Letters of Abelard and Heloise
perpetual strife between my inclination and my duty. I find myself
entirely a distracted lover; unquiet in the midst of silence, and
restless in this abode of peace and repose. How shameful is such a
condition!
Consider me no more, I intreat you, as a founder, or any great
personage; your encomiums do but ill agree with such multiplied
weaknesses. I am a miserable sinner, prostrate before my Judge, and,
with my face pressed to the earth, I mix my tears and my sighs in the
dust, when the beams of grace and reason enlighten me. Come, see me
in this posture, and solicit me to love you! Come, if you think fit,
and in your holy habit thrust yourself between God and me and be a
wall of separation! Come, and force from me those sighs, thoughts,
and vows, which I owe to him only. Assist the evil spirits, and be
the instrument of their malice. What cannot you induce a heart to,
whose weakness you so perfectly know? But rather withdraw yourself,
and contribute to my salvation. Suffer me to avoid destruction, I
intreat you, by our former tenderest affection, and by our common
misfortune. It will always be the highest love to show none. I here
release you of all your oaths and engagements. Be God's wholly, to
whom you are appropriated; I will never oppose so pious a design. How
happy shall I be if I thus lose you! then shall I be indeed a
Religious, and you a perfect example of an Abbess.
Make yourself amends by so glorious a choice; make your virtue a
spectacle worthy men and angels: be humble among your children,
assiduous in your choir, exact in your discipline, diligent in your
reading; make even your recreations useful. Have you purchased your
vocation at so slight a rate, as that you should not turn it to the
best advantage? Since you have permitted yourself to be abused by
false doctrine, and criminal instructions, resist not those
good-counsels which grace and religion inspire me with. I will
confess to you, I have thought myself hitherto an abler master to
instill vice than to excite virtue, My false eloquence has only set
off false good. My heart drunk with voluptuousness, could only
suggest terms proper and moving to recommend that. The cup of sinners
overflows with so inchanting a sweetness and we are naturally so much
inclined to taste it, that it needs only be offered to us. On the
other hand, the chalice of saints is filled with a bitter draught,
and nature starts from it. And yet you reproach me with cowardice for
giving it you first; I willingly submit to these accusations. I
cannot enough admire the readiness you showed to take the religious
habit: bear, therefore, with courage the Cross, which you have taken
up so resolutely. Drink of the chalice of saints, even to the bottom,
without turning your eyes with uncertainty upon me, Let me remove far
from you, and obey the apostle, who hath said, _Fly._
You intreat me to return, under a pretence of devotion, Your
earnestness in this point creates a suspicion in me, and makes me
doubtful how to answer you. Should I commit an error here, my words
would blush, if I may say so, after the history of my misfortunes.
The Church is jealous of its glory, and commands that her children
should be induced to the practice of virtue by virtuous means. When
we have approached God after an unblameable manner, we may then with
boldness invite others to him. But to forget _Heloise_, to see
her no more, is what Heaven demands of _Abelard_; and to expect
nothing from _Abelard_, to lose him even in idea, is what Heaven
enjoins _Heloise_. To forget in the case of love is the most
necessary penitence, and the most difficult. It is easy to recount
our faults. How many through indiscretion have made themselves a
second pleasure of this, instead of confessing them with humility.
The only way to return to God is, by neglecting the creature which we
have adored, and adoring God whom we have neglected. This may appear
harsh, but it must be done if we would be saved.
To make it more easy, observe why I pressed you to your vow before
I took mine; and pardon my sincerity, and the design I have of
meriting your neglect and hatred, if I conceal nothing from you of
the particular you inquire after. When I saw myself so oppressed with
my misfortune, my impotency made me jealous, and I considered all
men as my rivals. Love has more of distrust than assurance. I was
apprehensive of abundance of things, because I saw I had abundance of
defects; and being tormented with fear from my own example, I
imagined your heart, which had been so much accustomed to love, would
not be long without entering into a new engagement. Jealousy can
easily believe to most dreadful consequences, I was desirous to put
myself out of a possibility of doubting you. I was very urgent to
persuade you, that decency required you should withdraw from the
envious eyes of the world; that modesty, and our friendship, demanded
it; nay, that your own safety obliged you to it; and, that after such
a revenge taken upon me, you could expect to be secure no where but
in a convent.
I will do you justice; you were very easily persuaded to it. My
jealousy secretly triumphed over your innocent compliance; and yet,
triumphant as I was, I yielded you up to God with an unwilling heart.
I still kept my gift as much as was possible, and only parted with it
that I might effectually put it out of the power of men. I did not
persuade you to religion out of any regard to your happiness, but
condemned you to it, like an enemy who destroys what he cannot carry
off. And yet you heard my discourses with kindness; you sometimes
interrupted me with tears, and pressed me to acquaint you which of
the convents was most in my esteem. What a comfort did I feel in
seeing you shut up! I was now at ease, and took a satisfaction in
considering that you did not continue long in the world after my
disgrace, and that you would return into it no more.
But still this was doubtful. I imagined women were incapable of
maintaining any constant resolutions, unless they were forced by the
necessity of fixed vows. I wanted those vows, and Heaven itself, for
your security, that I might no longer distrust you. Ye holy mansions,
ye impenetrable retreats, from what numberless apprehensions have you
freed me? Religion and Piety keep a strict guard round your grates
and high walls. What a haven of rest is this to a jealous mind? and
with what impatience did I endeavour it! I went every day trembling
to exhort you to this sacrifice; I admired, without daring to mention
it then, a brightness in your beauty which I had never observed
before. Whether it was the bloom of a rising virtue, or an
anticipation of that great loss I was going to suffer, I was not
curious in examining the cause, but only hastened your being
professed. I engaged your Prioress in my guilt by a criminal bribe,
with which I purchased the right of burying you. The professed of the
house were also bribed, and concealed from you, by my directions, all
their scruples and disgusts. I omitted nothing, either little or
great: and if you had escaped all my snares, I myself would not have
retired: I was resolved to follow you every where. This shadow of
myself would always have pursued your steps, and continually
occasioned either your confusion or fear, which would have been a
sensible gratification to me.
But, thanks to Heaven, you resolved to make a vow; I accompanied
you with terror to the foot of the altar: and while you stretched out
your hand to touch the sacred cloth, I heard you pronounce distinctly
those fatal words which for ever separated you from all men. 'Till
then your beauty and youth seemed to oppose my design, and to
threaten your return into the world. Might not a small temptation
have changed you? Is it possible to renounce one's self entirely at
the age of two and twenty? at an age which claims the most absolute
liberty, could you think the world no longer worthy of your regard?
How much did I wrong you, and what weakness did I impute to you? You
were in my imagination nothing but lightness and inconstancy. Might
not a young woman, at the noise of the flames, and the fall of Sodom,
look back, and pity some one person? I took notice of your eyes, your
motion, your air; I trembled at every thing. You may call such a
self-interested conduct treachery, perfidiousness, murder. A love
which was so like to hatred ought to provoke the utmost contempt and
anger.
It is fit you should know, that the very moment when I was
convinced of your being entirely devoted to me, when I saw you were
infinitely worthy of all my love and acknowledgement, I imagined I
could love you no more; I thought it time to leave off giving you any
marks of affection; and I considered, that by your holy espousals you
were now the peculiar care of Heaven, even in the quality of a wife.
My jealousy seemed to be extinguished. When God only is our rival, we
have nothing to fear: and being in greater tranquillity than ever
before, I dared even to offer up prayers, and beseech him to take you
away from my eyes: but it was not a time to make rash prayers; and my
faith was too imperfect to let them be heard. He who sees the depth
and secrets of all men's hearts, saw mine did not agree with my
words. Necessity and despair were the springs of this proceeding.
Thus I inadvertently offered an insult to Heaven rather than a
sacrifice. God rejected my offering and my prayers, and continued my
punishment, by suffering me to continue my love. Thus, under the
guilt of your vows, and of the passion which preceded them, I must be
tormented all the days of my life.
If God spoke to your heart, as to that of a Religious, whose
innocence had first engaged him to heap on it a thousand favours, I
should have matter of comfort; but to see both of us victims of a
criminal love; to see this love insult us, and invest itself with our
very habits, as with spoils it has taken from our devotion, fills me
with horror and trembling. Is this a state of reprobation? or are
these the consequences of a long drunkenness in profane love? We
cannot say love is a drunkenness and a poison till we are illuminated
by grace; in the mean time, it is an evil which we dote on. When we
are under such a mistake the knowledge of our misery is the first
step towards amendment. Who does not know that it is for the glory of
God to find no other foundation in man for his mercy than man's very
weakness? When he has shewed us this weakness, and we bewail it, he
is ready to put forth his omnipotence to assist us. Let us say for
our comfort that what we suffer is one of those long and terrible
temptations which have sometimes disturbed the vocations of the most
Holy.
God can afford his presence to men, in order to soften their
calamities, whenever he shall think fit. It was his pleasure when you
took the veil, to draw you to him by his grace. I saw your eyes, when
you spoke your last farewell, fixed upon the cross. It was above six
months before you wrote me a letter, nor during all that time did I
receive any message from you. I admired this silence, which I durst
not blame, and could not imitate. I wrote to you; you returned me no
answer. Your heart was then shut; but this guardian of the spouse is
now opened, he is withdrawn from it, and has left you alone. By
removing from you, he has made trial of you; call him back and strive
to regain him. We must have the assistance of God that we may break
our chains; we have engaged too deeply in love to free ourselves. Our
follies have penetrated even into the most sacred places. Our amours
have been matter of scandal to a whole kingdom. They are read and
admired; love which produced them has caused them to be described. We
shall be a consolation for the failings of youth hereafter. Those who