His resolution was conveyed to Heloise, and he proposed that she should follow his example. She was then but nineteen years of age—just in the bloom of youth. She loved Abelard, and him alone; her heart had chosen him for "better or for worse." It was hard to give up the world, but she had no power, no wish to resist the will of him to whom she had already yielded whatever is most precious within the gift of woman. A generous man, it would seem to us, ought to have been contented with her assurance of abiding affection, with a proposal to live the life of a voluntary recluse, without obliging her to take upon herself the obligation of eternal vows, but the jealous Abelard did not wish to leave any chance for others to possess that which he could not enjoy. He demanded her compliance, and she, of course, having no will, in the excess of her love, but his will, was obedient. "At your command," said she, long afterwards, "I changed my habit as well as my inclination, in order to show you that you were the only master of my heart." He re Even this was not enough to satisfy him. quired her not only to take the veil, but to take it previously to his bowing his own head to receive the cowl. Abelard could go no further; there was nothing more that he could ask, nothing more that she could give. "When you were hastening to devote yourself to God," she said, "I followed you; yes, I preceded you. For, as if mindful of the wife of Lot, who looked behind her, in the sacred habit and monastic profession, you bound me to God before you bound yourself. In that one instance, I confess, I grieved and blushed for your mistrust of me; but I, God knows, should not have hesitated to follow you at your command, if you had been hastening to perdition." The day soon came when Heloise was to take the veil, and for ever relinquish the world. Great was the crowd that gathered at Argenteuil. The Bishop of Paris officiated. The holy veil was blessed and laid upon the altar. The gates of the cloister were opened, and Heloise appeared. Her features still bore the impress of lofty intelligence and heroism, but grief had added a softness and a sweetness all its own. She wore a look of resignation to her fate, rather than of high religious enthusiasm and eagerness to leave the world. The crowd was at first silent, but soon every heart throbbed with compassion for the fair young Heloise, who was about to take upon herself vows that may not be broken, at the command of an ungenerous lover. The passage to the altar was impeded; friends spoke to her of her charms and urged her not to proceed. Her bosom was convulsed with sobs, tears showered down her cheeks, yet her thoughts were only of him whom she loved too well. She was heard to utter, at a moment when her soul should have been occupied with thoughts of God, the apostrophe of Cornelia in Lucan: "O my husband, greatest of men, who didst deserve a far happier bride than I. Fate had thus much power over thy illustrious head! Why, wretch that I am, did I marry thee to thy undoing? Now art thou avenged; willingly do I sacrifice myself to expiate my crime.” * The crowd gave way before her; she mounted the altar, covered her face with the consecrated veil, and, with a firm voice, pronounced the vows that released her from all things human, that in the language of the church, made her the spouse of Christ. A few days after Heloise had taken the veil at Argenteuil, Abelard entered the Abbey of Saint Denis. It was rather his object to escape the gaze of men, than to find a place sacred to religious meditation, and the worship of God. He takes with him his pride and his restless spirit; foes will multiply on every hand, in contention with whom the best of his life must be wasted. Heloise, through long years of silent sorrow, will think much of God, but more of him whose image is constantly before her, whom her great heart so profoundly loves. * O maxime conjux! O thalamis indigne meis! hoc juris habebat + Epistola Abelardi, p. 54, LUCAN, 1. viii, XXII. NO OBJECT AND NO REST: A MONODRAMA He Ar the Abbey of St. Denis, meditations of vengeance,* at first, wholly occupied the mind of Abelard. imagined that the bishop of Paris and the canons had united in a plot to destroy him, and it was with difficulty that he was restrained from undertaking a journey to Rome, in order to accuse them before the Pope. Men are prone to impute to the machinations of others the calamities that follow their own misdeeds. The clerks, and the Abbé of St. Denis, urged the new comer to resume his lectures, to instruct the poor and humble servants of God, with the same zeal that he had displayed in teaching the noble and the rich. Abelard hesitated. He was seeking retirement from the world, and wished to shun the sight of men. They expected, on their part, from the acquisition of the illustrious philosopher, new renown for the abbey that had been, since its foundation by Dagobert, a pet of * Vie d'Abelard, p. 70, the kings of France, and was one of the institutions of the monarchy. The new monk, who had been accustomed to rule, complained of the irregular life of the brothers, and accused the abbé himself of grave disorders. His imprudent reproaches soon made him obnoxious to the whole fraternity, and they, in hopes of getting rid of him, urged him to yield to the importunities of his disciples, and commence again the work of instruction. With much reluctance he complied with the request of friends and foes, and, in 1120, established himself in the priory of Maisoncelle, which was situated on the lands of the Count of Champagne. An auditory of three thousand students, it is said, soon collected to listen to the lectures of the renowned master. That obscure place could not supply them with lodgings or food. Misfortune had saddened the heart of Abelard, and his teaching was more deeply tinged with religion than it had ever been before. Like Origen, however, he explained every thing; he philosophized theology, thus to speak, and placed reason above faith. Other schools were drained of their pupils, and the masters were made hostile by jealousy towards a successful rival. His right to teach was questioned, and the substance of his teaching was declared to be unsound. The clergy, of every Ep. Abelardi, p.60 * Ep. Abelard, p. 58. |