my heart deep roots which vice has planted in it. For if my
conversion was sincere, how could I take a pleasure to relate my past
follies? Could I not more easily comfort myself in my afflictions?
Could I not turn to my advantage those words of God himself, _If
they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if the world
hate you, ye know that it hated me also_? Come _Philintus_,
let us make a strong effort, turn our misfortunes to our advantage,
make them meritorious, or at least wipe out our offences; let us
receive, without murmuring, what comes from the hand of God, and let
us not oppose our will to his. Adieu. I give you advice, which could
I myself follow, I should be happy.
LETTER II.
_HELOISE to ABELARD._
The foregoing Letter would probably not have produced any
others, if it had been delivered to the person to whom it was
directed; but falling by accident into _Heloise's_ hands, who
knew the character she opened it and read it; and by that means her
former passion being awakened, she immediately set herself to write
to her husband as follows.
*To her Lord, her Father; her Husband, her Brother; his
Servant his Child; his Wife, his Sister; and to express all that is
humble, respectful and loving to her _Abelard_, _Heloise_
writes this.
_Domino suo, imo Patri; Conjugi suo, imo Fratri;
Ancilla sua, imo Filia; ipsius Uxor, imo Soror; Abaelardo Heloisa,
&c. Abel. Op._
A consolatory letter of yours to a friend happened some days since
to fall into my hands. My knowledge of the character, and my love of
the hand, soon gave me the curiosity to open it. In justification of
the liberty I took, I flattered myself I might claim a sovereign
privilege over every thing which came from you nor was I scrupulous
to break thro' the rules of good breeding, when it was to hear news
of _Abelard_. But how much did my curiosity cost me? what
disturbance did it occasion? and how was I surprised to find the
whole letter filled with a particular and melancholy account of our
misfortunes? I met with my name a hundred times; I never saw it
without fear: some heavy calamity always, followed it, I saw yours
too, equally unhappy. These mournful but dear remembrances, puts my
spirits into such a violent motion, that I thought it was too much to
offer comfort to a friend for a few slight disgraces by such
extraordinary means, as the representation of our sufferings and
revolutions. What reflections did I not make, I began to consider the
whole afresh, and perceived myself pressed with the same weight of
grief as when we first began to be miserable. Tho' length of time
ought to have closed up my wounds, yet the seeing them described by
your hand was sufficient to make them all open and bleed afresh.
Nothing can ever blot from my memory what you have suffered in
defence of your writings. I cannot help thinking of the rancorous
malice of Alberic and Lotulf. A cruel uncle and an injured lover,
will be always present to my aking sight. I shall never forget what
enemies your learning, and what envy your glory, raised against you.
I shall never forget your reputation, so justly acquired, torn to
pieces, and blasted by the inexorable cruelty of half-learned
pretenders to science. Was not your Treatise of Divinity condemned to
be burnt? Were you not threatened with perpetual imprisonment? In
vain you urged in your defence, that your enemies imposed on you
opinions quite different from your meaning; in vain you condemned
those opinions; all was of no effect towards your justification; it
was resolved you should be a heretic. What did not those two false
prophets** accuse you of, who declaimed so severely against you
before the Council of Sens? What scandals were vented on occasion of
the name Paraclete given to your chapel? What a storm was raised
against you by the treacherous monks, when you did them the honour to
be called their Brother? This history of our numerous misfortunes,
related in so true and moving a manner, made my heart bleed within
me. My tears, which I could not restrain, have blotted half your
letter: I wish they had effaced the whole and that I had returned it
to you in that condition. I should then have been satisfied with the
little time; kept it, but it was demanded of me too soon.
** St. Bernard and St. Norbet.