LORD'S LECTURES
BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY, VOLUME VII
GREAT WOMEN.
BY JOHN LORD, LL.D.,
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD ROMAN WORLD," "MODERN EUROPE,"
ETC., ETC.
CONTENTS.
HÉLOÏSE.
LOVE.
Love, the flower of Eden
The two Venuses of Socrates
The Venus Urania
The memory of Héloïse cherished
Her birth and education
Her extraordinary gifts
Her aspirations
Peter Abélard
His wonderful genius
His early scholastic triumphs
Abélard at Paris
His wit and flippancy
His scepticism
His successes
His love for Héloïse
His mad infatuation
Scandal of the intimacy
Disinterestedness of Héloïse
Secret marriage of Abélard and Héloïse
Marriage discovered
Retirement of Héloïse and Abélard to separate convents
His renewed labors
His brilliant success
Persecution of Abélard
Letters to Héloïse
Héloïse cannot conquer her love
Her high social position
Her blameless life
Loves of Héloïse and Abélard analyzed
Greatness of sentiment
Last days of Abélard
His retreat to Cluny
Peter the Venerable
Grief of Héloïse
JOAN OF ARC.
HEROIC WOMEN.
Heroic qualities of women in the Middle Ages
Extraordinary appearance of Joan of Arc
Her early days
Her visions
Critical state of France at this period
Appreciated by Joan
Who resolves to come to the rescue of her king and country
Difficulties which surrounded her
Her services finally accepted
Her faith in her mission
Her pure and religious life
Joan sets out for the deliverance of Orleans
Succeeds in entering the city
Joan raises the siege of Orleans
Admiration of the people for her
Veneration for women among the Germanic nations
Joan marches to the siege of Rheims
Difficulty of the enterprise
Hesitation of the king
Rheims and other cities taken
Coronation of Charles
Mission of the Maid fulfilled
Successive military mistakes
Capture of Joan
Indifference and ingratitude of the King
Trial of Joan for heresy and witchcraft
Cruelty of the English to her
The diabolical persecution
Martyrdom of Joan
Tardy justice to her memory
Effects of the martyrdom
SAINT THERESA.
RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM.
Pleasures of the body the aim of Paganism
Aim of Christianity to elevate the soul
Mistakes of monastic life
The age of Saint Theresa
Her birth and early training
Mediaeval piety
Theresa sent to a convent to be educated
Her poor health
Religious despotism of the Middle Ages
Their gloom and repulsiveness
Faith and repentance divorced
Catholic theology
Theresa becomes a nun
Her serious illness
Her religious experience
The Confessions of Saint Augustine
The religious emancipation of Theresa
Her canticles
Her religious rhapsodies
Theresa seeks to found a convent
Opposition to her
Her discouragements
Her final success
Reformation of the Carmelite order
Convent of St. Joseph
Death of Saint Theresa
Writings of Saint Theresa
Her submission to authority
Her independence
Compared with Madame Guyon
Her posthumous influence
MADAME DE MAINTENON.
THE POLITICAL WOMAN.
Birth of Madame de Maintenon
Her early life
Marriage with Scarron
Governess of Montespan's children
Introduction to the King
Her incipient influence over him
Contrast of Maintenon with Montespan
Friendship of the King for Madame de Maintenon
Made mistress of the robes to the Dauphiness
Private marriage with Louis XIV
Reasons for its concealment
Unbounded power of Madame de Maintenon
Grandeur of Versailles
Great men of the court
The King's love of pomp and ceremony
Sources of his power
His great mistakes
The penalties he reaped
Secret of Madame de Maintenon's influence
Her mistakes
Religious intolerance
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes
Persecution of the Protestants
Influence of Bossuet
Foundation of the school of St. Cyr
Influence of Madame de Maintenon on education
Influence of Madame de Maintenon on morals
Influence of Madame de Maintenon on the court
Her reign a usurpation
Her greatness of character
SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.
THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD.
The Duchess of Marlborough compared with Madame de Maintenon
Birth and early influence
John Churchill
Marriage of Churchill and Sarah Jennings
Colonel Churchill made a peer
The Princess Anne
Lady Churchill
Their friendship
Coronation of William and Mary
Character of William III
Treason of the Earl of Marlborough
Energy and sagacity of the Queen
Naval victory of La Hogue
Temporary retirement of Marlborough
Death of the Duke of Gloucester
Marlborough, Captain-General.
Death of William III
Accession of Anne
Power of Marlborough
Lord Godolphin
Ascendency of Lady Marlborough
Her ambition
Her pride
Renewal of war with Louis XIV
Marlborough created a duke
Whigs and Tories
Harley, Earl of Oxford
His intrigues
Abigail Hill
Supplants the Duchess of Marlborough
Coolness between the Queen and Duchess
Battle of Ramillies
Miss Hill marries Mr. Masham
Declining influence of the Duchess
Her anger and revenge
Power of Harley
Disgrace of the Duchess
The Tories in power
Dismissal of Marlborough
Bolingbroke
Swift
His persecution of the Duchess
Addison
Voluntary exile of Marlborough
Unhappiness of the Duchess
Death of Queen Anne
Return of Marlborough to power
Attacked by paralysis
Death of Marlborough
His vast wealth
Declining days of the Duchess
Her character
Her death
Reflections on her career
MADAME RÉCAMIER.
THE WOMAN OF SOCIETY.
Queens of society first seen in Italy
Provençal poetry in its connection with chivalrous sentiments
Chivalry the origin of society
Society in Paris in the 17th Century
Marquise de Rambouillet
Her _salons_
Mademoiselle de Scudéri
Early days of Madame Récamier
Her marriage
Her remarkable beauty and grace
Her _salons_
Her popularity
Courted by Napoleon
Loss of property
Friendship with Madame de Staël
Incurs the hatred of Napoleon
Friendship with Ballanche
Madame Récamier in Italy
Return to Paris
Duke of Montmorency
Seclusion of Madame Récamier
Her intimate friends
Friendship with Châteaubriand
His gifts and high social position
His retirement from political life
His old age soothed by Récamier
Her lovely disposition
Her beautiful old age
Her death
Her character
Remarks on society
Sources of its fascinations
MADAME DE STAËL.
WOMAN IN LITERATURE.
Literature in the 18th Century
Rise of Madame de Staël
Her precocity
Her powers of conversation
Her love of society
Her marriage
Hatred of Napoleon
Her banishment
Her residence in Switzerland
Travels in Germany
Her work on literature
Her book on Germany
Its great merits
German philosophy
Visit to Italy
Sismondi
"Corinne"
Its popularity
A description of Italy
Marriage with Rocca
Madame de Staël in England
Her honors
Return to Paris
Incense offered to her
Her amazing éclat
Her death
Her merits as an author
Inaugurated a new style in literature
Her followers
Her influence
Literary women
Their future
HANNAH MORE.
EDUCATION OF WOMAN.
Progress of female education
Youth of Hannah More
Her accomplishments
Teaches school
Intimacy with great men
Shines in society
Wearied of it
Her ridicule of fashionable gatherings called society
Retirement to Cowslip Green
Her patrons and friends
Labors in behalf of the poor
Foundation of schools
Works on female education
Their good influence
Their leading ideas
Christian education
Removal to Barley Wood
Views of society
Her distinguished visitors
"Coelebs in Search of a Wife"
"Christian Morals"
Her laboring at the age of eighty
The quiet elegance of her life
Removal to Clifton
Happy old age
Death
Exalted character
Remarks on female education
The sphere of woman
What is woman to do?
GEORGE ELIOT.
WOMAN AS NOVELIST.
Notable eras of modern civilization
Nineteenth Century, the age of novelists
Scott, Fielding, Dickens, Thackeray
Bulwer; women novelists
Charlotte Brontë, Harriet Beecher Stowe, George Eliot
Early life of Marian Evans
Appearance, education, and acquirements
Change in religious views; German translations; Continental travel
Westminster Review; literary and scientific men
Her alliance with George Henry Lewes
Her life with him
Literary labors
First work of fiction, "Amos Barton," with criticism upon
her qualities as a novelist, illustrated by the story
"Mr. Gilfils Love Story"
"Adam Bede"
"The Mill on the Floss"
"Silas Marner"
"Romola"
"Felix Holt"
"Middlemarch"
"Daniel Deronda"
"Theophrastus Such"
General characteristics of George Eliot
Death of Mr. Lewes; her marriage with Mr. Cross
Lofty position of George Eliot in literature
Religious views and philosophical opinions
Her failure as a teacher of morals
Regret at her abandonment of Christianity
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME VII.
Madame de Récamier
_After the painting by Baron François Pascal Gérard_.
Abélard Teaching in the Paraclete
_After the painting by A. Steinheil_.
Joan of Arc Hears the Voices
_After the painting by Eugene Thirion_.
The Vision of St. Therese
_After the painting by Jean Brunet_.
Reception of the Great Condé by Louis XIV
_After the painting by J. L. Gérôme_.
Ministerial Conference of Louis XIV. at the Salon of Madam de Maintenon
_After the painting by John Gilbert_.
John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough
_After the painting by Pieter van der Werff, Pitti Palace, Florence_.
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough
_After the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller_.
Mme. de Récamier
_After the painting by Mlle. Morin_
Madame de Staël
_After the painting by Mlle. de Godefroid, Versailles_.
Garrick and His Wife
_After the painting by William Hogarth_.
Hannah More
_After the painting by H.W. Pickersgill, A.R.A._.
BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY
HÉLOÏSE.
* * * * *
A.D. 1101-1164.
LOVE.
When Adam and Eve were expelled from Paradise, they yet found one
flower, wherever they wandered, blooming in perpetual beauty. This
flower represents a great certitude, without which few would be
happy,--subtile, mysterious, inexplicable,--a great boon recognized
alike by poets and moralists, Pagan and Christian; yea, identified not
only with happiness, but human existence, and pertaining to the soul in
its highest aspirations. Allied with the transient and the mortal, even
with the weak and corrupt, it is yet immortal in its nature and lofty in
its aims,--at once a passion, a sentiment, and an inspiration.
To attempt to describe woman without this element of our complex nature,
which constitutes her peculiar fascination, is like trying to act the
tragedy of Hamlet without Hamlet himself,--an absurdity; a picture
without a central figure, a novel without a heroine, a religion without
a sacrifice. My subject is not without its difficulties. The passion or
sentiment I describe is degrading when perverted, as it is exalting when
pure. Yet it is not vice I would paint, but virtue; not weakness, but
strength; not the transient, but the permanent; not the mortal, but the
immortal,--all that is ennobling in the aspiring soul.
"Socrates," says Legouvé, "who caught glimpses of everything that he did
not clearly define, uttered one day to his disciples these beautiful
words: 'There are two Venuses: one celestial, called Urania, the
heavenly, who presides over all pure and spiritual affections; and the
other Polyhymnia, the terrestrial, who excites sensual and gross
desires.'" The history of love is the eternal struggle between these two
divinities,--the one seeking to elevate and the other to degrade. Plato,
for the first time, in his beautiful hymn to the Venus Urania, displayed
to men the unknown image of love,--the educator and the moralist,--so
that grateful ages have consecrated it by his name. Centuries rolled
away, and among the descendants of Teutonic barbarians a still lovelier
and more ideal sentiment burst out from the lips of the Christian Dante,
kindled by the adoration of his departed Beatrice. And as she courses
from star to star, explaining to him the mysteries, the transported poet
exclaims:--
"Ah, all the tongues which the Muses have inspired could not tell the
thousandth part of the beauty of the smile of Beatrice as she presented
me to the celestial group, exclaiming, 'Thou art redeemed!' O woman, in
whom lives all my hope, who hast deigned to leave for my salvation thy
footsteps on the throne of the Eternal, thou hast redeemed me from
slavery to liberty; now earth has no more dangers for me. I cherish the
image of thy purity in my bosom, that in my last hour, acceptable in
thine eyes, my soul may leave my body."
Thus did Dante impersonate the worship of Venus Urania,--spiritual
tenderness overcoming sensual desire. Thus faithful to the traditions of
this great poet did the austere Michael Angelo do reverence to the
virtues of Vittoria Colonna. Thus did the lofty Corneille present in his
Pauline a divine model of the love which inspires great deeds and
accompanies great virtues. Thus did Shakspeare, in his portrait of
Portia, show the blended generosity and simplicity of a woman's soul:--
"For you [my Lord Bassanio]
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;"
or, in his still more beautiful delineation of Juliet, paint an
absorbing devotion:--
"My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite."
Thus did Milton, in his transcendent epic, show how a Paradise was
regained when woman gave her generous sympathy to man, and reproduced
for all coming ages the image of Spiritual Love,--the inamorata of Dante
and Petrarch, the inspired and consoling guide.
But the muse of the poets, even when sanctified by Christianity, never
sang such an immortal love as the Middle Ages in sober prose have handed
down in the history of Héloïse,--the struggle between the two Venuses of
Socrates, and the final victory of Urania, though not till after the
temporary triumph of Polyhymnia,--the inamorata of earth clad in the
vestments of a sanctified recluse, and purified by the chastisements of
Heaven. "Saint Theresa dies longing to join her divine spouse; but Saint
Theresa is only a Héloïse looking towards heaven." Héloïse has an
earthly idol; but her devotion has in it all the elements of a
supernatural fervor,--the crucifixion of self in the glory of him she
adored. He was not worthy of her idolatry; but she thought that he was.
Admiration for genius exalted sentiment into adoration, and imagination
invested the object of love with qualities superhuman.
Nations do not spontaneously keep alive the memory of those who have
disgraced them. It is their heroes and heroines whose praises they
sing,--those only who have shone in the radiance of genius and virtue.
They forget defects, if these are counterbalanced by grand services or
great deeds,--if their sons and daughters have shed lustre on the land
which gave them birth. But no lustre survives egotism or vice; it only
lasts when it gilds a noble life. There is no glory in the name of
Jezebel, or Cleopatra, or Catherine de' Medici, brilliant and
fascinating as were those queens; but there is glory in the memory of
Héloïse. There is no woman in French history of whom the nation is
prouder; revered, in spite of early follies, by the most austere and
venerated saints of her beclouded age, and hallowed by the tributes of
succeeding centuries for those sentiments which the fires of passion
were scarcely able to tarnish, for an exalted soul which eclipsed the
brightness of uncommon intellectual faculties, for a depth of sympathy
and affection which have become embalmed in the heart of the world, and
for a living piety which blazes all the more conspicuously from the sins
which she expiated by such bitter combats. She was human in her
impulses, but divine in her graces; one of those characters for whom we
cannot help feeling the deepest sympathy and the profoundest
admiration,--a character that has its contradictions, like that
warrior-bard who was after God's own heart, in spite of his crimes,
because his soul thirsted for the beatitudes of heaven, and was bound in
loving loyalty to his Maker, against whom he occasionally sinned by
force of mortal passions, but whom he never ignored or forgot, and
against whom he never persistently rebelled.
As a semi-warlike but religious age produced a David, with his
strikingly double nature perpetually at war with itself and looking for
aid to God,--his "sun," his "shield," his hope, and joy,--so an equally
unenlightened but devout age produced a Héloïse, the impersonation of
sympathy, disinterestedness, suffering, forgiveness, and resignation. I
have already described this dark, sad, turbulent, superstitious,
ignorant period of strife and suffering, yet not without its poetic
charms and religious aspirations; when the convent and the castle were
its chief external features, and when a life of meditation was as marked
as a life of bodily activity, as if old age and youth were battling for
supremacy,--a very peculiar state of society, in which we see the
loftiest speculations of the intellect and the highest triumphs of faith
blended with puerile enterprises and misdirected physical forces.
In this semi-barbaric age Héloïse was born, about the year 1101. Nobody
knew who was her father, although it was surmised that he belonged to
the illustrious family of the Montmorencies, which traced an unbroken
lineage to Pharimond, before the time of Clovis. She lived with her
uncle Fulbert, an ignorant, worldly-wise old canon of the Cathedral
Church of Notre Dame in Paris. He called her his niece; but whether
niece, or daughter, or adopted child, was a mystery. She was of
extraordinary beauty, though remarkable for expression rather than for
regularity of feature. In intellect she was precocious and brilliant;
but the qualities of a great soul shone above the radiance of her wit.
She was bright, amiable, affectionate, and sympathetic,--the type of an
interesting woman. The ecclesiastic was justly proud of her, and gave to
her all the education the age afforded. Although not meaning to be a
nun, she was educated in a neighboring convent,--for convents, even in
those times, were female seminaries, containing many inmates who never
intended to take the veil. But the convent then, as since, was a living
grave to all who took its vows, and was hated by brilliant women who
were not religious. The convent necessarily and logically, according to
the theology of the Middle Ages, was a retreat from the world,--a cell
of expiation; and yet it was the only place where a woman could
be educated.
Héloïse, it would seem, made extraordinary attainments, and spoke Latin
as well as her native tongue. She won universal admiration, and in due
time, at the age of eighteen, returned to her uncle's house, on the
banks of the Seine, on the island called the Cité, where the majestic
cathedral and the castle of the king towered above the rude houses of
the people. Adjoining the church were the cloisters of the monks and
the Episcopal School, the infant university of Paris, over which the
Archdeacon of Paris, William of Champeaux, presided in scholastic
dignity and pride,--next to the bishop the most influential man in
Paris. The teachers of this school, or masters and doctors as they were
called, and the priests of the cathedral formed the intellectual
aristocracy of the city, and they were frequent visitors at the house of
Fulbert the canon. His niece, as she was presumed to be, was the great
object of attraction. There never was a time when intellectual Frenchmen
have not bowed down to cultivated women. Héloïse, though only a girl,
was a queen of such society as existed in the city, albeit more admired
by men than women,--poetical, imaginative, witty, ready, frank, with a
singular appreciation of intellectual excellence, dazzled by literary
fame, and looking up to those brilliant men who worshipped her.
In truth, Héloïse was a prodigy. She was vastly superior to the men who
surrounded her, most of whom were pedants, or sophists, or bigots;
dignitaries indeed, but men who exalted the accidental and the external
over the real and the permanent; men who were fond of quibbles and
sophistries, jealous of each other and of their own reputation, dogmatic
and positive as priests are apt to be, and most positive on points which
either are of no consequence or cannot be solved. The soul of Héloïse
panted for a greater intellectual freedom and a deeper sympathy than
these priests could give. She pined in society. She was isolated by her
own superiority,--superior not merely in the radiance of the soul, but
in the treasures of the mind. Nor could her companions comprehend her
greatness, even while they were fascinated by her presence. She dazzled
them by her personal beauty perhaps more than by her wit; for even
mediaeval priests could admire an expansive brow, a deep blue eye, _doux
et penétrant,_ a mouth varying with unconscious sarcasms, teeth strong
and regular, a neck long and flexible, and shoulders sloping and
gracefully moulded, over which fell ample and golden locks; while the
attitude, the complexion, the blush, the thrilling accent, and the
gracious smile, languor, and passion depicted on a face both pale and
animated, seduced the imagination and commanded homage. Venus Polyhymnia
stood confessed in all her charms, for the time triumphant over that
Venus Urania who made the convent of the Paraclete in after times a
blessed comforter to all who sought its consolations.
Among the distinguished visitors at the house of her uncle the canon,
attracted by her beauty and accomplishments, was a man thirty-eight
years of age, of noble birth, but by profession an ecclesiastic; whose
large forehead, fiery eye, proud air, plain, negligent dress, and
aristocratic manners, by turns affable and haughty, stamped him as an
extraordinary man. The people in the streets stopped to gaze at him as
he passed, or rushed to the doors and windows for a glimpse; for he was
as famous for genius and learning as he was distinguished by manners and
aspect. He was the eldest son of a Breton nobleman, who had abandoned
his inheritance and birthright for the fascinations of literature and
philosophy. His name was Peter Abélard, on the whole the most brilliant
and interesting man whom the Middle Ages produced,--not so profound as
Anselm, or learned as Peter Lombard, or logical as Thomas Aquinas, or
acute as Albertus Magnus, but the most eloquent expounder of philosophy
of whom I have read. He made the dullest subjects interesting; he
clothed the dry bones of metaphysics with flesh and blood; he invested
the most abstruse speculations with life and charm; he filled the minds
of old men with envy, and of young men with admiration; he thrilled
admirers with his wit, sarcasm, and ridicule,--a sort of Galileo,
mocking yet amusing, with a superlative contempt of dulness and
pretension. He early devoted himself to dialectics, to all the arts of
intellectual gladiatorship, to all the sports of logical tournaments
which were held in such value by the awakened spirits of the new
civilization.
Such was Abélard's precocious ability, even as a youth, that no champion
could be found to refute him in the whole of Brittany. He went from
castle to castle, and convent to convent, a philosophical
knight-errant, seeking intellectual adventures; more intent, however, on
_éclat_ and conquest than on the establishment of the dogmas which had
ruled the Church since Saint Augustine. He was a born logician, as
Bossuet was a born priest, loving to dispute as much as the Bishop of
Meaux loved to preach; not a serious man, but a bright man, ready, keen,
acute, turning fools into ridicule, and pushing acknowledged doctrines
into absurdity; not to bring out the truth as Socrates did, or furnish a
sure foundation of knowledge, but to revolutionize and overturn. His
spirit was like that of Lucien,--desiring to demolish, without
substituting anything for the dogmas he had made ridiculous.
Consequently he was mistrusted by the old oracles of the schools, and
detested by conservative churchmen who had intellect enough to see the
tendency of his speculations. In proportion to the hatred of orthodox
ecclesiastics like Anselme of Laon and Saint Bernard, was the admiration
of young men and of the infant universities. Nothing embarrassed him. He
sought a reason for all things. He appealed to reason rather than
authority, yet made the common mistake of the scholastics in supposing
that metaphysics could explain everything. He doubtless kindled a spirit
of inquiry, while he sapped the foundation of Christianity and
undermined faith. He was a nominalist; that is, he denied the existence
of all eternal ideas, such as Plato and the early Fathers advocated. He
is said to have even adduced the opinions of Pagan philosophers to prove
the mysteries of revelation. He did not deny revelation, nor authority,
nor the prevailing doctrines which the Church indorsed and defended; but
the tendency of his teachings was to undermine what had previously been
received by faith. He exalted reason, therefore, as higher than faith.
His spirit was offensive to conservative teachers. Had he lived in our
times, he would have belonged to the most progressive schools of thought
and inquiry,--probably a rationalist, denying what he could not prove by
reason, and scorning all supernaturalism; a philosopher of the school of
Hume, or Strauss, or Renan. And yet, after assailing everything
venerable, and turning his old teachers into ridicule, and creating a
spirit of rationalistic inquiry among the young students of divinity,
who adored him, Abélard settled back on authority in his old age,
perhaps alarmed and shocked at the mischief he had done in his more
brilliant years.
This exceedingly interesting man, with all his vanity, conceit, and
arrogance, had turned his steps to Paris, the centre of all intellectual
life in France, after he had achieved a great provincial reputation. He
was then only twenty, a bright and daring youth, conscious of his
powers, and burning with ambition. He was not ambitious of
ecclesiastical preferment, for aristocratic dunces occupied the great
sees and ruled the great monasteries. He was simply ambitious of
influence over students in philosophy and religion,--fond of _éclat_ and
fame as a teacher. The universities were not then established; there
were no chairs for professors, nor even were there scholastic titles,
like those of doctor and master; but Paris was full of students,
disgusted with the provincial schools. The Cathedral School of Paris was
the great attraction to these young men, then presided over by William
of Champeaux, a very respectable theologian, but not a remarkable genius
like Aquinas and Bonaventura, who did not arise until the Dominican and
Franciscan orders were established to combat heresy. Abélard, being
still a youth, attended the lectures of this old theologian, who was a
Realist, not an original thinker, but enjoying a great reputation, which
he was most anxious to preserve. The youthful prodigy at first was
greatly admired by the veteran teacher; but Abélard soon began to
question him and argue with him. Admiration was then succeeded by
jealousy. Some sided with the venerable teacher, but more with the
flippant yet brilliant youth who turned his master's teachings into
ridicule, and aspired to be a teacher himself. But as teaching was under
the supervision of the school of Notre Dame, Paris was interdicted to
him; he was not allowed to combat the received doctrines which were
taught in the Cathedral School. So he retired to Melun, about thirty
miles from Paris, and set up for a teacher and lecturer on philosophy.
All the influence of William of Champeaux and his friends was exerted to
prevent Abélard from teaching, but in vain. His lecture-room was
crowded. The most astonishing success attended his lectures. Not
contented with the _éclat_ he received, he now meditated the
discomfiture of his old master. He removed still nearer to Paris. And so
great was his success and fame, that it is said he compelled William to
renounce his Realism and also his chair, and accept a distant bishopric.
William was conquered by a mere stripling; but that stripling could have
overthrown a Goliath of controversy, not with a sling, but with a
giant's sword.
Abélard having won a great dialectical victory, which brought as much
fame as military laurels on the battlefield, established himself at St.
Geneviève, just outside the walls of Paris, where the Pantheon now
stands, which is still the centre of the Latin quarter, and the
residence of students. He now applied himself to the study of divinity,
and attended the lectures of Anselm of Laon. This celebrated
ecclesiastic, though not so famous or able as Anselm of Canterbury, was
treated by Abélard with the same arrogance and flippancy as he had
bestowed on William of Champeaux. "I frequented," said the young
mocker, "the old man's school, but soon discovered that all his power
was in length of practice. You would have thought he was kindling a
fire, when instantly the whole house was filled with smoke, in which not
a single spark was visible. He was a tree covered with thick foliage,
which to the distant eye had charms, but on near inspection there was no
fruit to be found; a fig-tree such as our Lord did curse; an oak such as
Lucan compared Pompey to,--_Stat magni nominis umbra_."
What a comment on the very philosophy which Abélard himself taught! What
better description of the scholasticism of the Middle Ages! But original
and brilliant as was the genius of Abélard, he no more could have
anticipated the new method which Bacon taught than could Thomas Aquinas.
All the various schools of the mediaeval dialecticians, Realists and
Nominalists alike, sought to establish old theories, not to discover new
truth. They could not go beyond their assumptions. So far as their
assumptions were true, they rendered great service by their inexorable
logic in defending them. They did not establish premises; that was not
their concern or mission. Assuming that the sun revolved around the
earth, all their astronomical speculations were worthless, even as the
assumption of the old doctrine of atoms in our times has led scientists
to the wildest conclusions. The metaphysics of the Schoolmen, whether
they were sceptical or reverential, simply sharpened the intellectual
faculties without advancing knowledge.
Abélard belonged by nature to the sceptical school. He delighted in
negations, and in the work of demolition. So far as he demolished or
ridiculed error he rendered the same service as Voltaire did: he
prepared the way for a more inquiring spirit. He was also more liberal
than his opponents. His spirit was progressive, but his method was
faulty. Like all those who have sought to undermine the old systems of
thought, he was naturally vain and conceited. He supposed he had
accomplished more than he really had. He became bold in his
speculations, and undertook to explain subjects beyond his grasp. Thus
he professed to unfold the meaning of the prophecies of Ezekiel. He was
arrogant in his claims to genius. "It is not by long study," said he,
"that I have mastered the heights of science, but by the force of my
mind." This flippancy, accompanied by wit and eloquence, fascinated
young men. His auditors were charmed. "The first philosopher," they
said, "had become the first divine." New pupils crowded his
lecture-room, and he united lectures on philosophy with lectures on
divinity. "Theology and philosophy encircled his brow with a double
garland." So popular was he, that students came from Germany and Italy
and England to hear his lectures. The number of his pupils, it is said,
was more than five thousand; and these included the brightest intellects
of the age, among whom one was destined to be a pope (the great Innocent
III.), nineteen to be cardinals, and one hundred to be bishops. What a
proud position for a young man! What an astonishing success for that
age! And his pupils were as generous as they were enthusiastic. They
filled his pockets with gold; they hung upon his lips with rapture; they
extolled his genius wherever they went; they carried his picture from
court to court, from castle to castle, and convent to convent; they
begged for a lock of his hair, for a shred of his garment. Never was
seen before such idolatry of genius, such unbounded admiration for
eloquence; for he stood apart and different from all other
lights,--pre-eminent as a teacher of philosophy. "He reigned," says
Lamartine, "by eloquence over the spirit of youth, by beauty over the
regard of women, by love-songs which penetrated all hearts, by musical
melodies repeated by every mouth. Let us imagine in a single man the
first orator, the first philosopher, the first poet, the first musician
of the age,--Cicero, Plato, Petrarch, Schubert,--all united in one
living celebrity, and we can form some idea of his attractions and fame
at this period of his life."
Such was that brilliant but unsound man, with learning, fame, personal
beauty, fascinating eloquence, dialectical acumen, aristocratic
manners, and transcendent wit, who encountered at thirty-eight the most
beautiful, gracious, accomplished, generous, and ardent woman that
adorned that time,--only eighteen, thirsting for knowledge, craving for
sympathy, and intensely idolatrous of intellectual excellence. But one
result could be anticipated from such a meeting: they became
passionately enamored of each other. In order to secure a more
uninterrupted intercourse, Abélard sought and obtained a residence in
the house of Fulbert, under pretence of desiring to superintend the
education of his niece. The ambitious, vain, unsuspecting priest was
delighted to receive so great a man, whose fame filled the world. He
intrusted Héloïse to his care, with permission to use blows if they were
necessary to make her diligent and obedient!
And what young woman with such a nature and under such circumstances
could resist the influence of such a teacher? I need not dwell on the
familiar story, how mutual admiration was followed by mutual friendship,
and friendship was succeeded by mutual infatuation, and the gradual
abandonment of both to a mad passion, forgetful alike of fame and duty.
"It became tedious," said Abélard, "to go to my lessons. I gave my
lectures with negligence. I spoke only from habit and memory. I was only
a reciter of ancient inventions; and if I chanced to compose verses,
they were songs of love, not secrets of philosophy." The absence of his
mind evinced how powerfully his new passion moved his fiery and
impatient soul. "He consumed his time in writing verses to the canon's
niece; and even as Hercules in the gay court of Omphale threw down his
club in order to hold the distaff, so Abélard laid aside his sceptre as
a monarch of the schools to sing sonnets at the feet of Héloïse." And
she also, still more unwisely, in the mighty potency of an absorbing
love, yielded up her honor and her pride. This mutual infatuation was,
it would seem, a gradual transition from the innocent pleasure of
delightful companionship to the guilt of unrestrained desire. It was not
premeditated design,--not calculation, but insidious dalliance:--
"Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When love approached me under friendship's name.
Guiltless I gazed; heaven listened when you sung,
And truths divine came mended from your tongue.
From lips like those, what precept failed to move?
Too soon they taught me 't was no sin to love."
In a healthy state of society this mutual passion would have been
followed by the marriage ties. The parties were equal in culture and
social position. And Abélard probably enjoyed a large income from the
fees of students, and could well support the expenses of a family. All
that was needed was the consecration of emotions, which are natural and
irresistible,--a mystery perhaps but ordained, and without which
marriage would be mere calculation and negotiation. Passion, doubtless,
is blind; but in this very blindness we see the hand of the Creator,--to
baffle selfishness and pride. What would become of our world if men and
women were left to choose their partners with the eye of unclouded
reason? Expediency would soon make a desert of earth, and there would be
no paradise found for those who are unattractive or in adverse
circumstances. Friendship might possibly bring people together; but
friendship exists only between equals and people of congenial tastes.
Love brings together also those who are unequal. It joins the rich to
the poor, the strong to the weak, the fortunate to the unfortunate, and
thus defeats the calculations which otherwise would enter into
matrimonial life. Without the blindness of passionate love the darts of
Cupid would be sent in vain; and the helpless and neglected--as so many
are--would stand but little chance for that happiness which is
associated with the institution of marriage. The world would be filled
with old bachelors and old maids, and population would hopelessly
decline among virtuous people.
No scandal would have resulted from the ardent loves of Abélard and
Héloïse had they been united by that sacred relation which was ordained
in the garden of Eden. "If any woman," says Legouvé, "may stand as the
model of a wife in all her glory, it is Héloïse. Passion without bounds
and without alloy, enthusiasm for the genius of Abélard, jealous care
for his reputation, a vigorous intellect, learning sufficient to join in
his labors, and an unsullied name."
But those false, sophistical ideas which early entered into monastic
life, and which perverted the Christianity of the Middle Ages, presented
a powerful barrier against the instincts of nature and the ordinances of
God. Celibacy was accounted as a supernal virtue, and the marriage of a
priest was deemed a lasting disgrace. It obscured his fame, his
prospects, his position, and his influence; it consigned him to ridicule
and reproach. He was supposed to be married only to the Church, and
would be unfaithful to Heaven if he bound himself by connubial ties.
Says Saint Jerome, "Take axe in hand and hew up by the roots the sterile
tree of marriage. God permits it, I grant; but Christ and Mary
consecrated virginity." Alas, what could be hoped when the Church
endorsed such absurd doctrines! Hildebrand, when he denounced the
marriage of priests, made war on the most sacred instincts of human
nature. He may have strengthened the papal domination, but he weakened
the restraints of home. Only a dark and beclouded age could have upheld
such a policy. Upon the Church of the Middle Ages we lay the blame of
these false ideas. She is in a measure responsible for the follies of
Abélard and Héloïse. They were not greater than the ideas of their age.
Had Abélard been as bold in denouncing the stupid custom of the Church
in this respect as he was in fighting the monks of St. Denis or the
intellectual intolerance of Bernard, he would not have fallen in the
respect of good people. But he was a slave to interest and
conventionality. He could not brave the sneers of priests or the
opinions of society; he dared not lose caste with those who ruled the
Church; he would not give up his chances of preferment. He was unwilling
either to renounce his love, or to avow it by an honorable, open union.
At last his intimacy created scandal. In the eyes of the schools and of
the Church he had sacrificed philosophy and fame to a second Delilah.
And Héloïse was even more affected by his humiliation than himself. She
more than he was opposed to marriage, knowing that this would doom him
to neglect and reproach. Abélard would perhaps have consented to an open
marriage had Héloïse been willing; but with a strange perversity she
refused. His reputation and interests were dearer to her than was her
own fair name. She sacrificed herself to his fame; she blinded herself
to the greatest mistake a woman could make. The excess of her love made
her insensible to the principles of an immutable morality. Circumstances
palliated her course, but did not excuse it. The fatal consequences of
her folly pursued her into the immensity of subsequent grief; and though
afterwards she was assured of peace and forgiveness in the depths of her
repentance, the demon of infatuated love was not easily exorcised. She
may have been unconscious of degradation in the boundless spirit of
self-sacrifice which she was willing to make for the object of her
devotion, but she lost both dignity and fame. She entreated him who was
now quoted as a reproach to human weakness, since the languor of passion
had weakened his power and his eloquence, to sacrifice her to his fame;
"to permit her no longer to adore him as a divinity who accepts the
homage of his worshippers; to love her no longer, if this love
diminished his reputation; to reduce her even, if necessary, to the
condition of a woman despised by the world, since the glory of his love
would more than compensate for the contempt of the universe."
"What reproaches," said she, "should I merit from the Church and the
schools of philosophy, were I to draw from them their brightest star!
And shall a woman dare to take to herself that man whom Nature meant to
be the ornament and benefactor of the human race? Then reflect on the
nature of matrimony, with its littleness and cares. How inconsistent it
is with the dignity of a wise man! Saint Paul earnestly dissuades from
it. So do the saints. So do the philosophers of ancient times. Think a
while. What a ridiculous association,--the philosopher and the
chambermaids, writing-desks and cradles, books and distaffs, pens and
spindles! Intent on speculation when the truths of nature and revelation
are breaking on your eye, will you hear the sudden cry of children, the
lullaby of nurses, the turbulent bustling of disorderly servants? In the
serious pursuits of wisdom there is no time to be lost. Believe me, as
well withdraw totally from literature as attempt to proceed in the midst
of worldly avocations. Science admits no participation in the cares of
life. Remember the feats of Xanthippe. Take counsel from the example of
Socrates, who has been set up as a beacon for all coming time to warn
philosophers from the fatal rock of matrimony."
Such was the blended truth, irony, and wit with which Héloïse dissuaded
Abélard from open marriage. He compromised the affair, and contented
himself with a secret marriage. "After a night spent in prayer," said
he, "in one of the churches of Paris, on the following morning we
received the nuptial blessing in the presence of the uncle of Héloïse
and of a few mutual friends. We then retired without observation, that
this union, known only to God and a few intimates, should bring neither
shame nor prejudice to my renown." A cold and selfish act, such as we
might expect in Louis XIV. and Madame de Maintenon,--yet, nevertheless,
the feeble concession which pride and policy make to virtue, the
triumph of expediency over all heroic and manly qualities. Like
Maintenon, Héloïse was willing to seem what she was not,--only to be
explained on the ground that concubinage was a less evil, in the eyes of
the Church, than marriage in a priest.
But even a secret marriage was attended with great embarrassment. The
news of it leaks out through the servants. The envious detractors of
Abélard rejoice in his weakness and his humiliation. His pride now takes
offence, and he denies the ties; and so does Héloïse. The old uncle is
enraged and indignant. Abélard, justly fearing his resentment,--yea,
being cruelly maltreated at his instigation,--removes his wife to the
convent where she was educated, and induces her to take the veil. She
obeys him; she obeys him in all things; she has no will but his. She
thinks of nothing but his reputation and interest; she forgets herself
entirely, yet not without bitter anguish. She accepts the sacrifice, but
it costs her infinite pangs. She is separated from her husband forever.
Nor was the convent agreeable to her. It was dull, monotonous, dismal;
imprisonment in a tomb, a living death, where none could know her
agonies but God; where she could not even hear from him who was
her life.
Yet immolation in the dreary convent, where for nearly forty years she
combated the recollection of her folly, was perhaps the best thing for
her. It was a cruel necessity. In the convent she was at least safe from
molestation; she had every opportunity for study and meditation; she was
free from the temptations of the world, and removed from its scandals
and reproach. The world was crucified to her; Christ was now her spouse.
To a convent also Abélard retired, overwhelmed with shame and penitence.
At St. Denis he assumed the strictest habits, mortified his body with
severe austerities, and renewed with ardor his studies in philosophy and
theology. He was not without mental sufferings, but he could bury his
grief in his ambition. It would seem that a marked change now took place
in the character of Abélard. He was less vain and conceited, and sought
more eagerly the consolations of religion. His life became too austere
for his brother monks, and they compelled him to leave this aristocratic
abbey. He then resumed his lectures in the wilderness. He retreated to a
desert place in Champagne, where he constructed a small oratory with his
own hands. But still students gathered around him. They, too,
constructed cells, like ancient anchorites, and cultivated the fields
for bread. Then, as their numbers increased, they erected a vast edifice
of stone and timber, which Abélard dedicated to the Holy Comforter, and
called the Paraclete. It was here that his best days were spent. His
renewed labors and his intellectual boldness increased the admiration of
his pupils. It became almost idolatry. It is said that three thousand
students assembled at the Paraclete to hear him lecture. What admiration
for genius, when three thousand young men could give up the delights of
Paris for a wilderness with Abélard! What marvellous powers of
fascination he must have had!
This renewed success, in the midst of disgrace, created immeasurable
envy. Moreover, the sarcasms, boldness, and new views of the philosopher
raised a storm of hatred. Galileo was not more offensive to the pedants
and priests of his generation than Abélard was to the Schoolmen and
monks of his day. They impeached both his piety and theology. He was
stigmatized as unsound and superficial. Yet he continued his attacks,
his ridicule, and his sarcasms. In proportion to the animosities of his
foes was the zeal of his followers, who admired his boldness and
arrogance. At last a great clamor was raised against the daring
theologian. Saint Bernard, the most influential and profound
ecclesiastic of the day, headed the opposition. He maintained that the
foundations of Christianity were assailed. Even Abélard could not stand
before the indignation and hostility of such a saint,--a man who kindled
crusades, who made popes, who controlled the opinions of the age.
Abélard was obliged to fly, and sought an asylum amid the rocks and
sands of Brittany. The Duke of this wild province gave him the abbey of
St. Gildas; but its inmates were ignorant and disorderly, and added
insubordination to dissoluteness. They ornamented their convent with the
trophies of the chase. They thought more of bears and wild boars and
stags than they did of hymns and meditations. The new abbot, now a grave
and religious man, in spite of his opposition to the leaders of the
orthodox party, endeavored to reform the monks,--a hopeless task,--and
they turned against him with more ferocity than the theologians. They
even poisoned, it is said, the sacramental wine. He was obliged to hide
among the rocks to save his life. Nothing but aid from the neighboring
barons saved him from assassination.