war with nature and revelation in demanding celibacy for her priesthood. Abelard, if we judge him by the highest standard, should have abandoned the church, or in aspiring to the priesthood should have been willing to fulfil the vows which it imposes. The lax morality of the times and the habits of the clergy may soften our judgment, yet they are not sufficient excuses for his crime.

In all Paris, the niece of Fulbert, the young, the accomplished, the beautiful Heloise, was regarded as the most worthy object of his attention. Such were his renown, his manly beauty, his grace of manner and eloquence of conversation, that, in those lax times, any woman in France would have considered herself honored by his proposals. He chose the one best fitted by her studies and by the strength of her mind to become his companion, who might have been the blessed wife of his bosom until the hour of his death, had not Mother Church interposed a barrier to such a sacred union, had not ambition tempted him beyond his strength.

It is not known when Abelard and Heloise first met. Two such persons could not long remain, even in the largest city, unknown to each other. They seemed to be placed there for each other-to bless each other; but their meeting was the occasion of sorrow instead of lasting joy.

The cunning brain of the philosopher soon con

trived a plan to get access to the object of his passion. Mutual friends propose to Fulbert that he shall take the great master into his house. The residence of Fulbert is so convenient to the school; Abelard finds the cares of keeping a house so troublesome; he is absorbed in deep study, and the servants waste his income. Fulbert loves money, and is tempted with the price offered. He loves his niece, too, and thinks it is a good opportunity to complete her education under the private instruction of the most renowned teacher. Foolish old Fulbert! if a wife had been allowed thee, her eye would have seen what entirely escaped thy obtuse vision, and Heloise would not have been exposed to a danger that she was unable to withstand.

We cannot help cursing Abelard, notwithstanding all the extenuating circumstances of his times, for his sin was a deliberate act, as appears from his own confession.

"There existed at Paris," he says,* " a young lady, named Heloise, niece of a certain canon, who was called Fulbert, who in his love for her, had neglected nothing in order to give her the most complete and brilliant education. She was far from being the lowest in beauty, and was certainly the highest in literary attainments. Such knowledge of literature

*Abelard Op., ep. i., p. 10.

the more highly commended a young girl because it is so rare in women, and had made her the most noted in the whole kingdom.

"Therefore observing that she was endowed with all those charms that are wont to attract lovers, I regarded her as a more proper person to engage in an enterprise of love with me, and believed that I could easily accomplish my purpose. My name was then so great, the graces of youth and the perfection of form gave me a superiority so unquestionable, that from whatever female I might have honored with my love I should have feared no repulse.

"I persuaded myself the more easily that the young lady would consent to my desires, because I knew the extent of her knowledge and her zeal for learning, and because I knew that more daring things would be written than spoken, and that thus pleasant intercourse could always be maintained.

"Wholly inflamed with love for this young girl, I sought an occasion to approach her, to familiarize her with myself in daily conversation, and thus lead her the more easily to yield her consent. In order to succeed in this, I employed the intervention of some friends with the uncle of the girl, that they might induce him to receive me into his house, which was very near to my school, at whatever price. I pretended that my studies were very much impeded by domestic cares, and that keeping open a house

burthened me with too heavy an expense. He was very avaricious, and eager to facilitate the progress of his niece in literature. By flattering these two passions I soon gained his consent, and thus obtained what I desired; for he was intent upon gain, and believed his niece would profit by my presence for her instruction. In regard to this he pressed me with the most earnest solicitations, acceding to my wishes more readily than I had dared to hope, and thus serving himself my love; for he committed Heloise wholly to my direction, praying me to devote to her instruction all the time, either day or night, unoccupied in my school; and, if I found her negligent, to chastise her severely. ल

"In regard to this, if I wondered at the simplicity of the canon, on the other hand, in thinking of myself, I was not less astonished than if he had been confiding a tender lamb to a famished wolf. In giv. ing up Heloise to me, not only to teach, but even to chastise severely, he was doing nothing else than granting full license to my desires, and, even if we were not thus disposed, to offer occasion of triumph; for should I not be able to accomplish my purpose with blandishments, I might bend her to my will with threats and blows. But two considerations closed the mind of Fulbert against any suspicion, love of his niece, and my long-standing reputation for contipence. Το say all in a word; at first we were united

in one house, then in mind. Under the pretext of study, we were wholly free for love, and the retirement which love sought, zeal for reading offered. The books opened, there were more words of love than of reading: more kisses than precepts; love was reflected in each other's eyes oftener than the purpose of reading directed them to the written page. In order to keep off suspicion, blows were given, but in love and not in rage, in tenderness and not in anger,-blows that transcended the sweetness of all balms! What then? We passed through all the phases and degrees of love; all its inventions were put under requisition; no refinement was left untried. We were the more ardent in the enjoyment of these pleasures, because they were new to us, and we experienced no satiety. It was very tedious for me to go to my lessons, and it was equally laborious, for the hours of the night were given to love, and those of the day to study. I gave my lectures with negligence and tedium, for my mind produced nothing; I spoke only from habit and memory; I was only a reciter of ancient inventions; and, if I chanced to compose some verses, they were songs of love and not the secrets of philosophy. Most of these verses, as you know, have become popular, and are sung in many regions, especially by those whose life has been charmed by a similar experience."

We weep for thee, fallen Heloise! Thy spirit

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