then, as now--it may be,
something
more--
Woman and man were human to the core
.
Woman and man were human to the core
.
The Letters of Abelard and Heloise
Provoked at your contempt and ingratitude, He will turn His love into anger and make you feel His vengeance.
How will you sustain His presence when you shall stand before His tribunal?
He will reproach you for having despised His grace, He will represent to you His sufferings for you.
What answer can you make?
He will then be implacable: He will say to you, 'Go, proud creature, and dwell in everlasting flames.
I separated you from the world to purify you in solitude and you did not second my design.
I endeavoured to save you and you wilfully destroyed yourself; go, wretch, and take the portion of the reprobates.
'
Oh, Heloise, prevent these terrible words, and avoid, by a holy life, the punishment prepared for sinners. I dare not give you a description of those dreadful torments which are the consequences of a career of guilt. I am filled with horror when they offer themselves to my imagination. And yet, Heloise, I can conceive nothing which can reach the tortures of the damned; the fire which we see upon this earth is but the shadow of that which burns them; and without enumerating their endless pains, the loss of God which they feel increases all their torments. Can anyone sin who is persuaded of this? My God! can we dare to offend Thee? Though the riches of Thy mercy could not engage us to love Thee, the dread of being thrown into such an abyss of misery should restrain us from doing anything which might displease Thee.
[p. 95]
I question not, Heloise, but you will hereafter apply yourself in good earnest to the business of your salvation; this ought to be your whole concern. Banish me, therefore, for ever from your heart--it is the best advice I can give you, for the remembrance of a person we have loved guiltily cannot but be hurtful, whatever advances we may have made in the way of virtue. When you have extirpated your unhappy inclination towards me, the practice of every virtue will become easy; and when at last your life is conformable to that of Christ, death will be desirable to you. Your soul will joyfully leave this body, and direct its flight to heaven. Then you will appear with confidence before your Saviour; you will not read your reprobation written in the judgment book, but you will hear your Saviour say, Come, partake of My glory, and enjoy the eternal reward I have appointed for those virtues you have practised.
Farewell, Heloise, this is the last advice of your dear Abelard; for the last time let me persuade you to follow the rules of the Gospel. Heaven grant that your heart, once so sensible of my love, may now yield to be directed by my zeal. May the idea of your loving Abelard, always present to your mind, be now changed into the image of Abelard truly penitent; and may you shed as many tears for your salvation as you have done for our misfortunes.
The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise, [1901], at sacred-texts. com
[p. 96]
[This 'Epistle' was published by Alexander Pope in 1717, and is given here because through it alone has the tragedy of the unfortunate lovers been so far known to the mass of the English public. The 'Epistle' is marvellously exact in its rendering of many of the phrases of Heloise, and is an apt example of how rhyming couplets can turn into trite commonplaces the most marvellous expressions of human passion that literature contains. ]
[p. 97]
APPENDIX
POPE'S 'ELOISA TO ABELARD'
IN these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a Vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love! --From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed:
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies:
O write it not my hand--the name appears
Already written--wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays.
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains;
Ye rugged rock! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! [p. 98]
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
O name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led thro' a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, Love and Fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue:
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, [p. 99]
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love:
Back thro' the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee.
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made?
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove, [p. 100]
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane His fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires,
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great Master fall,
Himself, His throne, His world, I'd scorn 'em all:
Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
No, make me mistress to the man I love;
If there be yet another name more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh! happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature law:
All then is full, possessing and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be),
And once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked Lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise! her voice, her hand,
Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.
Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? [p. 101]
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n scarce believ'd the Conquest it survey'd,
And Saints with wonder heard the vows I made,
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; [*1]
Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on thy breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.
Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
And Paradise was open'd in the Wild. [p. 102]
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited Heav'n:
But such plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' pray'rs I try
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity! ),
But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws [p. 103]
A death-like silence, and a dead repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain:
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine,
Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. [p. 104]
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain,--do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come? oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for He
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep; '
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n;
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymenaeals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.
Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away, [p. 105]
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
O Burst, dear horrors of all-conscious night;
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me ev'ry source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake:--no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say:
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go
Thro' dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose;
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
And mild as op'ning gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? [p. 106]
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm the unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear Ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the Matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round
While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright Idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me, fly me, far as Pole from Pole; [p. 107]
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view! ),
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
O Grace serene! O Virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And Faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest!
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest:
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a Spirit calls,
And more than Echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
'Come, sister, come! ' (it said, or seem'd to say)
'Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
Love's victim then, tho' now a sainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here. '
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow;
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, [p. 108]
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no--in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the Cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
'Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on when 'tis man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy),
In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds descend, and Angels watch thee round,
From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall heat no more;
If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
'Oh may we never love as these have lov'd! ' [p. 109]
From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such, if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em who shall feel 'em most.
Footnotes
^101:1 These lines cannot be justified by anything in the letters of Eloisa.
The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise, [1901], at sacred-texts. com
[p. 110]
'Ah!
then, as now--it may be, something more--
Woman and man were human to the core
. . . . . .
They too could risk, they also could rebel,
They could love wisely--they could love too well.
In that great duel of Sex--that ancient strife
Which is the very central fact of life,
They could--and did--engage it breath for breath,
They could--and did--get wounded unto death.
As at all times since time for us began,
Woman was truly woman, man was man.
. . . . . .
Dead--dead and done with! Swift from shine to shade
The roaring generations flit and fade.
To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest,
We come to proffer--be it worst or best--
A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time;
A hint of what it might have held sublime;
A dream, an idyll, call it what you will,
Of man still Man, and woman--Woman still! '
From W. E. HENLY'S Prologue to Beau Austin.
The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise, [1901], at sacred-texts. com
[p. 111]
EDITORIAL APPENDIX
[p. 112]
This edition of 'The Letters of Abelard and Heloise' has been edited by Miss Honnor Morten. The translation bas been re-printed from Watt's edition of 1722.
In the accompanying Notes Miss Morten has epitomised much valuable research, elucidating the text of the Letters.
I. G.
May 8th, 1901.
[p. 113]
Notes
Former Editions. --There have been between fifty and sixty editions of these 'Letters' published; all founded on the Latin edition printed in Paris in 1616. This first edition is now very rare, but there is a beautiful specimen in the British Museum only mutilated by one little bookworm, which luckily has chosen the driest of Abelard's dissertations on the monastic life through which to eat its wandering way. The title page is as follows:--
PETRI ABAILARDI
SANCTA GILDASSI
IN BRITANNIA ABBATIS
ET
HELOISAE CONGUGIS EIUS
QUOE POSTMODUM PRIMA COeNOBII
PARACLITENSIS ABBATISSA FUIT
OPERA
NUNC PRIMA EX MMS. CODD. ERUTA ET
IN LUCEM EDITA STUDIO AC DILIGENTIA
ANDREAE QUERCETANI, TURONENSIS.
PARISIIS
SUMPTIBUS NICOLAI BUON VIA JACOBAE
SUB SIGNIS SANCTI CLAUDII ET HOMINIS
SILUISTRIS.
MDCXVI.
The best English edition was published in
[p. 114]
[paragraph continues] 1718--Petri Abaelardi et Heloissae Epistolae, and shortly after the Rev. Jos. Beringer of Birmingham published a translation of the letters together with a life of the lovers. But for many years it has been impossible to secure an English or Latin version of the letters. In 1782, in Paris, appeared Lettres D'Abelard et D'Heloise. Nouvelle Traduction, avec le texte a cote. Par J. Fr. Bastien. In 1836 Cousin issued his Ouvrages indits D'Abelard, and thereafter in France editions were common. The best one, which is still procurable, is Lettres D'Heloise et D' Abelard. Traduction Nouvelle par le Bibliophile Jacob. Paris. Charpentier. 1865. It is complete, down to the least interesting of the Abelard fragments, but is in the paper covers of the Charpentier library.
Of course the authenticity of the letters has been questioned, but no human being can read them and not know them to be genuine.
LETTER I
<page 1>. Philintus. --In the original Latin the name of 'Philintus' does not appear--the friend is addressed only as 'delectissime frater. ' This gives at once the tone of this translation--the desire to give a lively and readable reproduction of the letters rather than an exact one. The reader will probably not regard this as a fault if he turn to some of the clumsy and graceless renderings of the letters that have appeared.
[p. 115]
Also the frequent and lengthy quotations from Scripture and the fathers are here omitted:--in one of her letters Heloise quotes no less than ninety-eight separate passages; and one of Abelard's letters is entirely taken up with a history of the origin of monastic institutions. The author of this translation has ignored all but the love passages of the letters; he has written for the litterateur, and left the dreary disquisitions for the historian.
<page 2>. Palais. --They still show at Palais or Palet, eight miles from Nantes, some ruins supposed to be those of the house where Abelard was born. His family was of noble origin.
<page 3>. Paris University. --'About the latter part of the eleventh century a greater ardour for intellectual pursuits began to show itself in Europe, which in the twelfth broke out into a flame. This was manifested in the numbers who repaired to the public academies, or schools of philosophy. None of these grew so early into reputation as that of Paris. In the year 1100 we find William of Champeaux teaching logic, and apparently some higher parts of philosophy, with much credit. But this preceptor was eclipsed by his disciple, afterwards his rival and adversary, Peter Abelard, to whose brilliant and hardy genius the University of Paris appears to be indebted for its rapid advancement.
[p. 116]
[paragraph continues] Abelard was almost the first who awakened mankind in the ages of darkness to a sympathy with intellectual excellence. His bold theories, his imprudent vanities, that scorned the regularly acquired reputation of older men, allured a multitude of disciples. It is said that twenty cardinals and fifty bishops had been among his hearers. '--Europe during the Middle Ages (HALLAM) .
<page 5>. Beranger turns Monk. --The glimpses of the cloister given throughout these letters are instructive and quaint; as a place of retirement for elderly couples and widows they were in frequent use. The remnants of a useless life seem to have been a favourite offering. Compare Kingsley's Ugly Princess--
'I am not good enough for man,
And so am given to God. '
<page 5>. Lucan's Oak. --'Stat magni nomimis umbra. '--Pharsale.
<page 6>. 'An aversion for light women. '--In the original, 'Scortorum immunditiam semper abhorrebam. ' And Villenave says 'Jusqu'a l'epoque de ses liaisons avec Heloise il avait eu horreur des vices du libertinage et que de profondes etudes l'avaient tenu constamment eloigne du commerce des femmes. ' This is worth noting, as Boyle and others, without any grounds, have asserted that Abelard had always lived a loose life. Abelard does
[p. 117]
not spare himself in his confessions, and there is no reason why he should have made the above statement if untrue. The very force of his love for Heloise points to its being the one great passion of a scholar's life. Jacob, in his translation, makes Abelard give as a reason for Fulbert's trust in making him tutor to Heloise 'la reputation si bien etablie de ma continence. '
<page 7>. Her Wit and her Beauty. --Abelard insists rather on the learning than the beauty of Heloise--'Per faciem non infima; per abundantiam litterarum erat suprema. ' When the bones of the illustrious lovers were moved from the Paraclete they were inspected by Delaunage, who published a life of Abelard in 1795. In this book he says he found that Heloise must have been of noble stature and beautiful proportions. Of her learning we have the testimony not only of Abelard but of the Abbe de Cluny and St. Bernard. The first wrote to her--'You have vanquished in knowledge all the women and surpassed in wisdom most of the men. ' In the calendar of Paraclete she is recorded in these words--'Heloise, Mother and first Abbess of this place, famous for her learning and her religion. ' And Boyle says' I must not here pass by the custom the religious of the Paraclete now have to commemorate how learned their first Abbess was in the
[p. 118]
Greek, which is, that every year on the day of Pentecost they perform divine service in the Greek tongue. What a ridiculous vanity! 'M. Villenave, after studying the constitution of the Paraclete, says--Le xiie siecle n'a eu aucun theologien plus profond, aucun ecrivain plus erudit et plus eloquent qu'Heloise. '
<page 8>. 'Fulbert desired me to instruct her in philosophy. '--Fulbert gave Abelard complete control as tutor over Heloise, even to the point of personal chastisement--'minis et verberibus'; and Abelard says that in order to avoid suspicion gentle blows were often given--'verbera quondoque dabat amor, non furor; gratia, non ira. '
<page 11>. 'Agaton. '--Again imagination supplies the name. Luckily it is the letters of Abelard that are most freely paraphrased. The first letter of Heloise--the gem of all love letters--is most exquisitely rendered, so that it can be said that the translator may not have known how to read Latin, but she certainly knew how to write English. The 'she' is implied by the inaccuracy in the learning and the excellence of the love passages.
<page 13>. Abelard's Son. --It is strange that of the child of Abelard and Heloise so little is known; there are only two references to him. In one of her letters to the Abbe de Cluny, Heloise begs him to remember 'Astralabe' and procure him a benefice,
[p. 119]
and in his reply Pierre de Cluny says--'I will willingly try and get a benefice in some great church for your Astralabe (Astrabis vestro). ' Thereafter there is only the notice in the death list of the Paraclete that on the 4th of November died Peter Astralabe, son of our master Peter. (Obiit Petrus Astralabius, magistri nostri Petri filius. ) The year is not given, but it is subsequent to his father's death. Some verses addressed to his son by Abelard are included amongst the Fragments edited by M. Cousin.
<page 14>. Heloise refuses Marriage. --It seems that in the eleventh and twelfth centuries marriage was common among priests. Pope Leo, who died in 1054, in his Parmenien epistle says--'We profess openly that it is not permitted to a bishop, priest or deacon to neglect his wife for his religion, or to refuse to provide her with food and clothing; but it is his duty to abstain from living carnally with her. ' Marriage, apparently, was allowed but not approved, and was a bar to advancement in the Church.
<page 16>. Fulbert's Revenge. ---' Corporis mei partibus amputatis quibus ad quod plangebant, commiseram. ' In M. Greard's translation Abelard says--'Ce qui contribuait encore a m'atterrer, c'etait la pensee que, selon la lettre meurtriere de la loi, les eunuques sont en telle abomination devant Dieu, et que les animaux eux-memes,
[p. 120]
lorsqu'ils sont ainsi mutiles, sont rejetes du sacrifice'--and he quotes from Deuteronomy and Leviticus.
<page 16>. 'So cruel an action escaped not unpunished. '--As usual, the chief sinner and instigator, Fulbert, escaped punishment, whilst those who for money carried out his evil intent suffered the loss of their eyes and other mutilation. Abelard meditated going to Rome to accuse Fulbert, but his friend, Foulques, Prior of Deuil, wrote and told him that to appeal to the Pope without taking an immense sum of money was useless. 'Nothing can satisfy the infinite avarice and luxury of the Romans. I question if you have enough for the undertaking, and then nothing will be gained but vexation for having wasted your wealth. They who go to Rome without large sums of money to squander will return just as they went, the expense of their journey only excepted. ' This letter of Foulques is included in Abelard's 'Opera. '
<page 17>. 'O Conjux. '--Lucan's Pharsal, liv. viii.
<page 18>. 'A Council. '--The Council of Soissons, 1121. Abelard had opened a school at the Priory of Maisoncielle in 1120, and delivered some theological lectures on the 'tangled trinities,' which drew, as usual, large crowds of students--'Ad quas Scholas tanta Scholarium multitudo confluxit, ut nec locus Hospitiis, nec terra
[p. 121]
sufficerit Alimentis. ' Unfortunately he put in writing his doctrines in the Introductio ad Theologiam, and his enemies, Alberic of Rheims, and Lotulf of Lombardy, prevailed upon Conan, the Pope's Legate, to summon a Council, and to cause Abelard to appear before it with the 'great work I had composed upon the Trinity. ' Abelard says the book was condemned without being examined, on the ground that he had no right to have read it or presented it to others without the permission of the Pope or the Church:--'Called by the Council, I presented myself on the field, and then, without discussion, without examination, I was forced with my own hand to throw my book in the fire. It was burnt in the midst of silence, my enemies only feebly murmuring that it contained a proposition that God the Father was the only omnipotent. A certain Dr Terriere replied ironically, in the words of St. Ambrose, "There are not three Almighties, but one Almighty. " Then the Archbishop arose and confirmed the sentence, saying, "The Father is Almighty, the Son Almighty, and the Holy Ghost Almighty. " They then called on me to confess and retract my heresy by repeating the symbol of Athanasius, and in order to humiliate me fetched a book for me to read it from, as though I did not know it by heart! Half
[p. 122]
stifled by sobs and tears I said the words, and then the Abbe of St. Medard dragged me off to his cloister as to a prison. God, who knows the bitterness of all hearts, alone felt for the pain that devoured me, as without cease I cried again and again, "Jesus, my Saviour, where art Thou? " The mutilation of my body I had deserved, but this tarnishing of my name and reputation was a cruel injustice, and struck me to the soul. ' Abelard had only been a few months in his new retreat when he again fell into 'heresy,' saying that Denis the Areopagite was Bishop of Corinth and not of Athens. This time, instead of facing the storm, he fled by night to a 'desert' near Nogent-sur-Seine (1131).
<page 18>. 'My enemies,' St. Norbert and St. Bernard, now joined Alberic and Lotulf in attacking this teacher who could attract such enormous crowds of students to the most out-of-the-way spots. The students had built Abelard a chapel, and he, having found comfort in that solitary place, dedicated the chapel to the Holy Ghost, under the name of the Paraclete or Comforter. His enemies said this title was a subtle recrudescence of the Trinity scandal, and that it was heresy to dedicate a chapel to the Paraclete. So once more Abelard had to flee; for some time, he says, he even hesitated whether he should not forsake 'Christian' lands and go across the
[p. 123]
seas and dwell with the heathen; but being offered the Abbey of St Gildas-de-Ruys, he accepted it, only to find himself in worse plight than before.
<page 18>. St. Gildas. --A promontory on the coast of Brittany, between Loire Inferieure and La Vendee.
<page 19>. 'My dissolute Monks. '--'Les moins m'obsedaient pour leurs besoins journaliers, car la communaute ne possedait rien que je pusse distribuer, et chacun prenait sur son propre patrimoine pour se soutenir lui et sa femme, et ses fils et ses filles. '--Greard's Translation.
LETTER II
Lord Lyttelton, in his Life of Henry II. , says that had Heloise not been compelled to study the fathers in a nunnery, but had been allowed to improve her genius by application to polite literature, from what appears in her letters, she would have excelled any man of that age. It may be worth while to give a few sentences of Heloise's Latin:--'Duo autem, fateor, tibi specialiter inerant, quibus feminarum quarumlibet animos statim allicere poteras, dictandi videlicit et cantandi gratia; quae caetoros minime philosophos assecutos esse novimus. Quibus quidem quasi ludo quodam laborem exercitii recreans philosophici pleraque amatorio metro vel rithmo composita reliquisti carmina, quae prae nimia
[p. 124]
suavitate tam dictaminis quam cantus saepius frequentata tuum in ore omnium nomen incessanter tenebant, ut etiam illiteratos melodiae dulcedo tui non sineret immemores esse. Atque hinc maxime in amorem tui feminae suspirabant. '--See page <page 32>.
<page 32>. The Smallest Song. --Of the love songs of Abelard no authentic vestige remains, though they lived as folk-songs for many years, and are referred to as late as 1722. In the Chants Populaires de la Bretagne, published in Paris in 1846, there is a ballad crediting Heloise with being a sorceress: doubtless her learning led her to practise the healing art amongst the ignorant Bretons.
Oh, Heloise, prevent these terrible words, and avoid, by a holy life, the punishment prepared for sinners. I dare not give you a description of those dreadful torments which are the consequences of a career of guilt. I am filled with horror when they offer themselves to my imagination. And yet, Heloise, I can conceive nothing which can reach the tortures of the damned; the fire which we see upon this earth is but the shadow of that which burns them; and without enumerating their endless pains, the loss of God which they feel increases all their torments. Can anyone sin who is persuaded of this? My God! can we dare to offend Thee? Though the riches of Thy mercy could not engage us to love Thee, the dread of being thrown into such an abyss of misery should restrain us from doing anything which might displease Thee.
[p. 95]
I question not, Heloise, but you will hereafter apply yourself in good earnest to the business of your salvation; this ought to be your whole concern. Banish me, therefore, for ever from your heart--it is the best advice I can give you, for the remembrance of a person we have loved guiltily cannot but be hurtful, whatever advances we may have made in the way of virtue. When you have extirpated your unhappy inclination towards me, the practice of every virtue will become easy; and when at last your life is conformable to that of Christ, death will be desirable to you. Your soul will joyfully leave this body, and direct its flight to heaven. Then you will appear with confidence before your Saviour; you will not read your reprobation written in the judgment book, but you will hear your Saviour say, Come, partake of My glory, and enjoy the eternal reward I have appointed for those virtues you have practised.
Farewell, Heloise, this is the last advice of your dear Abelard; for the last time let me persuade you to follow the rules of the Gospel. Heaven grant that your heart, once so sensible of my love, may now yield to be directed by my zeal. May the idea of your loving Abelard, always present to your mind, be now changed into the image of Abelard truly penitent; and may you shed as many tears for your salvation as you have done for our misfortunes.
The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise, [1901], at sacred-texts. com
[p. 96]
[This 'Epistle' was published by Alexander Pope in 1717, and is given here because through it alone has the tragedy of the unfortunate lovers been so far known to the mass of the English public. The 'Epistle' is marvellously exact in its rendering of many of the phrases of Heloise, and is an apt example of how rhyming couplets can turn into trite commonplaces the most marvellous expressions of human passion that literature contains. ]
[p. 97]
APPENDIX
POPE'S 'ELOISA TO ABELARD'
IN these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a Vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love! --From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed:
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies:
O write it not my hand--the name appears
Already written--wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays.
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains;
Ye rugged rock! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! [p. 98]
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
O name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led thro' a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, Love and Fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue:
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, [p. 99]
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love:
Back thro' the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee.
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made?
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove, [p. 100]
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane His fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires,
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great Master fall,
Himself, His throne, His world, I'd scorn 'em all:
Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
No, make me mistress to the man I love;
If there be yet another name more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh! happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature law:
All then is full, possessing and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be),
And once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked Lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise! her voice, her hand,
Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.
Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? [p. 101]
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n scarce believ'd the Conquest it survey'd,
And Saints with wonder heard the vows I made,
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; [*1]
Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on thy breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.
Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
And Paradise was open'd in the Wild. [p. 102]
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited Heav'n:
But such plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' pray'rs I try
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity! ),
But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws [p. 103]
A death-like silence, and a dead repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain:
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine,
Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. [p. 104]
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain,--do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come? oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for He
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep; '
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n;
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymenaeals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.
Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away, [p. 105]
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
O Burst, dear horrors of all-conscious night;
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me ev'ry source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake:--no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say:
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go
Thro' dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose;
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
And mild as op'ning gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? [p. 106]
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm the unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear Ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the Matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round
While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright Idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me, fly me, far as Pole from Pole; [p. 107]
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view! ),
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
O Grace serene! O Virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And Faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest!
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest:
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a Spirit calls,
And more than Echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
'Come, sister, come! ' (it said, or seem'd to say)
'Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
Love's victim then, tho' now a sainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here. '
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow;
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, [p. 108]
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no--in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the Cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
'Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on when 'tis man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy),
In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds descend, and Angels watch thee round,
From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall heat no more;
If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
'Oh may we never love as these have lov'd! ' [p. 109]
From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such, if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em who shall feel 'em most.
Footnotes
^101:1 These lines cannot be justified by anything in the letters of Eloisa.
The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise, [1901], at sacred-texts. com
[p. 110]
'Ah!
then, as now--it may be, something more--
Woman and man were human to the core
. . . . . .
They too could risk, they also could rebel,
They could love wisely--they could love too well.
In that great duel of Sex--that ancient strife
Which is the very central fact of life,
They could--and did--engage it breath for breath,
They could--and did--get wounded unto death.
As at all times since time for us began,
Woman was truly woman, man was man.
. . . . . .
Dead--dead and done with! Swift from shine to shade
The roaring generations flit and fade.
To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest,
We come to proffer--be it worst or best--
A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time;
A hint of what it might have held sublime;
A dream, an idyll, call it what you will,
Of man still Man, and woman--Woman still! '
From W. E. HENLY'S Prologue to Beau Austin.
The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise, [1901], at sacred-texts. com
[p. 111]
EDITORIAL APPENDIX
[p. 112]
This edition of 'The Letters of Abelard and Heloise' has been edited by Miss Honnor Morten. The translation bas been re-printed from Watt's edition of 1722.
In the accompanying Notes Miss Morten has epitomised much valuable research, elucidating the text of the Letters.
I. G.
May 8th, 1901.
[p. 113]
Notes
Former Editions. --There have been between fifty and sixty editions of these 'Letters' published; all founded on the Latin edition printed in Paris in 1616. This first edition is now very rare, but there is a beautiful specimen in the British Museum only mutilated by one little bookworm, which luckily has chosen the driest of Abelard's dissertations on the monastic life through which to eat its wandering way. The title page is as follows:--
PETRI ABAILARDI
SANCTA GILDASSI
IN BRITANNIA ABBATIS
ET
HELOISAE CONGUGIS EIUS
QUOE POSTMODUM PRIMA COeNOBII
PARACLITENSIS ABBATISSA FUIT
OPERA
NUNC PRIMA EX MMS. CODD. ERUTA ET
IN LUCEM EDITA STUDIO AC DILIGENTIA
ANDREAE QUERCETANI, TURONENSIS.
PARISIIS
SUMPTIBUS NICOLAI BUON VIA JACOBAE
SUB SIGNIS SANCTI CLAUDII ET HOMINIS
SILUISTRIS.
MDCXVI.
The best English edition was published in
[p. 114]
[paragraph continues] 1718--Petri Abaelardi et Heloissae Epistolae, and shortly after the Rev. Jos. Beringer of Birmingham published a translation of the letters together with a life of the lovers. But for many years it has been impossible to secure an English or Latin version of the letters. In 1782, in Paris, appeared Lettres D'Abelard et D'Heloise. Nouvelle Traduction, avec le texte a cote. Par J. Fr. Bastien. In 1836 Cousin issued his Ouvrages indits D'Abelard, and thereafter in France editions were common. The best one, which is still procurable, is Lettres D'Heloise et D' Abelard. Traduction Nouvelle par le Bibliophile Jacob. Paris. Charpentier. 1865. It is complete, down to the least interesting of the Abelard fragments, but is in the paper covers of the Charpentier library.
Of course the authenticity of the letters has been questioned, but no human being can read them and not know them to be genuine.
LETTER I
<page 1>. Philintus. --In the original Latin the name of 'Philintus' does not appear--the friend is addressed only as 'delectissime frater. ' This gives at once the tone of this translation--the desire to give a lively and readable reproduction of the letters rather than an exact one. The reader will probably not regard this as a fault if he turn to some of the clumsy and graceless renderings of the letters that have appeared.
[p. 115]
Also the frequent and lengthy quotations from Scripture and the fathers are here omitted:--in one of her letters Heloise quotes no less than ninety-eight separate passages; and one of Abelard's letters is entirely taken up with a history of the origin of monastic institutions. The author of this translation has ignored all but the love passages of the letters; he has written for the litterateur, and left the dreary disquisitions for the historian.
<page 2>. Palais. --They still show at Palais or Palet, eight miles from Nantes, some ruins supposed to be those of the house where Abelard was born. His family was of noble origin.
<page 3>. Paris University. --'About the latter part of the eleventh century a greater ardour for intellectual pursuits began to show itself in Europe, which in the twelfth broke out into a flame. This was manifested in the numbers who repaired to the public academies, or schools of philosophy. None of these grew so early into reputation as that of Paris. In the year 1100 we find William of Champeaux teaching logic, and apparently some higher parts of philosophy, with much credit. But this preceptor was eclipsed by his disciple, afterwards his rival and adversary, Peter Abelard, to whose brilliant and hardy genius the University of Paris appears to be indebted for its rapid advancement.
[p. 116]
[paragraph continues] Abelard was almost the first who awakened mankind in the ages of darkness to a sympathy with intellectual excellence. His bold theories, his imprudent vanities, that scorned the regularly acquired reputation of older men, allured a multitude of disciples. It is said that twenty cardinals and fifty bishops had been among his hearers. '--Europe during the Middle Ages (HALLAM) .
<page 5>. Beranger turns Monk. --The glimpses of the cloister given throughout these letters are instructive and quaint; as a place of retirement for elderly couples and widows they were in frequent use. The remnants of a useless life seem to have been a favourite offering. Compare Kingsley's Ugly Princess--
'I am not good enough for man,
And so am given to God. '
<page 5>. Lucan's Oak. --'Stat magni nomimis umbra. '--Pharsale.
<page 6>. 'An aversion for light women. '--In the original, 'Scortorum immunditiam semper abhorrebam. ' And Villenave says 'Jusqu'a l'epoque de ses liaisons avec Heloise il avait eu horreur des vices du libertinage et que de profondes etudes l'avaient tenu constamment eloigne du commerce des femmes. ' This is worth noting, as Boyle and others, without any grounds, have asserted that Abelard had always lived a loose life. Abelard does
[p. 117]
not spare himself in his confessions, and there is no reason why he should have made the above statement if untrue. The very force of his love for Heloise points to its being the one great passion of a scholar's life. Jacob, in his translation, makes Abelard give as a reason for Fulbert's trust in making him tutor to Heloise 'la reputation si bien etablie de ma continence. '
<page 7>. Her Wit and her Beauty. --Abelard insists rather on the learning than the beauty of Heloise--'Per faciem non infima; per abundantiam litterarum erat suprema. ' When the bones of the illustrious lovers were moved from the Paraclete they were inspected by Delaunage, who published a life of Abelard in 1795. In this book he says he found that Heloise must have been of noble stature and beautiful proportions. Of her learning we have the testimony not only of Abelard but of the Abbe de Cluny and St. Bernard. The first wrote to her--'You have vanquished in knowledge all the women and surpassed in wisdom most of the men. ' In the calendar of Paraclete she is recorded in these words--'Heloise, Mother and first Abbess of this place, famous for her learning and her religion. ' And Boyle says' I must not here pass by the custom the religious of the Paraclete now have to commemorate how learned their first Abbess was in the
[p. 118]
Greek, which is, that every year on the day of Pentecost they perform divine service in the Greek tongue. What a ridiculous vanity! 'M. Villenave, after studying the constitution of the Paraclete, says--Le xiie siecle n'a eu aucun theologien plus profond, aucun ecrivain plus erudit et plus eloquent qu'Heloise. '
<page 8>. 'Fulbert desired me to instruct her in philosophy. '--Fulbert gave Abelard complete control as tutor over Heloise, even to the point of personal chastisement--'minis et verberibus'; and Abelard says that in order to avoid suspicion gentle blows were often given--'verbera quondoque dabat amor, non furor; gratia, non ira. '
<page 11>. 'Agaton. '--Again imagination supplies the name. Luckily it is the letters of Abelard that are most freely paraphrased. The first letter of Heloise--the gem of all love letters--is most exquisitely rendered, so that it can be said that the translator may not have known how to read Latin, but she certainly knew how to write English. The 'she' is implied by the inaccuracy in the learning and the excellence of the love passages.
<page 13>. Abelard's Son. --It is strange that of the child of Abelard and Heloise so little is known; there are only two references to him. In one of her letters to the Abbe de Cluny, Heloise begs him to remember 'Astralabe' and procure him a benefice,
[p. 119]
and in his reply Pierre de Cluny says--'I will willingly try and get a benefice in some great church for your Astralabe (Astrabis vestro). ' Thereafter there is only the notice in the death list of the Paraclete that on the 4th of November died Peter Astralabe, son of our master Peter. (Obiit Petrus Astralabius, magistri nostri Petri filius. ) The year is not given, but it is subsequent to his father's death. Some verses addressed to his son by Abelard are included amongst the Fragments edited by M. Cousin.
<page 14>. Heloise refuses Marriage. --It seems that in the eleventh and twelfth centuries marriage was common among priests. Pope Leo, who died in 1054, in his Parmenien epistle says--'We profess openly that it is not permitted to a bishop, priest or deacon to neglect his wife for his religion, or to refuse to provide her with food and clothing; but it is his duty to abstain from living carnally with her. ' Marriage, apparently, was allowed but not approved, and was a bar to advancement in the Church.
<page 16>. Fulbert's Revenge. ---' Corporis mei partibus amputatis quibus ad quod plangebant, commiseram. ' In M. Greard's translation Abelard says--'Ce qui contribuait encore a m'atterrer, c'etait la pensee que, selon la lettre meurtriere de la loi, les eunuques sont en telle abomination devant Dieu, et que les animaux eux-memes,
[p. 120]
lorsqu'ils sont ainsi mutiles, sont rejetes du sacrifice'--and he quotes from Deuteronomy and Leviticus.
<page 16>. 'So cruel an action escaped not unpunished. '--As usual, the chief sinner and instigator, Fulbert, escaped punishment, whilst those who for money carried out his evil intent suffered the loss of their eyes and other mutilation. Abelard meditated going to Rome to accuse Fulbert, but his friend, Foulques, Prior of Deuil, wrote and told him that to appeal to the Pope without taking an immense sum of money was useless. 'Nothing can satisfy the infinite avarice and luxury of the Romans. I question if you have enough for the undertaking, and then nothing will be gained but vexation for having wasted your wealth. They who go to Rome without large sums of money to squander will return just as they went, the expense of their journey only excepted. ' This letter of Foulques is included in Abelard's 'Opera. '
<page 17>. 'O Conjux. '--Lucan's Pharsal, liv. viii.
<page 18>. 'A Council. '--The Council of Soissons, 1121. Abelard had opened a school at the Priory of Maisoncielle in 1120, and delivered some theological lectures on the 'tangled trinities,' which drew, as usual, large crowds of students--'Ad quas Scholas tanta Scholarium multitudo confluxit, ut nec locus Hospitiis, nec terra
[p. 121]
sufficerit Alimentis. ' Unfortunately he put in writing his doctrines in the Introductio ad Theologiam, and his enemies, Alberic of Rheims, and Lotulf of Lombardy, prevailed upon Conan, the Pope's Legate, to summon a Council, and to cause Abelard to appear before it with the 'great work I had composed upon the Trinity. ' Abelard says the book was condemned without being examined, on the ground that he had no right to have read it or presented it to others without the permission of the Pope or the Church:--'Called by the Council, I presented myself on the field, and then, without discussion, without examination, I was forced with my own hand to throw my book in the fire. It was burnt in the midst of silence, my enemies only feebly murmuring that it contained a proposition that God the Father was the only omnipotent. A certain Dr Terriere replied ironically, in the words of St. Ambrose, "There are not three Almighties, but one Almighty. " Then the Archbishop arose and confirmed the sentence, saying, "The Father is Almighty, the Son Almighty, and the Holy Ghost Almighty. " They then called on me to confess and retract my heresy by repeating the symbol of Athanasius, and in order to humiliate me fetched a book for me to read it from, as though I did not know it by heart! Half
[p. 122]
stifled by sobs and tears I said the words, and then the Abbe of St. Medard dragged me off to his cloister as to a prison. God, who knows the bitterness of all hearts, alone felt for the pain that devoured me, as without cease I cried again and again, "Jesus, my Saviour, where art Thou? " The mutilation of my body I had deserved, but this tarnishing of my name and reputation was a cruel injustice, and struck me to the soul. ' Abelard had only been a few months in his new retreat when he again fell into 'heresy,' saying that Denis the Areopagite was Bishop of Corinth and not of Athens. This time, instead of facing the storm, he fled by night to a 'desert' near Nogent-sur-Seine (1131).
<page 18>. 'My enemies,' St. Norbert and St. Bernard, now joined Alberic and Lotulf in attacking this teacher who could attract such enormous crowds of students to the most out-of-the-way spots. The students had built Abelard a chapel, and he, having found comfort in that solitary place, dedicated the chapel to the Holy Ghost, under the name of the Paraclete or Comforter. His enemies said this title was a subtle recrudescence of the Trinity scandal, and that it was heresy to dedicate a chapel to the Paraclete. So once more Abelard had to flee; for some time, he says, he even hesitated whether he should not forsake 'Christian' lands and go across the
[p. 123]
seas and dwell with the heathen; but being offered the Abbey of St Gildas-de-Ruys, he accepted it, only to find himself in worse plight than before.
<page 18>. St. Gildas. --A promontory on the coast of Brittany, between Loire Inferieure and La Vendee.
<page 19>. 'My dissolute Monks. '--'Les moins m'obsedaient pour leurs besoins journaliers, car la communaute ne possedait rien que je pusse distribuer, et chacun prenait sur son propre patrimoine pour se soutenir lui et sa femme, et ses fils et ses filles. '--Greard's Translation.
LETTER II
Lord Lyttelton, in his Life of Henry II. , says that had Heloise not been compelled to study the fathers in a nunnery, but had been allowed to improve her genius by application to polite literature, from what appears in her letters, she would have excelled any man of that age. It may be worth while to give a few sentences of Heloise's Latin:--'Duo autem, fateor, tibi specialiter inerant, quibus feminarum quarumlibet animos statim allicere poteras, dictandi videlicit et cantandi gratia; quae caetoros minime philosophos assecutos esse novimus. Quibus quidem quasi ludo quodam laborem exercitii recreans philosophici pleraque amatorio metro vel rithmo composita reliquisti carmina, quae prae nimia
[p. 124]
suavitate tam dictaminis quam cantus saepius frequentata tuum in ore omnium nomen incessanter tenebant, ut etiam illiteratos melodiae dulcedo tui non sineret immemores esse. Atque hinc maxime in amorem tui feminae suspirabant. '--See page <page 32>.
<page 32>. The Smallest Song. --Of the love songs of Abelard no authentic vestige remains, though they lived as folk-songs for many years, and are referred to as late as 1722. In the Chants Populaires de la Bretagne, published in Paris in 1846, there is a ballad crediting Heloise with being a sorceress: doubtless her learning led her to practise the healing art amongst the ignorant Bretons.
