Letters of Abelard and Heloise
for his philosophy did not make him scrupulous enough to esteem every
small infidelity a crime, when it did not lessen his constant love of
_Heloise_.
This action of Fulbert was too tragical to pass unpunished: the
traiterous servant and one of the assassins were seized and condemned
to lose their eyes, and to suffer what they had done to _Abelard_.
But Fulbert denying he had any share in the action saved himself from
the punishment with the loss only of his benefices. This sentence did
not satisfy _Abelard_; he made his complaint to no purpose to
the bishop and canons; and if he had made a remonstrance at Rome,
where he once had a design of carrying the matter, 'tis probable he
would have had no better success. It requires too much money to gain
a cause there. One _Foulques_, prior of Deuil, and intimate
friend of _Abelard_, wrote thus to him upon the occasion of his
misfortune: "If you appeal to the Pope without bringing an
immense sum of money, it will be useless: nothing can satisfy the
infinite avarice and luxury of the Romans. I question if you have
enough for such an undertaking; and if you attempt it, nothing will
perhaps remain but the vexation of having flung away so much money.
They who go to Rome without large sums to squander away, will return
just as they went, the expence of their journey only excepted*."
But since I am upon Foulques's letters which is too extraordinary to
be passed over in silence, I shall give the reader some reflections
which may make him amends for the trouble of a new digression.
* _This Letter is extant in_ Latin _in _Abelard's _Works_.
This friend of _Abelard_ lays before him many advantages
which might be drawn from his misfortune. He tells him his
extraordinary talents, subtilty, eloquence and learning had drawn
from all parts an incredible number of auditors, and so filled him
with excessive vanity: he hints gently at another thing, which
contributed not a little towards making him proud, namely, that the
women continually followed him, and gloried in drawing him into their
snares. This misfortune, therefore, would cure him of his pride, and
free him from those snares of women which had reduced him even to
indigence, tho' his profession got him a large revenue; and now he
would never impoverish himself by his gallantries.
_Heloise_ herself, in some passages of her _Letters_,
says, that there was neither maid nor wife **, who in _Abelard's_
absence did not form designs for him, and in his presence was not
inflamed with love: the queens themselves, and ladies of the first
quality, envied the pleasures she enjoyed with him. But we are not to
take these words of _Heloise_ in a strict sense; because as she
loved _Abelard_ to madness, so she imagined every one else did.
Besides, that report, to be sure, hath added to the truth. It is not
at all probable that a man of _Abelard's_ sense, and who
according to all appearance passionately loved his wife, should not
be able to contain himself within some bounds, but should squander
away all his money upon mistresses, even to his not reserving what
was sufficient to provide for his necessities. Foulques owns, that he
speaks only upon hearsay, and in that, no doubt, envy, and jealousy
had their part.
** _Qua conjugata, que virgo non concupiscebat absentem, & non
exardescebat in presentem? Qua regina, vel prapotens foemina gaudiis
meis non invidebat, vel thalamis?_
Foulques tells him besides, that the amputation of a part of his
body, of which he made such ill use, would suppress at the same time
a great many troublesome passions, and procure him liberty of
reflecting on himself, instead of being hurried to and fro by his
passions: his meditations would be no more interrupted by the
emotions of the flesh, and therefore he would be more successful in
discovering the secrets of Nature. He reckons it as a great advantage
to him, that he would no more be the terror of husbands, and might
now lodge any where without being suspected. And forgets not to
acquaint him, that he might converse with the finest women without
any fear of those temptations which sometimes overpower even age
itself upon the sight of such objects. And, lastly, he would have the
happiness of being exempt from the illusions of sleep; which
exemption, according to him is a peculiar blessing.
It was with reason that Foulques reckons all these as advantages
very extraordinary in the life of an ecclesiastick. It is easy to
observe, that, to a person who devotes himself to continence, nothing
can be more happy than to be insensible to beauty and love, for they
who cannot maintain their chastity but by continual combats are very
unhappy. The life of such persons is uneasy, their state always
doubtful. They but too much feel the trouble of their warfare; and if
they come off victorious in an engagement, it is often with a great
many wounds. Even such of them as in a retired life are at the
greatest distance from temptations, by continually struggling with
their inclinations, setting barriers against the irruptions of the
flesh, are in a miserable condition. Their entrenchments are often
forced, and their conscience filled with sorrow and anxiety. What
progress might one make in the ways of virtue, who is not obliged to
fight an enemy for every foot of ground? Had _Abelard's_
misfortune made him indeed such as Foulques supposed, we should see
him in his _Letters_ express his motives of comfort with a
better grace. But though he now was in a condition not able to
satisfy a passion by which he had suffered so much, yet was he not
insensible at the sight of those objects which once gave him so much
pleasure. This discourse therefore of Foulques, far from comforting
_Abelard_ in his affliction, seems capable of producing the
contrary effect; and it is astonishing if _Abelard_ did not take
it so, and think he rather insulted him, and consequently resent it.
As to dreams, St. Austin informs us of the advantage Foulques
tells his friend he had gained. St. Austin implores the grace of God
to deliver him from this sort of weakness, and says, he gave consent
to those things in his sleep which he should abominate awake, and
laments exceedingly so great a regaining weakness.
But let us go on with this charitable friend's letter; it hath too
near a relation to this to leave any part of it untouched.
Matrimonial functions (continues Foulques) and the cares of a family,
will not now hinder your application to please God. And what a
happiness is it, not to be in a capacity of sinning? And then he
brings the examples of Origen, and other martyrs, who rejoice now in
heaven for their being upon earth in the condition _Abelard_
laments; as if the impossibility of committing a sin could secure any
one from desiring to do it. But one of the greatest motives of
comfort, and one upon which he insists the most is, because his
misfortune is irreparable. This is indeed true in fact, but the
consequence of his reasoning is not so certain; _Afflict not
yourself_ (says he) _because your misfortune is of such a nature
as is never to be repaired._
It must be owned, that the general topics of consolation have two
faces, and may therefore be considered very differently, even so as
to seem arguments for sorrow. As for instance, one might argue very
justly, that a mother should not yield too much to grief upon the
loss of a son, because her tears are unavailable; and tho' she should
kill herself with sorrow, she can never, by these means, bring her
son to life. Yet this very thing, that all she can do is useless, is
the main occasion of her grief; she could bear it patiently, could
she any ways retrieve her loss. When Solon lamented the death of his
son, and some friend, by way of comfort, told him his tears were
insignificant. _That_, said he, _is the very reason why I
weep_.
But Foulques argues much better afterwards; he says, _Abelard_
did not suffer this in the commission of an ill act, but sleeping
peaceably in his bed; that is he was not caught in any open fact,
such has cost others the like loss. This is indeed a much better
topic than the former, though it must be allowed that _Abelard_
had drawn this misfortune on himself by a crime as bad as adultery;
yet the fault was over, and he had made all the reparation in his
power, and when they maimed him he thought no harm to any body.
_Abelard's_ friend makes use likewise of other consolatory
reasons in his Letter, and represents to him, after a very moving
manner, the part which the Bishop and Canons, and all the
Ecclesiasticks of Paris, took in his disgrace, and the mourning there
was among the inhabitants and especially the women, upon this
occasion. But, in this article of consolation, how comes it to pass
that he makes no mention of _Heloise_? This ought not to appear
strange: she was the most injured, and therefore questionless, her
sorrows were sufficiently known to him; and it would be no news to
tell the husband that his wife was in the utmost affliction for him.
For as we observed before, though she was in a convent, she had not
renounced her husband, and those frequent visits he made her were not
spent in reading homilies. But let us make an end of our reflections
on Foulques's curious Letter, Foulques, after advising _Abelard_
not to think of carrying the matter before the Pope, by assuring him
that it required too great expence to obtain any satisfaction at that
court, concludes all with this last motive of consolation, that the
imagined happiness he had lost was always accompanied with abundance
of vexation; but if he persevered in his spirit of resignation, he
would, without doubt, at the last day obtain that justice he had now
failed of. 'Tis great pity we have not _Abelard's_ answer to
this delicate Letter, the matter then would look like one of Job's
Dialogues with his friends. _Abelard_ would generally have
enough to reply, and Foulques would often be but a sorry comforter.
However, it is certain this Letter was of some weight with _Abelard_;
for we find afterwards he never thought of making a voyage to Rome.
Resolved to hear his calamity patiently, he left to God the avenging
of the cruel and shameful abuse he had suffered.
But let us return to _Heloise_. 'Tis probable her friends of
the convent of Argenteuil concealed so heavy a misfortune from her
for some time; but at last she heard the fatal news. Though the rage
and fury of her uncle threatened her long since with some punishment,
yet could she never suspect any thing of this nature. It will be
saying too little to tell the reader she felt all the shame and
sorrow that is possible. She only can express those violent emotions
of her soul upon so severe an occasion.
In all probability this misfortune of _Abelard_ would have
been a thorough cure of her passion, if we might argue from like
cases: but there is no rule so general as not to admit of some
exceptions; and _Heloise's_ love upon this severe trial proved
like Queen Stratonice's, who was not less passionate for her
favourite Combabus, when she discovered his impotence, than she had
been before.
Shame and sorrow had not less seized _Abelard_ than _Heloise_,
nor dared he ever appear in the world; so that he resolved,
immediately upon his cure, to banish himself from the sight of men,
and hide himself in the darkness of a monastick life avoiding all
conversation with any kind of persons excepting his dear _Heloise_,
by whose company he endeavoured to comfort himself. But she at last
resolved to follow his example, and continue forever in the convent
of Argenteuil where she was. _Abelard_ himself confesses, that
shame rather than devotion had made him take the habit of a monk; and
that it was jealousy more than love which engaged him to persuade