CHAPTER IV
OF THE PERSECUTION HE HAD FROM HIS TEACHER ANSELM
NOW this venerable man of whom I have spoken was acutely smitten with envy, and
straightway incited, as I have already mentioned, by the insinuations of sundry persons,
began to persecute me for my lecturing on the Scriptures no less bitterly than my former
master, William, had done for my work in philosophy. At that time there were in this old
man's school two who were considered far to excel all the others: Alberic of Rheims and
Lotulphe the Lombard. The better opinion these two held of themselves, the more they were
incensed against me. Chiefly at their suggestion, as it afterwards transpired, yonder
venerable coward had the impudence to forbid me to carry on any further in his school the
work of preparing glosses which I had thus begun. The pretext he alleged was that if by
chance in the course of this work I should write anything containing blunders--as was
likely enough in view of my lack of training--the thing might be imputed to him. When this
came to the ears of his scholars, they were filled with indignation at so undisguised a
manifestation of spite, the like of which had never been directed against any one before.
The more obvious this rancour became, the more it redounded to my honour, and his
persecution did nought save to make me more famous.
CHAPTER V
OF HOW HE RETURNED TO PARIS AND FINISHED THE GLOSSES WHICH HE HAD BEGUN
AT LAON
AND so, after a few days, I returned to Paris, and there for several years I peacefully
directed the school which formerly had been destined for me, nay, even offered to me, but
from which I had been driven out. At the very outset of my work there, I set about
completing the glosses on Ezekiel which I had begun at Laon. These proved so satisfactory
to all who read them that they came to believe me no less adept in lecturing on theology
than I had proved myself to be in the field of philosophy. Thus my school was notably
increased in size by reason of my lectures on subjects of both these kinds, and the amount
of financial profit as well as glory which it brought me cannot be concealed from you, for
the matter talked of. But prosperity always puffs up the foolish and worldly comfort
enervates the soul, rendering it an easy prey to carnal temptations. Thus I who by this
time had come to regard myself as the only philosopher remaining in the whole world, and
had ceased to fear any further disturbance of my peace, began to loosen the rein on my
desires, although hitherto I had always lived in the utmost continence. And the greater
progress I made in my lecturing on philosophy or theology, the more I departed alike from
the practice of the philosophers and the spirit of the divines in the uncleanness of my
life. For it is well known, methinks, that philosophers, and still more those who have
devoted their lives to arousing the love of sacred study, have been strong above all else
in the beauty of chastity.
Thus did it come to pass that while I was utterly absorbed in pride and sensuality,
divine grace, the cure for both diseases, was forced upon me, even though I, forsooth
would fain have shunned it. First was I punished for my sensuality, and then for my pride.
For my sensuality I lost those things whereby I practiced it; for my pride, engendered in
me by my knowledge of letters and it is even as the Apostle said: "Knowledge puffeth
itself up" (I Cor. viii. 1) -- I knew the humiliation of seeing burned the very book
in which I most gloried. And now it is my desire that you should know the stories of these
two happenings, understanding them more truly from learning the very facts than from
hearing what is spoken of them, and in the order in which they came about. Because I had
ever held in abhorrence the foulness of prostitutes, because I had diligently kept myself
from all excesses and from association with the women of noble birth who attended the
school, because I knew so little of the common talk of ordinary people, perverse and
subtly flattering chance gave birth to an occasion for casting me lightly down from the
heights of my own exaltation. Nay, in such case not even divine goodness could redeem one
who, having been so proud, was brought to such shame, were it not for the blessed gift of
grace.
CHAPTER VI
OF HOW, BROUGHT LOW BY HIS LOVE FOR HELOISE, HE WAS WOUNDED IN BODY AND
SOUL
NOW there dwelt in that same city of Paris a certain young girl named Heloise, the
neice of a canon who was called Fulbert. Her uncle's love for her was equalled only by his
desire that she should have the best education which he could possibly procure for her. Of
no mean beauty, she stood out above all by reason of her abundant knowledge of letters.
Now this virtue is rare among women, and for that very reason it doubly graced the maiden,
and made her the most worthy of renown in the entire kingdom. It was this young girl whom
I, after carefully considering all those qualities which are wont to attract lovers,
determined to unite with myself in the bonds of love, and indeed the thing seemed to me
very easy to be done. So distinguished was my name, and I possessed such advantages of
youth and comeliness, that no matter what woman I might favour with my love, I dreaded
rejection of none. Then, too, I believed that I could win the maiden's consent all the
more easily by reason of her knowledge of letters and her zeal therefor; so, even if we
were parted, we might yet be together in thought with the aid of written messages.
Perchance, too, we might be able to write more boldly than we could speak, and thus at all
times could we live in joyous intimacy.
Thus, utterly aflame with my passion for this maiden, I sought to discover means
whereby I might have daily and familiar speech with her, thereby the more easily to win
her consent. For this purpose I persuaded the girl's uncle, with the aid of some of his
friends to take me into his household--for he dwelt hard by my school--in return for the
payment of a small sum. My pretext for this was that the care of my own household was a
serious handicap to my studies, and likewise burdened me with an expense far greater than
I could afford. Now he was a man keen in avarice and likewise he was most desirous for his
niece that her study of letters should ever go forward, so, for these two reasons I easily
won his consent to the fulfilment of my wish, for he was fairly agape for my money, and
at the same time believed that his niece would vastly benefit by my teaching. More even
than this, by his own earnest entreaties he fell in with my desires beyond anything I had
dared to hope, opening the way for my love; for he entrusted her wholly to my guidance,
begging me to give her instruction whensoever I might be free from the duties of my
school, no matter whether by day or by night, and to punish her sternly if ever I should
find her negligent of her tasks. In all this the man's simplicity was nothing short of
astounding to me; I should not have been more smitten with wonder if he had entrusted a
tender lamb to the care of a ravenous wolf. When he had thus given her into my charge, not
alone to be taught but even to be disciplined, what had he done save to give free scope to
my desires, and to offer me every opportunity, even if I had not sought it, to bend her to
my will with threats and blows if I failed to do so with caresses? There were, however,
two things which particularly served to allay any foul suspicion: his own love for his
niece, and my former reputation for continence.
Why should I say more? We were united first in the dwelling that sheltered our love,
and then in the hearts that burned with it. Under the pretext of study we spent our hours
in the happiness of love, and learning held out to us the secret opportunities that our
passion craved. Our speech was more of love than of the books which lay open before us;
our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned words. Our hands sought less the book than each
other's bosoms -- love drew our eyes together far more than the lesson drew them to the
pages of our text. In order that there might be no suspicion, there were, indeed,
sometimes blows, but love gave them, not anger; they were the marks, not of wrath, but of
a tenderness surpassing the most fragrant balm in sweetness. What followed? No degree in
love's progress was left untried by our passion, and if love itself could imagine any
wonder as yet unknown, we discovered it. And our inexperience of such delights made us all
the more ardent in our pursuit of them, so that our thirst for one another was still
unquenched.
In measure as this passionate rapture absorbed me more and more, I devoted ever less
time to philosophy and to the work of the school. Indeed it became loathsome to me to go
to the school or to linger there; the labour, moreover, was very burdensome, since my
nights were vigils of love and my days of study. My lecturing became utterly careless and
lukewarm; I did nothing because of inspiration, but everything merely as a matter of
habit. I had become nothing more than a reciter of my former discoveries, and though I
still wrote poems, they dealt with love, not with the secrets of philosophy. Of these
songs you yourself well know how some have become widely known and have been sung in many
lands, chiefly, methinks, by those who delighted in the things of this world. As for the
sorrow, the groans, the lamentations of my students when they perceived the preoccupation,
nay, rather the chaos, of my mind, it is hard even to imagine them.
A thing so manifest could deceive only a few, no one, methinks, save him whose shame it
chiefly bespoke, the girl's uncle, Fulbert. The truth was often enough hinted to him, and
by many persons, but he could not believe it, partly, as I have said, by reason of his
boundless love for his niece, and partly because of the well-known continence of my
previous life. Indeed we do not easily suspect shame in those whom we most cherish, nor
can there be the blot of foul suspicion on devoted love. Of this St. Jerome in his epistle
to Sabinianus (Epist. 48) says: "We are wont to be the last to know the evils of our
own households, and to be ignorant of the sins of our children and our wives, though our
neighbours sing them aloud." But no matter how slow a matter may be in disclosing
itself, it is sure to come forth at last, nor is it easy to hide from one what is known to
all. So, after the lapse of several months, did it happen with us. Oh, how great was the
uncle's grief when he learned the truth, and how bitter was the sorrow of the lovers when
we were forced to part! With what shame was I overwhelmed, with what contrition smitten
because of the blow which had fallen on her I loved, and what a tempest of misery burst
over her by reason of my disgrace! Each grieved most, not for himself, but for the other.
Each sought to allay, not his own sufferings, but those of the one he loved. The very
sundering of our bodies served but to link our souls closer together; the plentitude of
the love which was denied to us inflamed us more than ever. Once the first wildness of
shame had passed, it left us more shameless than before, and as shame died within us the
cause of it seemed to us ever more desirable. And so it chanced with us as, in the stories
that the poets tell, it once happened with Mars and Venus when they were caught together.
It was not long after this that Heloise found that she was pregnant, and of this she
wrote to me in the utmost exultation, at the same time asking me to consider what had best
be done. Accordingly, on a night when her uncle was absent, we carried out the plan we had
determined on, and I stole her secretly away from her uncle's house, sending her without
delay to my own country. She remained there with my sister until she gave birth to a son,
whom she named Astrolabe. Meanwhile her uncle after his return, was almost mad with grief;
only one who had then seen him could rightly guess the burning agony of his sorrow and the
bitterness of his shame. What steps to take against me, or what snares to set for me, he
did not know. If he should kill me or do me some bodily hurt, he feared greatly lest his
dear-loved niece should be made to suffer for it among my kinsfolk. He had no power to
seize me and imprison me somewhere against my will, though I make no doubt he would have
done so quickly enough had he been able or dared, for I had taken measures to guard
against any such attempt.
At length, however, in pity for his boundless grief, and bitterly blaming myself for
the suffering which my love had brought upon him through the baseness of the deception I
had practiced, I went to him to entreat his forgiveness, promising to make any amends that
he himself might decree. I pointed out that what had happened could not seem incredible to
any one who had ever felt the power of love, or who remembered how, from the very
beginning of the human race, women had cast down even the noblest men to utter ruin. And
in order to make amends even beyond his extremest hope, I offered to marry her whom I had
seduced, provided only the thing could be kept secret, so that I might suffer no loss of
reputation thereby. To this he gladly assented, pledging his own faith and that of his
kindred, and sealing with kisses the pact which I had sought of him--and all this that he
might the more easily betray me.
Pergite Legere
Pars Prima