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THE LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE

[Illustration]




THE LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE


_Translated from the original latin and now reprinted from the
edition of 1722: together with a brief account of their lives and
work_

RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOURA.CHICAGO

  Copyright 1903
  by
  Ralph Fletcher Seymour




THE STORY OF ABELARD AND HELOISE.


It sometimes happens that Love is little esteemed by those who choose
rather to think of other affairs, and in requital He strongly
manifests His power in unthought ways. Need is to think of Abelard
and Heloise: how now his treatises and works are memories only, and
how the love of her (who in lifetime received little comfort
therefor) has been crowned with the violet crown of Grecian Sappho
and the homage of all lovers.

The world itself was learning a new love when these two met; was
beginning to heed the quiet call of the spirit of the Renaissance,
which, at its consummation, brought forth the glories of the
Quattrocento.

It was among the stone-walled, rose-covered gardens and clustered
homes of ecclesiastics, who served the ancient Roman builded pile of
Notre Dame, that Abelard found Heloise.

From his noble father's home in Brittany, Abelard, gifted and
ambitious, came to study with William of Champeaux in Paris. His
advancement was rapid, and time brought him the acknowledged
leadership of the Philosophic School of the city, a prestige which
received added lustre from his controversies with his later
instructor in theology, Anselm of Laon.

His career at this time was brilliant. Adulation and flattery, added
to the respect given his great and genuine ability, made sweet a life
which we can imagine was in most respects to his liking. Among the
students who flocked to him came the beautiful maiden, Heloise, to
learn of philosophy. Her uncle Fulbert, living in retired ease near
Notre Dame, offered in exchange for such instruction both bed and
board; and Abelard, having already seen and resolved to win her,
undertook the contract.

Many quiet hours these two spent on the green, river-watered isle,
studying old philosophies, and Time, swift and silent as the Seine,
sped on, until when days had changed to months they became aware of
the deeper knowledge of Love. Heloise responded wholly to this new
influence, and Abelard, forgetting his ambition, desired their
marriage. Yet as this would have injured his opportunities for
advancement in the Church Heloise steadfastly refused this formal
sanction of her passion. Their love becoming known in time to
Fulbert, his grief and anger were uncontrollable. In fear the two
fled to the country and there their child was born. Abelard still
urged marriage, and at last, outwearied with importunities, she
consented, only insisting that it be kept a secret. Such a course was
considered best to pacify her uncle, who, in fact, promised
reconciliation as a reward. Yet, upon its accomplishment he openly
declared the marriage. Unwilling that this be known lest the
knowledge hurt her lover, Heloise strenuously denied the truth. The
two had returned, confident of Fulbert's reaffirmed regard, and he,
now deeply troubled and revengeful, determined to inflict that
punishment and indignity on Abelard, which, in its accomplishment,
shocked even that ruder civilization to horror and to reprisal.

The shamed and mortified victim, caring only for solitude in which to
hide and rest, retired into the wilderness; returning after a time to
take the vows of monasticism. Unwilling to leave his love where by
chance she could become another's, he demanded that she become a nun.
She yielded obedience, and, although but twenty-two years of age,
entered the convent of Argenteuil.

Abelard's mind was still virile and, perhaps to his surprise, the
world again sought him out, anxious still to listen to his masterful
logic. But with his renewed influence came fierce persecution, and
the following years of life were filled with trials and sorrows.
Sixteen years passed after the lovers parted and then Heloise,
prioress of the Paraclete, found a letter of consolation, written by
Abelard to a friend, recounting his sad career. Her response is a
letter of passion and complaining, an equal to which it is hard to
find in all literature. To his cold and formal reply she wrote a
second, questioning and confused, and a third, constrained and
resigned. These three constitute the record of a soul vainly seeking
in spiritual consolation rest from love.

Abelard, with little heart for love or ambition, still stubbornly
contested with his foes. On a journey to Rome, where he had appealed
from a judgment of heresy against his teachings, he, overweary,
turned aside to rest in the monastery of Cluni,