Letters of Abelard and Heloise
themselves to the censure of those who observed it.
In this retirement _Abelard_ owns that more time was employ'd
in soft caresses than in lectures of philosophy. Sometimes he
pretended to use the severity of a master; the better to deceive such
as might be spies upon them, he exclaimed against _Heloise_, and
reproached her for her negligence. But how different were his menaces
from those which are inspired by anger!
Never did two lovers give a greater loose to their delights than
did these two for five or six months; they lived in all the
endearments which could enter into the hearts of young beginners.
This is _Abelard's_ own account of the matter. He compares
himself to such as have been long kept in a starving condition, and
at last are brought to a feast. A grave and studious man exceeds a
debauchee in his enjoyments of a woman whom he loves and of whom he
is passionately beloved.
_Abelard_ being thus enchanted with the caresses of his
mistress, neglected all his serious and important affairs. His
performances in public were wretched. His scholars perceived it, and
soon guessed the reason. His head was turned to nothing but amorous
verses. His school was his aversion, and he spent as little time in
it as he could. As for his lectures they were commonly the old ones
served up again: the night was wholly lost from his studies; and his
leisure was employed in writing songs, which were dispersed and sung
in diverse provinces of France many years after. In short our lovers,
who were in their own opinion the happiest pair in the world, kept so
little guard, that their amours were every where talked of, and all
the world saw plainly that the sciences were not always the subject
of their conversation. Only honest Fulbert, under whose nose all this
was done, was the last man that heard any thing of it; he wanted eyes
to see that which was visible to all the world; and if any body went
about to tell him of it, he was prepossessed with so good an opinion
of his niece and her master, that he would believe nothing against
them.
But at last so many discoveries were daily made to him, that he
could not help believing something; he therefore resolved to separate
them, and by that means prevent the ill consequences of their too
great familiarity. However, he thought it best to convict them
himself, before he proceeded further; and therefore watched them so
closely, that he had one day an opportunity of receiving ocular
satisfaction that the reports he had heard were true. In short he
surprised them together. And though he was naturally cholerick, yet
he appeared so moderate on this occasion as to leave them under
dismal apprehensions of something worse to come after. The result
was, that they must be parted.
Who can express the torment our lovers felt upon this separation!
However, it served only to unite their hearts more firmly; they
were but the more eager to see one another. Difficulties increased
their desires, and put them upon any attempts without regarding
what might be the consequence. _Abelard_ finding it impossible
to live without his dear _Heloise_, endeavoured to settle a
correspondence with her by her maid Agaton, who was a handsome brown
girl, well shaped, and likely enough to have pleased a man who was
not otherwise engaged. But what a surprise was it to our Doctor, to
find this girl refuse his money, and in recompence of the services
she was to do him with his mistress, demanded no less a reward than
his heart, and making him at once a plain declaration of love!
_Abelard_ who could love none but _Heloise_, turned from
her abruptly, without answering a word. But a rejected woman is a
dangerous creature. Agaton knew well how to revenge the affront put
upon her, and failed not to acquaint Fulbert with _Abelard's_
offers to her, without saying a word how she had been disobliged.
Fulbert thought it was time to look about him. He thanked the maid
for her care, and entered into measures with her, how to keep _Abelard_
from visiting his niece.
The Doctor was now more perplexed than ever: he had no ways left
but to apply himself to _Heloise's_ singing-master; and the gold
which the maid refused prevailed with him. By this means _Abelard_
conveyed a letter to _Heloise_, in which he told her, that he
intended to come and see her at night, and that the way he had
contrived was over the garden-wall by a ladder of cords. This project
succeeded, and brought them together. After the first transports of
this short interview, _Heloise_, who had found some more than
ordinary symptoms within her, acquainted her lover with it. She had
informed him of it before by a letter; and now having this
opportunity to consult about it; they agreed that she should go to a
sister of his in Britany, at whose house she might be privately
brought to bed. But before they parted, he endeavored to comfort her,
and make her easy in this distress, by giving her assurances of
marriage. When _Heloise_ heard this proposal she peremptorily
rejected it, and gave such reasons * for her refusal, as left _Abelard_
in the greatest astonishment.
* See _Abelard's_ letter to _Philintus_, and _Heloise's_
first _Letter to Abelard_.
Indeed a refusal of this nature is so extraordinary a thing, that
perhaps another instance of it is not to be found in history. I
persuade myself, therefore, that I shall not offend my reader, if I
make some few remarks upon it. It often happens, that the passion of
love stifles or over-rules the rebukes of conscience; but it is
unusual for it to extinguish the sensibility of honour. I don't speak
of persons of mean birth and no education; but for others, all young
women, I suppose, who engage in love-intrigues, flatter themselves
with one of these views; either they hope they shall not prove with
child, or they shall conceal it from the world, or they shall get
themselves married. As for such as resolve to destroy the fruit of
their amours, there are but few so void of all natural affections as
to be capable of this greatest degree of barbarity. However, this
shows plainly, that if Love tyrannizes sometimes, it is such a tyrant
as leaves honour in possession of its rights. But _Heloise_ had
a passion so strong, that she was not at all concerned for her honour
or reputation. She was overjoyed to find herself with child, and yet
she did her utmost not to be married. Never fore was so odd an
example as these two things made when put together. The first was
very extraordinary; and how many young women in the world would
rather be married to a disagreeable husband than live in a state of
reproach? They know the remedy is bad enough, and will cost them
dear; but what signifies that, so long as the name of husband hides
the flaws made in their honour? But as for _Heloise_, she was
not so nice in this point. An excess of passion, never heard of
before, made her chuse to be _Abelard's_ mistress rather than
his wife. We shall see, in the course of this history, how firm she
was in this resolution, with what arguments she supported it, and how
earnestly she persuaded her gallant to be of the same mind.
_Abelard_, who was willing to lose no time, least his dear
_Heloise_ should fall into her uncle's hands, disguised her in
the habit of a nun, and sent her away with the greatest dispatch,
hoping that after she was brought to bed, he should have more leisure
to persuade her to marriage, by which they might screen themselves
from the reproach which must otherwise come upon them, as soon as the
business should be publickly known.
As soon as _Heloise_ was set forward on her journey, _Abelard_
resolved to make Fulbert a visit in order to appease him, if
possible, and prevent the ill effects of his just indignation.
The news that _Heloise_ was privately withdrawn soon made a
great noise in the neighbourhood; and reaching Fulbert's ears, filled
him with grief and melancholy. Besides, that he had a very tender
affection for his niece, and could not live without her, he had the
utmost resentment of the affront which _Abelard_ had put upon
him, by abusing the freedom he had allowed him. This fired him with
such implacable fury, as in the end fell heavy upon our poor lovers,
and had very dreadful consequences.
When Fulbert saw _Abelard_, and heard from him the reason why
_Heloise_ was withdrawn, never was man in such a passion. He
abandoned himself to the utmost distractions of rage, despair, and
thirst of revenge. All the affronts, reproaches, and menaces that
could be thought of, were heaped upon _Abelard_; who was, poor
man, very passive, and ready to make the Canon all the satisfaction
he was able. He gave him leave to say what he pleased; and when he
saw that he tired himself with exclaiming, he took up the discourse,
and ingenuously confess'd his crime. Then he had recourse to all the
prayers, submissions, and promises, he could invent; and begged of
him to consider the force of Love, and what foils this tyrant has
given to the greatest men: that the occasion of the present
misfortunes was the most violent passion that ever was; that this
passion continued still; and that he was ready to give both him and
his niece all the satisfaction which this sort of injury required.
Will you marry her then? said Fulbert, interrupting him. Yes, replied
_Abelard_, if you please, and she will consent. If I please!
said the Canon, pausing a little; if she will consent! And do you
question either? Upon this he was going to offer him his reasons,
after his hasty way, why they should be married: But _Abelard_
entreated him to suppress his passion a while, and hear what he had
to offer: which was, that their marriage might for some time be kept
secret. No, says the Canon, the dishonor you have done my niece is
public, and the reparation you make her shall be so too, But _Abelard_
told him, that since they were to be one family, he hoped he would
consider his interest as his own. At last after a great many
intreaties, Fulbert seemed content it should be as _Abelard_
desired; that he should marry _Heloise_ after she was brought to
bed, and that in the mean time the business should be kept secret.
_Abelard_, having given his scholars a vacation, returned
into Britany to visit his designed spouse, and to acquaint her with
what had passed. She was not at all concerned at her uncle's
displeasure; but that which troubled her was, the resolution which
she saw her lover had taken to marry her, She endeavoured to dissuade
him from it with all the arguments she could think of. She begun with
representing to him the wrong he did himself in thinking of marriage:
that as she never loved him but for his own sake, she preferred his
glory, reputation, and interest, before her own. I know my uncle,
said she, will never be pacified with any thing we can do, and what
honour shall I get by being your wife, when at the same time I
certainly ruin your reputation? What curse may I not justly fear,
should I rob the world of so eminent a person as you are? What an
injury shall I do the Church? how much shall I disoblige the learned?
and what a shame and disparagement will it be to you, whom Nature has
fitted for the public good, to devote yourself entirely to a wife?
Remember what St. _Paul_ says, _Art thou loosed from a wife?
seek not a wife._ If neither this great man, not the fathers of
the church, can make you change your resolution, consider at least
what your philosophers say of it. Socrates has proved, by many
arguments, that a wife man ought not to marry. Tully put away his
wife Terentia; and when Hircius offered him his sister in marriage he
told him, he desired to be excused, because he could never bring
himself to divide his thoughts between his books and his wife. In
short, said she, how can the study of divinity and philosophy comport