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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e047fcb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51862 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51862) diff --git a/old/51862-0.txt b/old/51862-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b28bdde..0000000 --- a/old/51862-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8253 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Peter Abélard, by Joseph McCabe - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Peter Abélard - - -Author: Joseph McCabe - - - -Release Date: April 25, 2016 [eBook #51862] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER ABéLARD*** - - -E-text prepared by Clarity, Ramon Pajares Box, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/peterabelard00mccaiala - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - Small capitals are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS. - - Footnotes have been numbered in a single series. Each footnote - is placed at the end of the paragraph which includes its - anchor. - - - - - -PETER ABÉLARD - - -All rights reserved -Copyrighted in America - - -PETER ABÉLARD - -by - -JOSEPH McCABE - -Author of -‘Twelve Years in a Monastery,’ etc. - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -London -Duckworth and Co. -3 Henrietta Street, W.C. -1901 - -Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, (late) Printers to Her Majesty - - - - -PREFACE - - -The author does not think it necessary to offer any apology for -having written a life of Abélard. The intense dramatic interest of -his life is known from a number of brief notices and sketches, but -English readers have no complete presentation of the facts of that -remarkable career in our own tongue. The _History of Abailard_ of Mr. -Berington, dating from the eighteenth century, is no longer adequate -or useful. Many French and German scholars have rewritten Abélard’s -life in the light of recent knowledge and feeling, but, beyond the -short sketches to be found in Compayré, Poole, Rashdall, Cotter -Morison, and others, no English writer of the nineteenth century -has given us a complete study of this unique and much misunderstood -personality. Perhaps one who has also had a monastic, scholastic, -and ecclesiastical experience may approach the task with a certain -confidence. - -In the matter of positive information the last century has added -little directly to the story of Abélard’s life. Indirectly, however, -modern research has necessarily helped to complete the picture; and -modern feeling, modern humanism, reinterprets much of the story. - -Since the work is intended for a circle of readers who cannot be -assumed to have a previous acquaintance with the authorities who -are cited here and there, it is necessary to indicate their several -positions in advance. The chief sources of the story are the letters -of Abélard and Heloise. The first letter of the series, entitled the -‘Story of my Calamities,’ is an autobiographical sketch, covering -the first fifty years of Abélard’s life. To these must be added the -letters of St. Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux: of Peter the Venerable, -abbot of Cluny: of Jean Roscelin, canon of Compiègne, Abélard’s early -teacher: and of Fulques of Deuil, a contemporary monk. A number -of Latin works written shortly after Abélard’s death complete, or -complicate, the narrative. The principal of these are: the _Vita -Beati Bernardi_, written by his monk-secretary: the _Vita Beati -Goswini_, by two monks of the period: the _De gestis Frederici I._ -of a Cistercian bishop, Otto of Freising: the _Metalogicus_ and the -_Historia Pontificalis_ of John of Salisbury: and the _Vita Ludovici -Grossi_ and _De rebus a se gestis_ of Suger, abbot of St. Denis, and -first royal councillor. Many of the chronicles of the twelfth century -also contain brief references. - -Chief amongst the later French historians is Du Boulai with his -_Historia Universitatis Parisiensis_—‘the most stupid man who ever -wrote a valuable book,’ says Mr. R. L. Poole. Amongst other French -chroniclers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries we may -mention: De Launoy (_De scholis celebrioribus_), Dubois (_Historia -Ecclesiæ Parisiensis_), Lobineau (_Histoire de Bretagne_), Félibien -(_Histoire de l’abbaye de Saint Denys_ and _Histoire de la ville -de Paris_), Longueval (_Histoire de l’Église Gallicane_), Tarbé -(_Recherches historiques sur la ville de Sens_), and, of course, -the _Histoire littéraire de la France_, _Gallia Christiana_, and -ecclesiastical historians generally. - -A large number of ‘lives’ of Abélard have been founded on these -documents. In French we have _La vie de P. Abélard_ of Gervaise, -a monkish admirer of the eighteenth century, far from ascetic in -temper, but much addicted to imaginative description: the historical -essay of Mme. and M. Guizot, prefixed to M. Oddoul’s translation of -the letters of Abélard and Heloise: the _Abélard_ of M. Rémusat, -pronounced by Ste. Beuve himself to be ‘un chef d’œuvre’: and the -_Lettres Complètes_ of M. Gréard, with a helpful introduction. -In German Reuter chiefly discusses Abélard as a thinker in his -_Geschichte der religiösen Aufklärung_: Deutsch is mainly preoccupied -with his theology in his _Peter Abälard_, but gives an exhaustive -study of the last years of his life in _Abälards Verurtheilung -zu Sens_: Neander discusses him in his _Heilige Bernhard_: and -Hausrath offers the most complete and authoritative study of his -career and character in his recent _Peter Abälard_. In English we -have, as I said, the eighteenth-century work of Berington, a small -fantastic American version (quite valueless), and the more or less -lengthy studies of Abélard found in Rashdall’s fine _Universities of -Europe_, Cotter Morison’s _Life and Times of St. Bernard_ (scarcely -a judicious sketch), Compayré’s _Abélard and the Universities_ (in -which the biography is rather condensed), Roger Vaughan’s _Life of -St. Thomas of Aquin_, and Mr. R. L. Poole’s _Illustrations of the -History of Mediæval Thought_ (from whom we may regret we have not -received a complete study of Abélard). - - -_January_ 31, 1901. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. THE QUEST OF MINERVA 1 - - II. A BRILLIANT VICTORY 18 - - III. PROGRESS OF THE ACADEMIC WAR 41 - - IV. THE IDOL OF PARIS 64 - - V. DEAD SEA FRUIT 96 - - VI. THE MONK OF ST. DENIS 124 - - VII. THE TRIAL OF A HERETIC 146 - - VIII. CLOUD UPON CLOUD 163 - - IX. BACK TO CHAMPAGNE 181 - - X. THE TRIALS OF AN ABBOT 202 - - XI. THE LETTERS OF ABÉLARD AND HELOISE 224 - - XII. A RETURN TO THE ARENA 253 - - XIII. THE FINAL BLOW 281 - - XIV. CONSUMMATUM EST 309 - - XV. THE INFLUENCE OF ABÉLARD 329 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE QUEST OF MINERVA - - -Peter Abélard was born towards the close of the eleventh century. No -other personality that we may choose to study leads to so clear and -true an insight into those strange days as does that of the luckless -Breton philosopher. It was the time of transition from the darkest -hour of mediæval Europe to a period of both moral and intellectual -brilliance. The gloom of the ‘century of iron’ still lay on the -land, but it was already touched with the faint, spreading dawn of -a new idealism. There is, amongst historians, a speculation to the -effect that the year 1000 of the Christian era marked a real and very -definite stage in the history of thought. Usually we do violence -to events by our chronological demarcations; but it is said that -Christendom confidently expected the threatened rolling-up of the -heavens and the earth to take place in the year 1000. Slowly, very -slowly, the sun crept over the dial of the heavens before the eyes -of idle men. But no Christ rode on the clouds, and no Anti-Christ -came into the cities. And the heaviness was lifted from the breasts -of men, and the blood danced merrily in their veins once more. They -began again ‘to feel the joy of existence,’ as an old writer has it, -and to build up their towers afresh in the sun-light. - -It was a strangely chequered period, this that changed the darkness -of the tenth into the comparative radiance of the thirteenth century. -All life was overcast by densest ignorance and grossest lust and -fiercest violence, the scarcely altered features of the ‘converted’ -northern barbarians; yet the light of an ideal was breaking through, -in the pure atmosphere of reformed monasteries, in the lives of -saintly prelates and women refined beyond their age, and in the -intellectual gospel of a small band of thinkers and teachers. Amid -the general degradation of the Church and the cloister strong souls -had arisen, ardent with a contagious fire of purity. High-minded -prelates had somehow attained power, in spite of the net of simony -and corruption. The sons of St. Benedict, rising and falling too -often with the common tide, had, nevertheless, guarded some -treasures of the earlier wisdom, and shared them lovingly at their -gates with the wandering scholar. Thousands there were who could -close heart and home at the fiery word of a preacher, and go to -starve their souls in the living tomb of a monastery. Thousands could -cast down their spades and their wine-cups, and rush to meet death in -the trail of a frenzied hermit.[1] They were the days of the travail -of the spirit; and they rise before us in arresting vision when we -look into the life of Peter Abélard. - - [1] I am thinking, of course, of the thousands of simple folk who - rushed blindfold into the fatal procession towards Jerusalem, - setting their children on their rude carts, and asking naïvely, - at each tower that came in sight in their own France, if that was - the Holy City: those whose bones marked the path to Palestine for - later Crusaders. As to the professional warriors, there is surely - more humour than aught else in the picture of the King of France - and his like setting forth to ‘do penance’ for their vice and - violence by a few months of adventure, carnage, and pillage. - -That life begins some day in the last decade of the eleventh century, -when the young Breton, then in his fifteenth or sixteenth year, went -out from his father’s castle into the bright world on the quest -of Minerva. Of his earlier years we know nothing. Later fancy has -brooded over them to some purpose, it is true, if there are any whom -such things interest. The usual unusual events were observed before -and after his birth, and the immortal swarm of bees that has come -down the ages, kissing the infant lips of poets and philosophers, did -not fail to appear at Pallet. In point of sober fact, we rely almost -exclusively on Abélard’s autobiography for the details of his earlier -career, and he tells us nothing of his childhood, and not much of his -youth. It matters little. The life of a soul begins when it looks -beyond the thoughts of parents and teachers—if it ever do—out into -the defiant world, and frames a view and a purpose. - -The home from which Abélard issued, somewhere about the year 1095, -was an ancient castle at Pallet, in Brittany, about eleven miles -to the south-east of Nantes. At the end of the village, which was -threaded on the high road from Nantes to Poitiers, a steep eminence -dominated the narrow flood of the Sanguèze. The castle was built on -this: overlooking the village more, as it chanced, in a spirit of -friendly care than of haughty menace. The spot is still visited by -many a pilgrim—not with a priestly benediction; but the castle is now -the mere relic of a ruin. In the most penetrating movements of his -prophetic genius, Abélard never foresaw the revolt of the serfs, -or indeed any economic development. In this one respect he failed -to detect and outstrip what little advance was made in his day. His -father’s castle has disappeared with the age it belonged to, and the -sons of his vassals now lay the bones of their dead to rest on his -desolated hearth. - -Bérenger, the father, was a noble of a rare type. He had fortunately -received a little culture before setting out in the service of -Hoel IV., Duke of Brittany and Count of Nantes, and he in turn -communicated his taste and his knowledge to his children. From the -fact, too, that he and his wife Lucia adopted the monastic life a few -years after Abélard’s departure, we may gather that they were also -above the moral level of their class. It is not idle to note that -Abélard’s mind encountered no evil or irreligious influences when it -first opened. All the circumstances that are known to us suggest a -gentle, uplifting, and reverential education. He was the eldest of -the sons of Bérenger; and, partly, no doubt, because greater care had -been taken with his education, partly in the necessary consciousness -of mental power, he early determined to leave home, and wander over -the land in search of learning. His words give one the impression -that he shouldered a wallet, and sallied forth alone, after the -adventurous fashion of the day. However that may be, he says that he -resolved to leave the chances of the favour of Mars to his brothers, -and set out to woo the gentler Minerva. Abandoning the rights of -primogeniture and the possible grace of kings, he passed away from -the great castle, and turned eagerly in the direction of the nearest -school. - -It was not uncommon in those ‘Dark Ages’ for a young noble to resign -the comfort of the château and the glamour of a courtly life in this -way. The scholastic fever, which was soon to inflame the youth of the -whole of Europe, had already set in. You could not travel far over -the rough roads of France without meeting some foot-sore scholar, -making for the nearest large monastery or episcopal town. Before -many years, it is true, there was a change, as the keen-eyed Jew -watched the progress of the fever. There arose an elaborate system -of conveyance from town to town, an organisation of messengers to -run between the château and the school, a smiling group of banks and -bankers. But in the earlier days, and, to some extent, even later, -the scholar wandered afoot through the long provinces of France. -Here and there a noble or a wealthy merchant would fly past in his -silks and furs, with a body-guard of a dozen stout fellows; or a -poor clerk would jog along on his ass, looking anxiously towards -each wood or rock that bordered the road ahead. Robbers, frequently -in the service of the lord of the land, infested every province. It -was safest to don the coarse frieze tunic of the pilgrim, without -pockets, sling your little wax tablets and style at your girdle, -strap a wallet of bread and herbs and salt on your back, and laugh -at the nervous folk who peeped out from their coaches over a hedge -of pikes and daggers. Few monasteries refused a meal or a rough bed -to the wandering scholar. Rarely was any fee exacted for the lesson -given. For the rest, none were too proud to earn a few sous by -sweeping, or drawing water, or amusing with a tune on the reed-flute: -or to wear the cast-off tunics of their masters. - -It is fitting that we should first find little Pierre—Master Roscelin -recalls him in later years as ‘the smallest of my pupils’—under the -care of a rationalist scholar. Love was the first rock on which the -fair promise of his early manhood was shattered, but throughout the -long, sternly religious years that followed, it was his restless -application of reason to the veiled dogmas of faith that brought -endless cruelty and humiliation upon him. Now, Jean Roscelin, canon -of Compiègne, was the rationalist of his day. As Abélard was fated -to do, he had attempted to unveil the super-sacred doctrine of the -Trinity; not in the spirit of irreverent conceit, with which people -credited both him and Abélard, but for the help of those who were -afflicted with a keen intellect and an honest heart. For this he had -been banished from England in 1093, and from the kingdom of France, -and had settled in one or other of the Gaulish provinces. - -Mme. Guizot, in her very careful study of Abélard, sees no evidence -for the statement that he studied under Roscelin, but the fact is now -beyond dispute. Otto von Freising, a contemporary historian, says -that he ‘had Roscelin for his first master’; Aventinus and others -also speak of Roscelin as an early teacher of his. Roscelin himself, -in a letter which it seems ‘frivolous,’ as Deutsch says, to hesitate -to accept, claims that Abélard sat at his feet—it was the literal -practice in those days—‘from boyhood to youth.’ Abélard, on the other -hand, writes that he attended Roscelin’s lectures ‘for a short time’; -but this correspondence took place at a moment when the one would -be greatly disposed to exaggerate and the other to attenuate. An -anonymous anecdote, which we shall examine presently, pretends that -he found Roscelin unsatisfactory, but ‘controlled his feeling so far -as to remain under Roscelin for a year.’ It is clear enough that he -spent a few of his earlier years on the hay-strewn floor of Master -Roscelin’s lecture-hall. - -There is some uncertainty as to the locality, but a sufficient -indication to impart an interest to the question. Roscelin says it -was at the ‘Locensis ecclesia.’ This is easily understood if we -interpret it to mean the monastery of Locmenach[2] in Brittany. The -monks of St. Gildas, on the coast of Brittany, a wild band whose -closer acquaintance we shall make later on, had established a branch -monastery at Locmenach. As will appear in due time, they would be -likely to have small scruple about increasing its revenue by erecting -a chair for one of the most famous dialecticians in Christendom, -in spite of his condemnation for heresy at London and Soissons. -We have no special information about the manner of school-life at -Locmenach, save that we know the monks of St. Gildas to have been the -living antithesis to the good monks of Bec; but it is interesting to -find Abélard studying dialectics under a famous rationalist, and in -a monastery that was subject to the Abbey of St. Gildas of Rhuys. -The dark pages of his later history will give point to the dual -circumstance. - - [2] Locmenach = _locus monachorum_, ‘the place of the monks.’ The - older name was Moriacum. It is now called Locminé, and lies a few - miles to the east of Vannes. - -There is one other, and less reliable, account of Abélard in his -school-days. In an anecdote which is found in one or two older -writers, and on the margin of an old Abélard manuscript, it is stated -that he studied mathematics under a certain Master Tirricus. The -anecdote is generally rejected as valueless, on the ground that it -contains clear trace of the work of a ‘constructive imagination’; -but Mr. Poole points out that ‘there is no reason to doubt’ the -authenticity of the substance of the narrative, and it seems to -me that the fictional element may be reduced to a very slender -quantity. The story runs that Tirric, or Theodoric, one day found -Abélard shedding tears of fruitless perspiration over mathematical -problems. He had already, it is said, mastered the higher branches -of knowledge, and was even teaching, but had omitted mathematics, and -was endeavouring to remedy the omission by taking private lessons -from Tirric. Noting his effort, the master is represented to say: -‘What more can the sated dog do than lick the bacon?’ ‘To lick the -bacon’ is, in the crude Latinity of the age, _bajare lardum_, and the -story pretends the phrase afforded a nickname for Pierre (Bajolard -or Baiolard), and was eventually rounded into Abélard or Abailard. -The construction is so crude, and the probability that Abélard is -a surname needing no legendary interpretation is so high, that the -whole anecdote is often contemptuously rejected. It is surely much -more reasonable to read the phrase as a pun on Abélard’s name, which -some later writer, to whom the name was unfamiliar, has taken in a -constructive sense.[3] - - [3] The name occurs in a dozen different forms in the ancient - records. I adopt the form which is generally used by modern - French writers. D’Argentré and other historians of Brittany say - that it was not unknown about Nantes in those days. We must - remember that it was the period when nicknames, trade-names, - etc., were passing into surnames. Another pun on the name, which - greatly tickled the mediæval imagination, was ‘Aboilar,’ supposed - to convey the idea that he was a dog who barks at heaven (_aboie - le ciel_). It was perpetrated by Hugo Metellus, a rival master. - -There are several good reasons for retaining the historical -framework of the anecdote. It is a fact that Abélard never mastered -mathematics; chancing to mention arithmetic in one of his works, -he says, ‘Of that art I confess myself wholly ignorant.’ It was -unfortunate for mathematics. Most probably the puerility of that -liberal art, in its early mediæval form, repelled him. In the next -place, there was a distinguished master living in France of the -name of Tirric, or Theodoric, who is said to have had a leaning to -mathematics. He taught in the episcopal school at Chartres, long -famous for the lectures of his brother Bernard. Finally, a Master -Tirric (presumably the same) turns up at Abélard’s trial in 1121, -and boldly and caustically scourges papal legate and bishops alike. -However, if we attribute so much authority to the story, it clearly -refers to a later date. The picture of Abélard, already a teacher, -sated with knowledge, coming ‘in private’ to repair an omission in -the course of his studies, must be relegated to one of the intervals -in his teaching at Paris, not, as Mr. Poole thinks, to the period -between leaving Roscelin and arriving at Paris. - -Abélard himself merely says that he ‘went wherever dialectics -flourished.’ For five or six years he wandered from school to -school, drawn onward continually by the fame of schools and of -masters. Schools were plentiful, and the age was already rich in -great teachers. Charlemagne had inaugurated the scholastic age two -hundred years before with the founding of the Palace School, and had -directed that every monastery and every episcopal town should give -instruction. With periods of languor the Benedictines had sustained -the scholastic tradition through the soulless age that followed, and -the second half of the eleventh century saw a brisk development. -There was the great abbey of Bec, in Normandy, where St. Anselm still -detained crowds of pupils after the departure of Lanfranc. But at -Bec the students were not part of a ‘great undisciplined horde,’ -as Rashdall calls the students of the early Middle Ages. With its -careful regulations, its bare-back castigations, its expurgated -classics, and its ever watchful monks, it contrived at once to -cultivate the mind (in moderation) and to guard the sanctity of -faith and morals. Cluny, in the south, had a similar school at its -gates, and the same control of the scholars it lodged and fed. St. -Denis, near Paris, had another famous Benedictine school. The forty -monasteries that William of Dijon had recently reformed had opened -free schools for the wandering pupils, and even fed the poorer youths. - -Then there were men of European fame teaching in the cathedral -cloisters of the larger towns. At Chartres, good Bishop Ivo—the only -lawyer who ever lived and died in the odour of sanctity—had spent -much energy in the improvement of his school. Little John, or John -of Salisbury, has left us a proud record of its life at a slightly -later date, when Tirric and his brother Bernard presided over it. -At Tournai, Master Eudes of Orleans, the peripatetic of the time, -walked the cloisters all day with his questioning scholars, and -gathered them before the cathedral door of an evening to explain -the profound mysteries of the solid spheres that whirled overhead, -and of the tiny, immortal fires that were set in them. Other famous -episcopal schools were those of Tours, Rheims, Angers, and Laon. But -every bishop had his master or masters for the teaching of grammar, -rhetoric, and dialectics (the _trivium_), and in the larger towns -were ‘lectors’ of the other four liberal arts (the _quadrivium_), -music, geometry, arithmetic, and astronomy. Theology was taught under -the watchful eye of the bishop and his chapter, and in time chairs -of Hebrew, and, with the progress of the Saracenic invasion of the -intellectual world, even of Arabic, were founded. At the abbey of -St. Denis, monk Baldwin, sometime physician to the King of England, -taught and practised the art of healing. At Chartres, also, medicine -was taught somewhat later; and there are stories of teachers of law. -And beside all these, there were the private masters, ‘coaches,’ -etc., who opened schools wherever any number of scholars forgathered. - -Thus the historical imagination can readily picture all that is -contained in the brief phrase with which Abélard dismisses the five -or six years of his studies. ‘There was no regular curriculum in -those days,’ Mr. Rashdall says, in his study of the ‘Universities -of Europe’; but the seven liberal arts were taught, and were -gradually arranging themselves in a series under the pressure of -circumstances. Music Abélard certainly studied; before many years -his songs were sung through the length and breadth of France. None -of his contemporaries made a more eager and profitable study of what -was called grammar—that is, not merely an exercise in the rules of -Donatus and Priscian, but a close acquaintance with the great Latin -poets and historians. Rhetoric and dialectics he revelled in—‘I went -wherever dialectics flourished.’ To so good purpose did he advance -in this work of loosening the tongue and sharpening the wit, that -throughout his life the proudest orators and thinkers of Christendom -shrank in dismay from the thought of a verbal encounter with him. ‘I -am a child beside him,’ pleaded Bernard of Clairvaux, at a time when -France, and even Rome, trembled at the sound of his own voice. But we -must defer for a few pages the consideration of mediæval dialectics. - - ‘Illi soli patuit quicquid scibile erat,’ - -said an ancient epitaph; and, though the historian handles epigrams -with discretion, it must be admitted that Abélard surpassed his -contemporaries, not only in ability and in utterance, but also -in erudition. There is the one exception of mathematics, but it -seems probable that he despised what passed under that name in the -twelfth century. ‘Mathematics,’ he says somewhere, in a sarcastic -parenthesis, ‘the exercise of which is nefarious.’ But in the thrust -and parry of dialectics he found a keen delight; and so he wandered -from place to place, edging his logical weapons on fellow-pupils -and provincial masters, until one day, about the opening year -of the twelfth century, he directed his steps towards far-famed -Paris—beautiful, naughty, brilliant, seductive Paris, even in those -distant days. - -But the Paris of the first decade of the twelfth century was wholly -different, not only from the Paris of to-day, but even from the Paris -of Victor Hugo’s famous picture. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A BRILLIANT VICTORY - - -If you desire to see the Paris of those early days, imagine yourself -beside the spot where the modern Pantheon stands. It is the summit -of what Paris called ‘the hill’ for many a century—the hill of St. -Genevieve. Save for the large monastery of secular canons beside you, -the abbey of St. Genevieve, there is yet little sign of the flood of -grimy masonry that will creep up slowly from the river valley, as the -ages advance, and foul the sweet country for miles beyond. Paris lies -down in the valley below, a toy city. The larger island in the Seine -bears almost the whole weight of the capital of France. It has, it -is true, eaten a little way into the northern bank of the river, to -which it is joined by the Great Bridge. That is the Lombard Quarter, -and Lutetian commerce is increasing rapidly. Numbers of curious -ships sail up the broad, silver bosom of the Seine, and make for -the port of St. Landry. The commercial quarter is already spreading -in the direction of Montmartre, with the public butchery and bakery -at its outskirt; but it is a mere fringe. The broad valleys and -the gentle hills that are one day to support Paris are now clothed -with vineyards and orchards and cornfields, and crowned with groves -of olive[4] and oak. On the nearer side, too, the city has already -overflowed the narrow limits of the island. There are houses on the -fine stone bridge, the Little Bridge, and there is a pretty confusion -of houses, chapels, schools, and taverns gradually stealing up the -slope of St. Genevieve. But, here also, most of the hill is covered -with gardens and vineyards, from which a chapel or a relic of old -Roman Lutetia peeps out here and there—the ruins of the famous old -thermæ lie half-way down the hill below us—; and along the valley of -the - - ‘... florentibus ripis amnis’ - -(to quote a poet of the time), to east and west, are broad lakes -of fresh green colour, broken only in their sweet monotony by an -occasional island of masonry, an abbey with a cluster of cottages -about it. - - [4] This and other details I gather from fragments of the minor - poets of the time. - -It is down straight below us, on the long, narrow island, that we see -the heart of France, the centre of its political, intellectual, and -ecclesiastical life. A broad, unpaved road, running from Great Bridge -to Little Bridge, cuts it into two. Church occupies most of the -eastern half, State most of the western; their grateful subjects pack -themselves as comfortably as they can in the narrow fringe that is -left between the royal and ecclesiastical domains and the bed of the -river. Each generation in turn has wondered why it was so scourged -by ‘the burning fire’ (the plague), and resolved to be more generous -to the Church. From the summit of St. Genevieve we see the front -of the huge, grey, Roman cathedral, that goes back to the days of -Childebert, and the residences of its prelates and canons bordering -the cloister. Over against it, to the west, is the spacious royal -garden, which is graciously thrown open to the people two or three -times a week, with the palace of King Philip at the extremity of the -island. That is Paris in the year of grace 1100; and all outside -those narrow limits is a very dream of undulating scenery, with the -vesture of the vine, the fir, the cypress, the oak, the olive, and -the fig; and the colour of the rose, the almond, the lily, and the -violet; and the broad, sweet Seine meandering through it; and the -purest air that mortal could desire. - -To our young philosopher Paris probably presented itself first in the -character of ‘the city of philosophers.’ Each of the great abbeys had -its school. That of the abbey of St. Genevieve will soon be familiar -to us. The abbey of St. Germain of Auxerre, to the north, and the -abbey of St. Germain of the Meadow, to the west, had schools at their -gates for all comers. St. Martin in the Fields had its school, and -the little priory of St. Victor, to the east, was soon to have one of -the most famous of all schools of theology. The royal abbey of St. -Denis, a few miles away, had a school in which Prince Louis was then -being trained, together with the illustrious Abbot Suger. A number -of private schools were scattered about the foot of St. Genevieve. -The Jews had a school, and—mark the liberality of the time—there was, -or had been until a very few years before, a school for women; it -was conducted by the wife and daughters of famous Master Manegold, -of Alsace, women who were well versed in Scripture, and ‘most -distinguished in philosophy,’ says Muratori. - -But Abélard went straight to the centre of Paris, to the cloistral -enclosure under the shadow of old Notre Dame,[5] where was the first -episcopal school in the kingdom, and one of the first masters in -Christendom. William of Champeaux was a comparatively young master, -who had forced his way into high places by sheer ability. He was -held to be the first dialectician in France, and ‘almost the first -royal councillor.’ In the great philosophic controversy of the period -he was the leader of the orthodox school. The Bishop of Paris had -brought him to the island-city, and vested him with the dignity of -archdeacon of the cathedral and _scholasticus_ (chancellor or rector) -and master of the episcopal school. So high was the repute of his -ability and his doctrine that, so Fleury says, he was called ‘the -pillar of doctors.’ From an obscure local centre of instruction he -had lifted the Parisian school into a commanding position, and had -attracted scholars from many lands. And he was then in the prime of -life. Within a few months Abélard made his authority totter, and set -his reputation on the wane. In six or seven years he drove him, in -shame and humiliation, from his chair, after a contest that filled -Christendom with its echoes. - - [5] The Notre Dame of to-day, like the earlier Louvre, dates from - the end of the twelfth century. - -Let us repeat that William of Champeaux was then in the prime of -life, or only ten years older than Abélard. There are those who talk -of the ‘venerable teacher’ and the audacious, irreverent stripling. -This picture of the conflict is historically ridiculous. Rousselot -and Michaud, two of the most careful students of Champeaux’s -life, give the date of his birth as 1068 and 1070, respectively. -He had fought his way with early success into the first chair in -Christendom; he cannot have been much older than Abélard when he -secured it. Abélard had an immeasurably greater ability; he was -frankly conscious of the fact; and he seems promptly to have formed -the perfectly legitimate design of ousting William—whose philosophy -certainly seemed absurd to him—and mounting the great chair of Notre -Dame. - -Such a thought would naturally take shape during the course of the -following twelve months. The only indication that Abélard gives -us is to the effect that William was well disposed towards him at -first, though there is no foundation in recorded fact for the -assertion that William invited the youth to his house, but they -were gradually involved in a warm dialectical encounter. Abélard -was not only a handsome and talented youth (which facts he candidly -tells us himself), but he was a practised dialectician. The lectures -of those untiring days lasted for hours, and might be interrupted -at any moment by a question from a scholar. Moreover, William -was principally occupied with dialectics, and it would be quite -impossible—if it were desired—to instruct youths in the art of -disputing, without letting them exercise their powers on the hosts -of problems which served the purpose of illustration. Hence the -young Breton must have quickly brought his keen rapier into play. -The consciousness of power and the adolescent vanity of exhibiting -it, both generously developed in Abélard, would prepare the way for -ambition. Question and answer soon led on to a personal contest. - -But there was a stronger source of provocation, and here it will -be necessary to cast a hurried glance at the great controversy of -the hour. Cousin has said that the scholastic philosophy was born -of a phrase that Boetius translated out of Porphyry. It is a good -epigram; but it has the disadvantage of most epigrams—it is false. -The controversy about _genera_ and _species_ is by no means of vital -importance to the scholastic philosophy, as Abélard himself has said. -However, there is much truth in the assertion that this celebrated -controversy, as a specific question, may be traced entirely to -Porphyry. - -Boetius was the chief author read in the early mediæval schools. -Amongst other works they had his Latin translation of Porphyry’s -_Introduction_ to Aristotle, and in one corner of this volume some -roving scholastic had been arrested by the allusion to the old Greek -controversy about _genera_ and _species_. To put it shortly: we have -mental pictures of individual men, and we have also the idea of man -in general, an idea which may be applied to each and all of the -individual men we know. The grave problem that agitated the centuries -was, whether not only the individual human beings who live and move -about us, but also this ‘general man’ or species, had an existence -outside the mind. The modern photographer has succeeded in taking -composite photographs. A number of human likenesses are super-imposed -on the same plate, so that at length individual features are blended, -and there emerges only the vague portrait of ‘a man.’ The question -that vexed the mediæval soul was, whether this human type, as -distinct from the individual mortals we see in the flesh, had a real -existence. - -In whatever terms the problem be stated, it is sure to appear almost -childish to the non-philosophical reader; as, indeed, it appeared -to certain scholars even of that time. John of Salisbury, with -his British common sense and impatience of dialectical subtlety, -petulantly spoke of it as ‘the ancient question, in the solution of -which the world has grown grey, and more time has been consumed than -the Cæsars gave to the conquest and dominion of the globe, more money -wasted than Crœsus counted in all his wealth.’ But listen to another -Briton, and one with the fulness of modern life outspread before him. -Archbishop Roger Vaughan, defending the attitude of the enthusiasts -in his _Thomas of Aquin_, says: ‘Kill ideas, blast theories, explode -the archetypes of things, and the age of brute force is not far -distant.’ And Rousselot declares, in his _Philosophie du Moyen Age_, -that the problem of universals is ‘the most exalted and the most -difficult question in the whole of philosophy.’ Poor philosophy! -will be the average layman’s comment. However, though neither -ancient Greeks nor mediæval formalists were guilty of the confusion -of _ideas_ and _ideals_ which Dom Vaughan betrays, the schoolmen -had contrived to connect the question in a curious fashion with the -mystery of the Trinity. - -When, therefore, Jean Roscelin began to probe the question with his -dialectical weapons, the ears of the orthodox were opened wide. -The only position which was thought compatible with the faith was -realism—the notion that the species or the genus was a reality, -distinct from the individuals that belonged to it, and outside the -mind that conceived it. By and by it was whispered in the schools, -and wandering scholars bore the rumour to distant monasteries -and bishoprics, that Roscelin denied the real existence of these -universals. Indeed, in his scorn of the orthodox position, he -contemptuously declared them to be ‘mere words’; neither in the world -of reality, nor in the mind itself, was there anything corresponding -to them; they were nothing but an artifice of human speech. Europe -was ablaze at once. St. Anselm assailed the heretic from the -theological side; William of Champeaux stoutly led the opposition, -and the defence of realism, from the side of philosophy. Such was -the question of the hour, such the condition of the world of thought, -when Pierre Abélard reached the cloistral school at Paris. - -If you stated the problem clearly to a hundred men and women who -were unacquainted with philosophic speculations, ninety-nine of them -would probably answer that these universals were neither mere words -nor external realities, but general or generalised ideas—composite -photographs, to use the interesting comparison of Mr. Galton, in -the camera of the mind. That was the profound discovery with which -Abélard shattered the authority of his master, revolutionised the -thought of his age, and sent his fame to the ends of the earth. He -had introduced a new instrument into the dialectical world, common -sense, like the little girl in the fairy tale, who was brought to -see the prince in his imaginary clothes.[6] This, at least, Abélard -achieved, and it was a brilliant triumph for the unknown youth: he -swept for ever out of the world of thought, in spite of almost all -the scholars of Christendom, that way of thinking and of speaking -which is known as realism. I am familiar with the opinion of -scholastic thinkers in this question, from the thirteenth century to -the present day. It differs verbally, but not substantially, from the -conceptualism of Abélard. The stripling of twenty or twenty-one had -enunciated the opinion which the world of thought was to adopt. - - [6] Lest there be a suspicion of caricature, or of ignorance - (though I too have sat in the chair of scholastic philosophy, and - held grave discourse on _genera_ and _species_), let me remind - the reader of the theological import which was read into the - problem. - -We still have some of the arguments with which Abélard assailed his -chief—but enough of philosophy, let us proceed with the story. Once -more the swift and animated years are condensed into a brief phrase -by the gloomy autobiographist; though there is a momentary flash of -the old spirit when he says of the earlier stage that he ‘seemed at -times to have the victory in the dispute,’ and when he describes the -final issue in the words of Ovid, - - ‘... non sum superatus ab illo.’ - -He soon found the weak points in William’s armour, and proceeded -to attack him with the uncalculating passion of youth. It was -not long before the friendly master was converted into a bitter, -life-long enemy; and that, he wearily writes, ‘was the beginning of -my calamities.’ Possibly: but it is not unlikely that he had had a -similar experience at Locmenach. However that may be, it was a fatal -victory. Ten years afterwards we find William in closest intimacy and -daily intercourse with Bernard of Clairvaux. - -Most of the scholars at Notre Dame were incensed at the success -of Abélard. In those earlier days the gathering was predominantly -clerical; the more so, on account of William’s championship of -orthodoxy. But as the controversy proceeded, and rumour bore its -echo to the distant schools, the number and the diversity of the -scholars increased. Many of the youths took the side of the handsome, -brilliant young noble, and encouraged him to resist. He decided to -open a school. - -There was little organisation in the schools at that period—the -university not taking shape until fully sixty years afterwards -(Compayré)—and Abélard would hardly need a ‘license’ for the purpose, -outside the immediate precincts of the cloister. But William was -angry and powerful. It were more discreet, at least, not to create a -direct and flagrant opposition to him. The little group of scholars -moved to Melun, and raised a chair for their new master in that royal -town. It was thirty miles away, down the valley of the Seine; but a -thirty mile walk was a trifle in the days when railways were unknown, -and William soon noticed a leakage in his class. Moreover, Melun was -an important town, the king spending several months there every year. -William made strenuous efforts to have the new academy suppressed, -but he seems to have quarrelled with some of the courtiers, and these -took up the cause of the new master of noble rank. - -When Abélard saw the powerlessness of the chancellor of Notre Dame, -he decided to come a little nearer. There was another fortified and -royal town, Corbeil by name, about half-way to Paris, and thither -he transferred his chair and his followers. The move was made, he -tells us, for the convenience of his students. His reputation was -already higher than William’s, and the duel of the masters had led to -a noisy conflict between their respective followers. Corbeil being -a comfortable day’s walk from Paris, there was a constant stream of -rival pupils flowing between the two. In the schools and the taverns, -on the roads and the bridges, nothing was heard but the increasing -jargon of the junior realists and conceptualists. Besides the great -problem, dialectics had countless lesser ones that would furnish -argumentative material for an eternity. ‘Whether the pig that is -being driven to market is held by the man or the rope’; ‘whether -a shield that is white on one side and black on the other may be -called either black or white,’ and problems of that kind, are not to -be compared in point of depth and fecundity with such mere matters -of fact as the origin of species. But the long and severe strain -had gravely impaired Abélard’s health; he was compelled to close -his school, and return to Brittany. William was not the only one -who rejoiced. The Church was beginning to view with some alarm the -spread of the new doctrine and the new spirit. Cynical rivals were -complaining that ‘the magician’ had brought ‘a plague of frogs’ on -the land. - -Abélard tells us that he remained ‘for several years almost cut off -from France.’ Rémusat thinks it was probably during this period -that he studied under Roscelin, but there is now little room for -doubt that his intercourse with the famous nominalist falls in the -earlier years. Much more probable is it that we should assign his -relations to Tirric of Chartres to the later date. The substance of -the anecdote that was found on the margin of the Ratisbon manuscript -seems to accord admirably with Abélard’s circumstances in the period -we have now reached. The question, however, will interest few, beyond -the narrow circle of historical specialists. He himself is silent -about the few years of rest in the Breton castle, merely stating that -he returned to Paris when he had recovered his health. We have to -remember that the autobiography he has left us was entitled by him -the ‘Story of my Calamities.’ It is not the full presentment of the -swiftly moving drama of the life of Abélard. He speaks of joy only -when it is the prelude to sorrow, or when some faint spark of the old -ardour leaps into life once more. - -When Abélard at length returned to the arena, he found a significant -change. William had deserted the cloistral school. In a solitary -spot down the river, beyond the foot of the eastern slope of St. -Genevieve, was a small priory that had belonged to the monks of St. -Victor of Marseilles. Thither, says Franklin, William had retired -‘to hide his despair and the shame of his defeat.’ The controversy -had by no means been decided against him yet. Indeed, William’s -biographers loyally contend that he was sincerely touched by the -religious spirit of the age, and adopted the monastic life from the -purest of motives. Abélard, on the other hand, declares that the -inspiration came from a hope of exchanging the chair of Notre Dame -for that of an episcopal see. Abélard is scarcely an ideal witness, -though the passage was written nearly thirty years afterwards, yet -his interpretation is probably correct; at least, if we take it as -a partial explanation. William was shrewd enough to see that his -supremacy in the scholastic world was doomed, and that the best -alternative was a bishopric. He was still young (about thirty-eight, -apparently) and ambitious; in his character of archdeacon, he was -already only one step removed from the episcopate; and he had -influence and qualifications above the average. It is scarcely -correct to say, as Gervaise does, that at that time ‘the monastery -was the recognised path to the episcopacy,’ on account of the wide -degradation of the secular clergy. Their degradation was assuredly -deep and widespread, but so were simony and electoral corruption. We -generally find, in the old chronicles, one or other of the deceased -bishop’s archdeacons ascending the vacant throne. However, William -of Champeaux was a religious man; for the pious the surest path to -the episcopate passed through the monastery. - -Whatever be the correct analysis of the motive—and it was probably a -complex feeling, including all the impulses suggested, which William -himself scarcely cared to examine too narrowly—the fact is that in -the year 1108 he donned the black cassock of the canon regular, and -settled with a few companions in the priory of St. Victor. The life -of the canons regular was a compromise between that of the sterner -monks and the unascetic life of the secular canons and secular -clergy. They followed, on the whole, the well-known rule of St. -Augustine. They arose at midnight to chant their matins, but, unlike -the Cistercians, they returned to bed as soon as the ‘office’ was -over. They ate meat three times a week, and were not restricted in -the taking of fish and eggs. They had linen underclothing, and much -friendly intercourse with each other, and they were less rigidly -separated from the world. Altogether, not too rough a path to higher -dignities—or to heaven—and (a not unimportant point) one that did not -lead far from Paris. - -Such was the foundation of one of the most famous schools of mystic -theology. The abbey that William instituted, before he was removed to -the coveted dignity in 1113, has attained an immortality in the world -of thought through such inmates as Richard and Hugh of St. Victor. - -Abélard’s first impulse on hearing the news was to repair at once -to the cloistral school. He found the chair occupied. William had -not, in fact, resigned his title of scholastic, and he had placed a -substitute in the chair. It was a poor ruse, for there was now no -master in Christendom who could long endure the swift, keen shafts -of the ambitious Breton. Abélard would quickly make the chair of -Notre Dame uncomfortable for the most pachydermatous substitute; and -he seems to have commenced the edifying task at once, when he heard -that the unfortunate William had set up a chair of rhetoric at St. -Victor. Like a hawk, Master Peter descended on the ill-fated canon. -The Bishop of Mans had, it appears, stimulated William into a renewal -of activity, and he had chosen that apparently safe section of the -trivium, the art of rhetoric. - -With what must have been a mock humility, Abélard went down the river -each day with the crowd of monks and clerks to receive instruction -in rhetoric from the new Prior of St. Victor’s. Deutsch remarks, with -Teutonic gravity, that we do not read of a reconciliation between the -two. Nor do we find that Abélard had been ‘converted’ to the spirit -of Robert of Arbrissel or Bernard of Clairvaux during his retirement -at Pallet. Abélard, now nearly thirty years of age, could have -taught William the art of rhetoric with more profit than he himself -was likely to derive from William’s _prælectiones_. His obvious aim -was to break William’s connection with Paris and with Notre Dame. -The high and gentle spirit of these latter days, that studies the -feelings of an antagonist, and casts aside an ambition that would -lead over the fallen fame of a fellow-man, did not commend itself to -the mediæval mind. - -And so the contest ran on, until at length a new rumour was borne -over the roads and into the schools of Europe. The ‘pillar of -doctors’ was broken—had fallen beyond restoration. Guillaume de -Champeaux had changed his doctrine on the question of universals. -Swiftly the story ran over hill and dale—they were days when the -words of masters outstripped the deeds of kings and the fall of -dynasties: the champion of realism had so far yielded to Abélard’s -pressure as to modify his thesis materially. For long years he had -held that the universal was _essentially_ one and the same in all its -individuals; now he admitted that it was only _indifferently_, or -_individually_, identical.[7] The death of King Philip was a matter -of minor interest to a world that brooded night and day over the -question of genera and species. - - [7] The reader would probably not be grateful for a long - explanation of the meaning of the change. It amounted to a - considerable approach of William’s position towards that of - Abélard. - -Abélard felt that he need strive no longer in the hall of the poor -canon regular, and he turned his attention to the actual occupant of -the chair of Notre Dame. We need not delay in determining the name of -the luckless master, whether it was Robert of Melun, as some think, -or Adam of the Little Bridge, or Peter the Eater—poor man! a sad -name to come down the ages with; it was merely an allusion to his -voracious reading. He had the saving grace of common-sense, whatever -other gifts he was burdened with. As soon as he saw the collapse of -William’s authority and the dispersal of his pupils, he resolved -to decline a contest with the irresistible Breton. He voluntarily -yielded the chair to Abélard, and took his place on the hay-strewn -floor amongst the new worshippers. Such a consummation, however, was -not to the taste of the angered scholastic. A substitute had, it -seems, the power to subdelegate his license, so that the installation -of Abélard in the cathedral school was correct and canonical. But -William was still scholastic of the place, and he had an obvious -remedy. Robert, or Peter, or whoever it may have been, depended on -him, and he at once set to work to recall the delegation. Abélard -says that he trumped up a false and most obnoxious charge against -the intermediary. He did, at all events, succeed in changing the -appointment, and thus rendering Abélard’s subdelegated license null. -The new-comer was a man of different temper, so that Abélard only -occupied the great chair ‘for a few days.’ He could not teach in or -about the episcopal school without a ‘respondent,’ and he therefore -once more transferred his chair to Melun.[8] - - [8] To transfer a chair was frequently a physical operation in - those days. There is, in one of the old records, a story of - a dissatisfied master and his pupils removing their chair to - another town, higher up the river. They were not welcome, it - seems, and their chair was pitched into the river to find its way - home. - -The Prior of St. Victor’s had won a pyrrhic victory. Whether or -no Abélard had learned a lesson from him, and began in his turn to -practise the subtle art of diplomacy, we cannot say, but Paris was -soon too warm for the prior. The lawless students respected his -authority no longer, and clamoured for Abélard. The king was dead: -long live the king! They discovered that William’s conversion was -peculiarly incomplete. For a man who had felt an inner call to leave -the world, he still evinced a fairly keen interest in its concerns. -William found their ‘ceaseless raillery’ intolerable. He fled, says -Archbishop Roger Vaughan, ‘to hide his shame in a distant monastery.’ -Abélard merely records that ‘he transferred his community to a -certain town at some distance from the city.’ The path to Paris lay -open once more. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -PROGRESS OF THE ACADEMIC WAR - - -When Abélard and his admirers returned from Melun to Paris, they -found William’s new successor sitting resolutely in the chair of -Notre Dame. From some manuscripts of the ‘Story of my Calamities’ it -appears that he had won repute by his lectures on Priscian, the Latin -grammarian. He had thus been able to augment the little band who -remained faithful to William and to orthodoxy with a certain number -of personal admirers. Clearly, the episcopal school must be taken by -storm. And so, says Abélard, his pen leaping forward more quickly at -the recollection, twenty years afterwards, ‘we pitched our camp on -the hill of St. Genevieve.’ - -During the century that preceded the coalescence of the schools -into a university, St. Genevieve was the natural home of rebellion. -Roscelin had taught there. Joscelin the Red, another famous -nominalist, was teaching there. The ‘feminists’ had raised their -tabernacle there; the Jews their synagogue. From its physical -advantages the hill naturally presented itself to the mind of every -master who had designs on the episcopal school or the episcopal -philosophy. Its gentle, sunny flanks offered ideal situations for -schools, and the students were breaking away more and more from -the vicinity of the cloister and the subordination it expressed. -A new town was rapidly forming at its foot, by the river, and on -the northern slope; a picturesque confusion of schools, chapels, -brothels, taverns, and hospices. It was the cradle of the famed Latin -Quarter—_very_ Latin in those days, when the taverns swung out their -Latin signs, ‘taverna de grangia,’ ‘ad turbotum,’ ‘apud duos cygnos,’ -and so forth, and the songs that came from the latticed, vine-clothed -arbours were half French, half Celtic-Latin. - -Abélard did not open a private school on ‘the hill.’ He delivered -his assault on ‘the island’ from the abbey of St. Genevieve at the -summit, the site now occupied by the Pantheon. There is nothing in -the least remarkable in the abbey opening its gates to one who was -obviously bent on assailing the great ecclesiastical school, and who -was already regarded as the parent of a new and freer generation of -students. The secular canons had little deference for authority and -little love of asceticism at that period. St. Norbert had fruitlessly -tried to reform them, and had been forced to embody his ideal in a -new order. Cardinal Jacques de Vitry, the classical censor of the -twelfth century, makes bitter comment on their hawks and horses, -their jesters and singing-girls, and their warmer than spiritual -affection for their sisters in religion, the ‘canonesses.’ It was -natural enough that an abbey of secular canons should welcome the -witty and brilliant young noble—and the wealth that accompanied him. - -We have little information about the abbey at that precise date, but -history has much to say of its affairs some thirty or forty years -afterwards, and thus affords a retrospective light. In the year -1146 Innocent the Second paid a visit to Paris. The relics of St. -Genevieve were one of the treasures of the city, and thither his -holiness went with his retinue, and King Louis and his followers. -In the crush that was caused in the abbey church, the servants of -the canons quarrelled with those of the court, and one of them was -unlucky enough to bring his staff down with some force on the -royal pate. That was a death-blow to the gay life of the abbey. -Paris, through the abbot of St. Denis, who was also the first royal -councillor, quickly obtained royal and papal assent to the eviction -of the canons, and they were soon summarily turned out on the high -road. They did not yield without a struggle, it is true. Many a night -afterwards, when the canons regular who replaced them were in the -midst of their solemn midnight chant, the evicted broke in the doors -of the church, and made such turmoil inside, that the chanters could -not hear each other across the choir. And when they did eventually -depart for less rigorous surroundings, they thoughtfully took -with them a good deal of the gold from Genevieve’s tomb and other -ecclesiastical treasures, which were not reclaimed until after many -adventures. - -To this abbey of St. Genevieve, then, the militant master led his -followers, and he began at once to withdraw the students from Notre -Dame, as he candidly tells us. If Bishop Galo and his chapter found -their cloistral school deserted, they might be induced to consider -Abélard’s gifts and influence. So the war went on merrily between the -two camps. The masters fulminated against each other; the students -ran from school to school, and argued it out on the bridge and in -the taverns, and brought questions to their logical conclusion in -the Pré-aux-clercs.[9] There was certainly, as we saw previously, -ample room for litigation in the problems of mediæval dialectics. -John of Salisbury studied dialectics under Abélard at St. Genevieve -(though not in the abbey) at a later date, and he tells us that when -he returned to Paris twelve years afterwards he found his dialectical -friends just where he had left them. ‘They had not added the -smallest proposition,’ he says contemptuously. Little John preferred -‘philology,’ as they called classical studies in his day. - - [9] Until a comparatively recent date ‘aller sur le Pré’ meant, - in the language of the Latin Quarter, to settle an affair of - honour. - -We get a curious insight into the school-life of the period in the -_Life of Saint Goswin_. Goswin of Douai—whom we shall meet again once -or twice—was studying in the school of Master Joscelin the Red, down -the hill. He was a youthful saint of the regulation pattern: had -borne the aureole from his cradle. About this time he is described as -brimming over with precocious zeal for righteousness, and astounded -at the impunity with which Abélard poured out his novelties. Why did -not some one silence ‘this dog who barked at the truth’? Already, the -authors of the saint’s life—two monks of the twelfth century—say, -‘Abélard’s hand was against every man, and every man’s hand against -him,’ yet no one seemed inclined ‘to thrash him with the stick of -truth.’ The young saint could not understand it. He went to Master -Joscelin at length, and declared that he was going to do the work -of the Lord himself. Joscelin is reported to have endeavoured to -dissuade him with a feeling description of Abélard’s rhetorical -power; we do not know, however, that Joscelin was void of all sense -of humour. In any case the saintly youngster of ‘modest stature’ with -the ‘blue-grey eyes and light air’ had a good measure of courage. It -will be interesting, perhaps, to read the issue in the serio-comic -language of the times. - -‘With a few companions he ascended the hill of St. Genevieve, -prepared, like David, to wage single conflict with the Goliath who -sat there thundering forth strange novelties of opinion to his -followers and ridiculing the sound doctrine of the wise. - -‘When he arrived at the battlefield—that is, when he entered the -school—he found the master giving his lecture and instilling his -novelties into his hearers. But as soon as he began to speak, the -master cast an angry look at him; knowing himself to be a warrior -from his youth, and noticing that the scholar was beginning to feel -nervous, he despised him in his heart. The youth was, indeed, fair -and handsome of appearance, but slender of body and short of stature. -And when the proud one was urged to reply, he said: “Hold thy peace, -and disturb not the course of my lecture.”’ - -The story runs, however, that Abélard’s students represented to him -that the youth was of greater importance than he seemed to be, and -persuaded him to take up the glove. ‘Very well,’ said Abélard, and -it is not improbable, ‘let him say what he has to say.’ It was, of -course, unfortunate for Goliath, as the young champion of orthodoxy, -aided by the Holy Spirit, completely crushed him in the midst of his -own pupils. - -‘The strong man thus bound by him who had entered his house, the -victor, who had secured the Protean-changing monster with the -unfailing cord of truth, descended the hill. When they had come to -the spot where their companions awaited them in the distant schools -[_i.e._ when they had got to a safe distance from Abélard’s pupils], -they burst forth in pæans of joy and triumph: humbled was the tower -of pride, downcast was the wall of contumacy, fallen was he that had -scoffed at Israel, broken was the anvil of the smiter,’ etc. etc. - -The course of events does not seem to have been much influenced by -this breaking of the ‘anvil.’ Joscelin was soon compelled to seek -fresh pastures; he also found ultimate consolation in a bishopric, -and a share in the condemnation of Abélard. The commentator of -Priscian must then have received the full force of Abélard’s keen -dialectical skill and mordant satire. His students began to fall -away to the rival camp in large numbers. William was informed in his -distant solitude, and he returned (‘impudenter,’ says Abélard) in -haste to St. Victor’s. He opened his old school in the priory, and -for a time Paris rang more loudly than ever with the dialectical -battle. But William’s intervention proved fatal to his cause. The -substitute had kept a handful of students about him, Abélard says, -but even they disappeared when William returned. The poor Priscianist -could think of nothing better than to develop ‘a call to the monastic -life,’ and he obeyed it with admirable alacrity. However, just as -Abélard was about to enter on the last stage of the conflict, he was -recalled to Pallet by his mother. - -The eleventh century had witnessed a strong revival of the monastic -spirit. When men came at length to feel the breath of an ideal in -their souls, the sight of the fearful disorder of the age stimulated -them to the sternest sacrifices. They believed that he who said, -‘If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to -the poor,’ was God, that he meant what he said, and that he spoke -the message to all the ages. So there uprose a number of fervent -preachers, whose voices thrilled with a strange passion, and they -burned the Christ-message into the souls of men and women. In -Brittany and Normandy Robert of Arbrissel and two or three others -had been at work years before St. Bernard began his apostolate. -They had broken up thousands of homes—usually those which were -helping most to sweeten the life of the world—and sent husband and -wife to spend their days apart in monasteries and nunneries. The -modern world speaks of the harshness of it; in their thoughts it -was only a salutary separation for a time, making wholly certain -their speedy reunion in a not too ethereal heaven. In the great -abbey of Fontevraud, founded by Robert of Arbrissel in the year -1100, there were nearly four thousand nuns, a large proportion of -whom were married women. Even in their own day the monastic orators -were strongly opposed on account of their appalling dissolution of -domestic ties. Roscelin attacked Robert of Arbrissel very warmly -on the ground that he received wives into his monasteries against -the will of their husbands, and in defiance of the command of the -Bishop of Angers to release them: he boldly repeats the charge in a -letter to the Bishop of Paris in 1121. Not only sober thinkers and -honest husbands would resent the zeal of the Apostle of Brittany; the -courtly, and the ecclesiastical and monastic, gallants of the time -would be equally angry with him. We have another curious objection -in some of the writers of the period. Answering the question why men -were called to the monastic life so many centuries before women, -they crudely affirm that the greater frailty of the women had made -them less competent to meet the moral dangers of the cenobitic life. -Thus from one cause or other a number of calumnies, still found in -the chronicles, were in circulation about Robert of Arbrissel.[10] -It would be interesting to know what half-truths there were at the -root of these charges; there may have been such, in those days, quite -consistently with perfect religious sincerity. In the martyrologies -of some of the monastic orders, there are women mentioned with high -praise who disguised themselves as men, and lived for years in -monasteries. It is noteworthy that mediæval folk worked none of those -miracles at the tomb of Robert of Arbrissel that they wrought at the -tombs of St. Bernard and St. Norbert. He is not a canonised saint. - - [10] As a mere illustration of the times—no one would think - of taking it seriously—we may quote the passage referring to - him in Dubois’s _Historia Ecclesiæ Parisiensis_ (also found - in Lobineau). A monk and bishop, Gaufridus Vindoniencensis, - writes to remonstrate with Robert for ‘inventing a new kind of - martyrdom’ ... ‘inter feminas et cum ipsis noctu frequenter - cubare. Hinc tibi videris, ut asseris, Domini Salvatoris digne - bajulare crucem, cum extinguere conaris male accensum carnis - ardorem.’ Later he complains of Robert’s partiality, treating - some nuns with unusual sweetness and others with excessive - acrimony; and amongst the punishments inflicted on the latter he - mentions the penance of ‘stripping.’ - -However, in spite of both responsible and irresponsible opposition, -Robert of Arbrissel, Vitalis the Norman, and other nervous orators, -had caused an extensive movement from the hearth to the cloister -throughout Brittany and Normandy, such as St. Bernard inaugurated in -France later on. Home after home—_château_ or _chaumière_—was left -to the children, and they who had sworn companionship in life and -death cheerfully parted in the pathetic trust of a reunion. Abélard’s -father was touched by the sacred fire, and entered a monastery. His -wife had to follow his example. Whatever truth there was in the words -of Roscelin, the Church certainly commanded that the arrangement -should be mutual, unless the lady were of an age or a piety beyond -suspicion, as St. Francis puts it in his ‘Rule.’ Lucia had agreed to -take the veil after her husband’s departure. This was the news that -withheld the hand of ‘the smiter’ on the point of dealing a decisive -blow, and he hastened down to Brittany to bid farewell to his ‘most -dear mother.’ Not only in this expression, but in the fact of his -making the journey at all in the circumstances, we have evidence of -a profound affection. Since he had long ago abdicated his rights of -primogeniture, there cannot have been an element of business in the -visit to Pallet. - -He was not long absent from Paris. The news reached him in Brittany -that the prior had at length discovered a dignified retreat -from the field. Soon after Abélard’s departure the bishopric of -Châlons-sur-Marne became vacant, and William was nominated for the -see. He bade a fond farewell to Paris and to dialectics. From that -date his ability was devoted to the safe extravagances of mystic -theology, under the safe tutorship of St. Bernard.[11] He had left -his pupil Gilduin to replace him at St. Victor, and the school -quickly assumed a purely theological character; but the luckless -chair of Notre Dame he entrusted to the care of Providence. - - [11] It will interest many, however, to learn (from the pages - of Du Boulai’s _Historia Universitatis Parisiensis_) that he is - charged by the querulous Gaufridus Vindoniencensis with teaching - that only the gravest sins were matter for obligatory confession. - These particularly grave transgressions are heresy, schism, - paganism, and Judaism—all non-ethical matters! - -Abélard now formed a resolution which has given rise to much -speculation. Instead of stepping at once into the chair of the -cloistral school, which he admits was offered to him, he goes off -to some distance from Paris for the purpose of studying theology. -It is the general opinion of students of his life that his main -object in doing so was to make more secure his progress towards the -higher ecclesiastical dignities. That he had such ambition, and was -not content with the mere chair and chancellorship of the cloistral -school, is quite clear. In his clouded and embittered age he is -said, on the high authority of Peter of Cluny, to have discovered -even that final virtue of humility. There are those who prefer him -in the days of his frank, buoyant pride and ambition. If he had been -otherwise in the days of the integrity of his nature, he would have -been an intolerable prig. He was the ablest thinker and speaker -in France. He was observant enough to perceive it, and so little -artificial as to acknowledge it, and act in accordance. Yet there -was probably more than the counsel of ambition in his resolution. -From the episode of Goswin’s visit to St. Genevieve it is clear that -whispers of faith, theology, and heresy were already breaking upon -the freedom of his dialectical speculations. He must have recalled -the fate of Scotus Erigena, of Bérenger, of Roscelin, and other -philosophic thinkers. Philosophic thought was subtly linked with -ecclesiastical dogma. He who contemplated a life of speculation and -teaching could not afford to be ignorant of the ecclesiastical claims -on and limitations of his sphere. Such thoughts can scarcely have -been unknown to him during the preceding year or two, and it seems -just and reasonable to trace the issue of them in his resolution. -He himself merely says: ‘I returned chiefly for the purpose of -studying divinity.’ Hausrath quotes a passage from his _Introductio -ad theologiam_ with the intention of making Abélard ascribe his -resolution to the suggestion of his admirers. On careful examination -the passage seems to refer to his purpose of writing on theology, not -to his initial purpose of studying it. - -Abélard would naturally look about for the first theological teacher -in France. There were, in point of fact, few theological chairs at -that time, but there was at least one French theologian who had -a high reputation throughout Christendom. Pupil of St. Anselm of -Canterbury at Bec, canon and dean of the town where he taught, Anselm -of Laon counted so many brilliant scholars amongst his followers that -he has been entitled the ‘doctor of doctors.’ William of Champeaux, -William of Canterbury, and a large number of distinguished masters, -sat at his feet. His _scholia_ to the Vulgate were in use in the -schools for centuries. He and his brother Raoul had made Laon a -most important focus of theological activity for more countries -than France. England was well represented there. John of Salisbury -frequently has occasion to illustrate the fame and magnitude of the -cathedral school. - -Anselm had been teaching for forty years when Abélard, _aetat._ -thirty-four, appeared amidst the crowd of his hearers. We can -well conceive the fluttering of wings that must have occurred, -but Laon was not Paris, and Anselm was not the man to enter upon -an argumentative conflict with the shrewd-tongued adventurer. Two -incidents of contemporary life at Laon, in which Anselm figured, will -be the best means of illustrating the character of the theologian. -Abbot Guibertus, of that period, has left us a delightful work -‘_De vita sua_,’ from which we learn much about Laon and Anselm. -The treasure of the cathedral was entrusted, it seems, to seven -guardians—four clerics and three laymen. One of these guardians, a -Canon Anselm, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He purloined a good -deal of the treasure; and when the goldsmith, his accomplice, was -detected, and turned king’s evidence, Anselm denied the story, -challenged the goldsmith to the usual duel, and won.[12] The canon -was encouraged, and shortly set up as an expert burglar. One dark, -stormy night he went with his ‘ladders and machines’ to a tower in -which much treasure was kept, and ‘cracked’ it. There was dreadful -ado in the city next day; most horrible of all, the burglar had -stolen a golden dove which contained some of the hair and some of -the milk of the Virgin Mary. In the uncertainty the sapient Master -Anselm (no relation, apparently, of Canon Anselm Beessus, the burglar -and cathedral treasurer) was invited to speak. His advice largely -reveals the man. Those were the days, it must be remembered, when the -defects of the detective service were compensated by a willingness -and activity of the higher powers which are denied to this sceptical -age. When their slender police resources were exhausted, the accused -was handed over to a priest, to be prepared, by prayer and a sober -diet of bread, herbs, salt, and water, for the public ordeal. On the -fourth day priests and people repaired to the church, and when the -mass was over, and the vested priests had prostrated themselves in -the sanctuary, the accused purged himself of the charge or proved -his guilt by carrying or walking on a nine foot bar of heated iron, -plunging his arms ‘for an ell and a half’ into boiling water, or -being bodily immersed in a huge tank, cold, and carefully blessed and -consecrated. - - [12] When Anselm’s guilt was ultimately proved, people were - somewhat troubled as to the ill-success of their Providential - detective service, until they heard that the goldsmith, in - accusing the canon, had broken faith with him. - -These are familiar facts. The difficulty at Laon was that there was -no accused to operate on. The Solomon Laudunensis was therefore -called into judgment, and his proposal certainly smacks of the -thoroughness of the systematic theologian. A baby was to be taken -from each parish of the town, and tried by the ordeal of immersion. -When the guilty parish had been thus discovered, each family in it -was to purge itself by sending an infant representative to the tank. -When the guilt had been thus fastened on a certain house, all its -inmates were to be put to the ordeal.[13] - - [13] Luckily the citizen-parents were wiser than their Solomon - for once. They proposed that the process should commence with - the seven treasurers. In spite of preliminary experiments in - private the canon was convicted. But the reader must go to the - pious Geoffroy’s narrative (_Migne_, vol. 156, col. 1011) to - read how the burglar was tortured, how he obtained release for a - time by trickery, and how, being unable to sleep at night for a - miraculous dove, he finally confessed and restored. - -We see Anselm in a very different light in an incident that occurred -a year or two before Abélard’s arrival. Through the influence of the -King of England and the perennial power of gold a wholly unworthy -bishop had been thrust upon the people of Laon. Illiterate, worldly, -and much addicted to military society, he was extremely distasteful -to Anselm and the theologians. The crisis came when the English king, -Henry I., tried to levy a tax on the people of Laon. The bishop -supported his patron; Anselm and others sternly opposed the tax in -the name of the people. Feeling ran so high that the bishop was at -length brutally murdered by some of the townsfolk, and the cathedral -was burned to the ground. Anselm immediately, and almost alone, -went forth to denounce the frenzied mob, and had the unfortunate -prelate—left for the dogs to devour before his house—quietly buried. - -Such was the man whom Abélard chose as his next, and last, ‘teacher.’ -In the circumstances revealed in the above anecdotes it would have -been decidedly dangerous to attack Anselm in the manner that had -succeeded so well at Notre Dame. There is, however, no just reason -for thinking that Abélard had formed an intention of that kind. No -doubt, it is impossible to conceive Abélard in the attitude of one -who seriously expected instruction from a master. Yet it would be -unjust to assume that he approached the class-room of the venerable, -authoritative theologian in the same spirit in which he had -approached William of Champeaux’s lectures on rhetoric. We do not -find it recorded that he made any attempt to assail directly the high -position of the old man. It was sufficient for the purpose we may -ascribe to him that he should be able to state in later years that he -had frequented the lectures of Anselm of Laon. - -With whatever frame of mind the critic came to Laon, he was not long -in discovering the defects of Anselm’s teaching. Anselm had one -gift, a good memory, and its fruit, patristic erudition. The fame -that was borne over seas and mountains was founded mainly on the -marvellous wealth of patristic opinion which he applied to every text -of Scripture. There was no individuality, no life, in his work. To -Abélard the mnemonic feat was a mechanical matter; and indeed, he -probably cared little at that time how St. Ambrose or St. Cyril may -have interpreted this or that text. Little as he would be disposed to -trust the fame of masters after his experience, he tells us that he -was disappointed. He found the ‘fig-tree to be without fruit,’ fair -and promising as it had seemed. The lamp, that was said to illumine -theological Christendom, ‘merely filled the house with smoke, not -light.’ He found, in the words of his favourite Lucan, - - ‘magni nominis umbra, - Qualis frugifero quercus sublimis in agro’: - -and he determined ‘not to remain in this idleness under its shade -very long.’ With his usual heedlessness he frankly expressed his -estimate of the master to his fellow pupils. - -One day when they were joking together at the end of the lecture, -and the students were twitting him with his neglect of the class, -he quietly dropped a bomb to the effect that he thought masters of -theology were superfluous. With the text and the ordinary glosses -any man of fair intelligence could study theology for himself. He -was contemptuously invited to give a practical illustration of his -theory. Abélard took the sneer seriously, and promised to lecture -on any book of Scripture they cared to choose. Continuing the joke, -they chose the curious piece of Oriental work that has the title -of Ezechiel. Once more Abélard took them seriously, asked for the -text and gloss, and invited them to attend his first lecture, on the -most abstruse of the prophets, on the following day. Most of them -persisted in treating the matter as a joke, but a few appeared at -the appointed spot (in Anselm’s own territory) on the following day. -They listened in deep surprise to a profound lecture on the prophet -from the new and self-consecrated ‘theologus.’ The next day there -was a larger audience; the lecture was equally astonishing. In fine, -Abélard was soon in full sail as a theological lector of the first -rank, and a leakage was noticed in Anselm’s lecture hall. - -Abélard’s theological success at Laon was brief, if brilliant. Two -of the leading scholars, Alberic of Rheims and Lotulphe of Novare, -urged Anselm to suppress the new movement at once. Seven years -later we shall meet Alberic and Lotulphe playing an important part -in the tragedy of Abélard’s life; later still Alberic is found in -intimacy with St. Bernard. The episode of Laon must not be forgotten. -Probably Anselm needed little urging, with the fate of William of -Champeaux fresh in his ears. At all events he gave willing audience -to the suggestion that a young master, without due theological -training, might at any moment bring the disgrace of heresy on the -famous school. He ‘had the impudence to suppress me,’ Abélard has -the impudence to say. The students are said to have been much -angered by Anselm’s interference, but there was no St. Genevieve at -Laon—happily, perhaps,—and Abélard presently departed for Paris, -leaving the field to the inglorious ‘Pompey the Great.’ - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE IDOL OF PARIS - - -A new age began for Paris and for learning, when Peter Abélard -accepted the chair of the episcopal school. It would be a difficult -task to measure the influence he had in hastening the foundation of -the university—as difficult as to estimate the enduring effect of his -teaching on Catholic theology. There were other streams flowing into -the life of the period, and they would have expanded and deepened -it, independently of the activity of the one brilliant teacher. -The work of a group of less gifted, though highly gifted, teachers -had started a current of mental life which would have continued -and broadened without the aid of Abélard. Life was entering upon a -swifter course in all its reaches. Moreover, the slender rill of -Greek thought, which formed the inspiration of the eleventh century, -was beginning to increase. Through Alexandria, through Arabia, -through Spain, the broad stream of the wisdom of the Greeks had been -slowly travelling with the centuries. In the twelfth century it was -crossing the Pyrenees, and stealing into the jealous schools of -Europe. The homeless Jew was bringing the strong, swift, noble spirit -of the ‘infidel Moor’ into a hideous world, that was blind with -self-complacency. The higher works of Aristotle (the early Middle -Ages had only his logic), the words of Plato, and so many others, -were drifting into France. Christian scholars were even beginning to -think of going to see with their own eyes this boasted civilisation -of the infidel. - -Yet it is clear that Abélard stands for a mighty force in the story -of development. At the end of the eleventh century Paris was an -island; at the end of the twelfth century it was a city of two -hundred thousand souls, walled, paved, with several fine buildings -and a fair organisation. At the end of the eleventh century the -schools of Paris, scattered here and there, counted a few hundred -pupils, chiefly French; at the end of the twelfth century the -University of Paris must have numbered not far short of ten thousand -scholars. Let us see how much of this was effected by Abélard. - -The pupil who had left Paris when both William and Abélard -disappeared in 1113 would find a marvellous change on returning to it -about 1116 or 1117. He would find the lecture hall and the cloister -and the quadrangle, under the shadow of the great cathedral, filled -with as motley a crowd of youths and men as any scene in France -could show. Little groups of French and Norman and Breton nobles -chattered together in their bright silks and fur-tipped mantles, -and with slender swords dangling from embroidered belts; ‘shaven -in front like thieves, and growing luxuriant, curly tresses at the -back like harlots,’ growls Jacques de Vitry, who saw them, vying -with each other in the length and crookedness of their turned-up -shoes.[14] Anglo-Saxons looked on, in long fur-lined cloaks, tight -breeches, and leathern hose swathed with bands of many coloured -cloth. Stern-faced northerners, Poles, and Germans, in fur caps and -coloured girdles and clumsy shoes, or with feet roughly tied up in -the bark of trees, waited impatiently for the announcement of ‘Li -Mestre.’ Pale-faced southerners had braved the Alps and the Pyrenees -under the fascination of ‘the wizard.’ Shaven and sandalled monks, -black-habited clerics, black canons, secular and regular, black in -face too, some of them, heresy-hunters from the neighbouring abbey of -St. Victor, mingled with the crowd of young and old, grave and gay, -beggars and nobles, sleek citizens and bronzed peasants. - - [14] The Count of Anjou had just invented them to hide the - enormity of his bunions. Flattering courtiers found them - excellent. The English king’s jester had exaggerated the - turned-up points, and the nobles were driving the practice to - death, as is the aristocratic wont. - -Crevier and other writers say that Abélard had attracted five -thousand students to Paris. Sceptics smile, and talk of Chinese -genealogies. Mr. Rashdall, however, has made a careful study of the -point, and he concludes that there were certainly five thousand, and -possibly seven thousand, students at Paris in the early scholastic -age, before the multiplication of important centres. He points -out that the fabulous figures which are sometimes given—Wycliffe -says that at one time there were sixty thousand students at -Oxford, Juvenal de Ursinis gives twenty thousand at Paris in the -fifteenth century, Italian historians speak of fifteen thousand at -Bologna—always refer to a date beyond the writer’s experience, and -frequently betray a touch of the _laudator temporis acti_. It is, -at all events, safe to affirm that Abélard’s students were counted -by thousands, if they had not ‘come to surpass the number of the -laity’ [ordinary citizens], as an old writer declares. Philippe -Auguste had to direct a huge expansion of the city before the close -of the century. There is nothing in the commercial or political -development of Paris to explain the magnitude of this expansion. It -was a consequence of a vast influx of students from all quarters of -the globe, and the fame of Master Abélard had determined the course -of the stream. - -One condition reacted on another. A notable gathering of students -attracted Jews and merchants in greater numbers. They, in turn, -created innumerable ‘wants’ amongst the ‘undisciplined horde.’ The -luxuries and entertainments of youth began to multiply. The schools -of Paris began to look fair in the eyes of a second world—a world of -youths and men who had not felt disposed to walk hundreds of miles -and endure a rude life out of academic affection. The ‘dancers of -Orleans,’ the ‘tennis-players of Poitiers,’ the ‘lovers of Turin,’ -came to fraternise with the ‘dirty fellows of Paris.’ Over mountains -and over seas the mingled reputation of the city and the school was -carried, and a remarkable stream set in from Germany, Switzerland, -Italy (even from proud Rome), Spain, and England; even ‘distant -Brittany sent you its animals to be instructed,’ wrote Prior Fulques -to Abélard (a Breton) a year or two afterwards. - -At five or six o’clock each morning the great cathedral bell would -ring out the summons to work. From the neighbouring houses of the -canons, from the cottages of the townsfolk, from the taverns, and -hospices, and boarding-houses, the stream of the industrious would -pour into the enclosure beside the cathedral. The master’s beadle, -who levied a precarious tax on the mob, would strew the floor of the -lecture-hall with hay or straw, according to the season, bring the -Master’s text-book, with the notes of the lecture between lines or on -the margin, to the solitary desk, and then retire to secure silence -in the adjoining street. Sitting on their haunches in the hay, the -right knee raised to serve as a desk for the waxed tablets, the -scholars would take notes during the long hours of lecture (about six -or seven), then hurry home—if they were industrious—to commit them to -parchment while the light lasted. - -The lectures over, the stream would flow back over the Little -Bridge, filling the taverns and hospices, and pouring out over -the great playing meadow, that stretched from the island to the -present Champ de Mars. All the games of Europe were exhibited -on that international playground: running, jumping, wrestling, -hurling, fishing and swimming in the Seine, tossing and thumping -the inflated ball—a game on which some minor poet of the day has -left us an enthusiastic lyric—and especially the great game of war, -in its earlier and less civilised form. The nations were not yet -systematically grouped, and long and frequent were the dangerous -conflicts. The undergraduate mind, though degrees had not yet -been invented, had drawn up an estimate, pithy, pointed, and not -flattering, of each nationality. The English were, it is sad to -find, ‘cowardly and drunken,’—to the ‘Anglophobes’; the French were -‘proud and effeminate’; the Normans ‘charlatans and boasters,’ -the Burgundians ‘brutal and stupid’; the Bretons ‘fickle and -extravagant’; the Flemings ‘blood-thirsty, thievish, and incendiary’; -the Germans ‘choleric, gluttonous, and dirty’; the Lombards -‘covetous, malicious, and no fighters’; the Romans ‘seditious, -violent, and slanderous.’ Once those war-cries were raised, peaceable -folk hied them to their homes and hovels, and the governor summoned -his guards and archers. - -The centre of this huge and novel concourse was the master of the -cathedral school. After long years of conventual life Heloise draws a -remarkable picture of the attitude of Paris towards its idol. Women -ran to their doors and windows to gaze at him, as he passed from -his house on St. Genevieve to the school. ‘Who was there that did -not hasten to observe when you went abroad, and did not follow you -with strained neck and staring eyes as you passed along? What wife, -what virgin, did not burn? What queen or noble dame did not envy my -fortune?’ And we shall presently read of a wonderful outburst of -grief when the news of the outrage done to Abélard flies through the -city. ‘No man was ever more loved—and more hated,’ says the sober -Hausrath. - -It is not difficult to understand the charm of Abélard’s teaching. -Three qualities are assigned to it by the writers of the period, some -of whom studied at his feet: clearness, richness in imagery, and -lightness of touch are said to have been the chief characteristics -of his teaching. Clearness is, indeed, a quality of his written -works, though they do not, naturally, convey an impression of his -oral power. His splendid gifts and versatility, supported by a -rich voice, a charming personality, a ready and sympathetic use of -human literature, and a freedom from excessive piety, gave him an -immeasurable advantage over all the teachers of the day. Beside most -of them, he was as a butterfly to an elephant. A most industrious -study of the few works of Aristotle and of the Roman classics that -were available, a retentive memory, an ease in manipulating his -knowledge, a clear, penetrating mind, with a corresponding clearness -of expression, a ready and productive fancy, a great knowledge of -men, a warmer interest in things human than in things divine, a -laughing contempt for authority, a handsome presence, and a musical -delivery—these were his gifts. His only defects were defects of -character, and the circumstances of his life had not yet revealed -them even to himself. - -Even the monkish writers of the _Life of St. Goswin_, whose attitude -towards his person is clear, grant him ‘a sublime eloquence.’ The -epitaphs that men raised over him, the judgments of episcopal Otto -von Freising and John of Salisbury, the diplomatic letter of Prior -Fulques, the references of all the chroniclers of the time, I -refrain from quoting. We learn his power best from his open enemies. -‘Wizard,’ ‘rhinoceros,’ ‘smiter,’ ‘friend of the devil,’ ‘giant,’ -‘Titan,’ ‘Prometheus,’ and ‘Proteus,’ are a few of their compliments -to his ability: the mellifluous St. Bernard alone would provide a -rich vocabulary of flattering encomiums of that character: ‘Goliath,’ -‘Herod,’ ‘Leviathan,’ ‘bee,’ ‘serpent,’ ‘dragon,’ ‘hydra,’ ‘Absalom,’ -are some of his epithets. When, later, we find St. Bernard, the first -orator and firmest power in France, shrink nervously from an oral -encounter with him, and resort to measures which would be branded as -dishonourable in any other man, we shall more faithfully conceive the -charm of Abélard’s person and the fascination of his lectures. - -Yet no careful student of his genius will accept the mediæval -estimate which made him the ‘Socrates of Gaul,’ the peer of Plato -and of Aristotle. He had wonderful penetration and a rare felicity -of oral expression, but he was far removed from the altitude of -Socrates and Plato and the breadth of Aristotle. He had no ‘system’ -of thought, philosophical or theological; and into the physical and -social world he never entered. His ideas—and some of them were -leagues beyond his intellectual surroundings—came to him piecemeal. -Yet we shall see that in some of those which were most abhorrent to -Bernard—who was the Church for the time being—he did but anticipate -the judgment of mature humanity on certain ethical and intellectual -features of traditional lore. The thesis cannot be satisfactorily -established until a later stage. - -When we proceed to examine the erudition which gave occasion to the -epitaph, ‘to him alone was made clear all that is knowable,’ we must -bear in mind the limitations of his world. When Aristotle lent his -mind to the construction of a world system, he had the speculations -of two centuries of Greek thinkers before him; when Thomas of Aquin -began to write, he had read the thoughts of three generations -of schoolmen after Abélard, and all the Arabic translations and -incorporations of Greek thought. At the beginning of the twelfth -century there was little to read beside the fathers. If we take -‘all that was knowable’ in this concrete and relative sense, the -high-sounding epitaph is not far above the truth. - -His Latin is much better than that of the great majority of -his contemporaries. Judged by a perfect classical standard it -is defective; it admits some of the erroneous forms that are -characteristic of the age. But it is not without elegance, and it -excels in clearness and elasticity. It could not well be otherwise, -seeing his wide and familiar acquaintance with Latin literature. He -frequently quotes Lucan, Ovid, Horace, Vergil, and Cicero; students -of his writings usually add an acquaintance with Juvenal, Persius, -Statius, Suetonius, Valerius Maximus, Quintilian, and Priscian. It -was a frequent charge in the mouths of his enemies that he quoted -the lewdest books of Ovid in the course of his interpretation of -Scripture. The constant glance aside at the literature of human -passion and the happy flash of wit were not small elements in his -success. Those who came to him from other schools had heard little -but the wearisome iteration of Boetius, Cassiodorus, and Martianus -Capella. They found the new atmosphere refreshing and stimulating. - -His command of Greek and Hebrew is a subject of endless dispute. -His pupil Heloise certainly had a knowledge of the two tongues, as -we shall see presently. She must have received her instruction from -Abélard. But it is clear that Abélard likes to approach a controversy -which turns on the interpretation of the original text of Scripture -through a third person, such as St. Jerome. He rarely approaches even -the easy Greek text of the New Testament directly, and he has no -immediate acquaintance with any Greek author. Aristotle he has read -in the Latin translation of Boetius, through whose mediation he has -also read Porphyry’s _Isagoge_. He was certainly familiar with the -_De Interpretatione_ and the _Categories_; Cousin grants him also -an acquaintance with the _Prior Analytics_; and Brucker and others -would add the _Sophistici Elenchi_ and the _Topics_. The physical -and metaphysical works of Aristotle were proscribed at Paris long -after the Jewish and Arabian translations had found a way into other -schools of France. The golden thoughts of Plato came to him through -the writings of the fathers; though there is said to have been a -translation of the _Timæus_ in France early in the twelfth century. - -His knowledge of Hebrew must have been equally, or even more, -elementary. Only once does he clearly approach the Hebrew text -without patristic guidance; it is when, in answering one (the -thirty-sixth) of the famous ‘Problems of Heloise,’ he adduces the -authority of ‘a certain Hebrew,’ whom he ‘heard discussing the -point.’ In this we have a clear clue to the source of his Hebrew. -The Jews were very numerous in Paris in the twelfth century. When -Innocent the Second visited Paris in 1131, the Jews met him at St. -Denis, and offered him a valuable roll of the law. By the time of -Philippe Auguste they are said to have owned two-thirds of the -city: perceiving which, Philippe recollected, or was reminded, -that they were the murderers of Christ, and so he banished them -and retained their goods. Abélard indicates that they took part -in the intellectual life of Paris in his day; in Spain they were -distinguished in every branch of higher thought; and thus the -opportunity of learning Hebrew lay close at hand. One does not see -why Rémusat and others should deny him any acquaintance with it. His -knowledge, however, must have been elementary. He does not make an -impressive, though a novel, use of it in deriving the name of Heloise -(Helwide, or Helwise, or Louise) from Elohim, which he does, years -afterwards, in the sober solitude of his abbey and the coldness of -his mutilation. - -Add an extensive acquaintance with Scripture and the fathers, and the -inventory is complete. Not difficult to be erudite in those days, -most people will reflect. Well, a phonogram may be erudite. The gifts -of Abélard were of a higher order than industry and memory, though -he possessed both. He takes his place in history, apart from the -ever-interesting drama and the deep pathos of his life, in virtue -of two distinctions. They are, firstly, an extraordinary ability in -imparting such knowledge as the poverty of the age afforded—the facts -of his career reveal it; and secondly, a mind of such marvellous -penetration that it conceived great truths which it has taken -humanity seven or eight centuries to see—this will appear as we -proceed. It was the former of these gifts that made him, in literal -truth, the centre of learned and learning Christendom, the idol of -several thousand eager scholars. Nor, finally, were these thousands -the ‘horde of barbarians’ that jealous Master Roscelin called them. -It has been estimated that a pope, nineteen cardinals, and more than -fifty bishops and archbishops, were at one time among his pupils. - -We are now at, or near, the year 1118. In the thirty-ninth year of -his age, the twenty-third year of his scholastic activity, Abélard -has reached the highest academic position in Christendom. He who -loved so well, and so naturally, to be admired, found himself the -centre of a life that had not been seen since Greek sages poured out -wisdom in the painted colonnade, and the marble baths, and the shady -groves of Athens. His self-esteem was flattered; his love of rule and -of eminence was gratified. Poor as many of his pupils were, their -number brought him great wealth. His refinement had ample means of -solacing its desires. The petty vexations of the struggle were nobly -compensated. Before him lay a world of fairest promise into which -he, seemingly, had but to enter. Then there arose one of the forces -that shattered his life, beginning its embodiment in an idyll, ending -quickly in a lurid tragedy. It is the most difficult stage in the -story of Abélard. I approach it only in the spirit of the artist, -purposing neither to excuse nor to accuse, but only to trace, if I -may, the development of a soul. - -Abélard’s life had until now been purely spiritual, almost wholly -intellectual. His defects were spiritual—conceit and ambition; -if, as men assure us, it is a defect to recognise that you have a -supra-normal talent, and to strive for the pre-eminence it entitles -you to. The idealist spirit in which he had turned away from the -comfort and quiet of the château had remained thus far the one fire -that consumed his energy. In the pretty theory of Plato, his highest -soul had silenced the lower, and reduced the lowest to the barest -requisite play of vegetative life. There are men who go through -life thus. The scientist would crudely—it is the fashion to say -‘crudely’—explain that the supra-normal activity of the upper part of -the nervous system made the action of the lower part infra-normal; -but let us keep on the spiritual plane. There are men whose soul is -so absorbed in study or in contemplation that love never reaches -their consciousness; or if it does, its appeal is faint, and quickly -rejected. The condition of such a life, highly prized as it is by -many, is constant intellectual strain. - -Abélard had now arrived at a point when the mental strain began -instinctively to relax. Wealth would inevitably bring more sensuous -pleasure into his life. He was not one of the ‘purely intellectual’; -he had a warm imagination and artistic power. No immediate purpose -called for mental concentration. Sensuous enjoyment crept over the -area of his conscious life. During a large proportion of his time, -too, he was following with sympathy the quickening life of the -passionate creations of Ovid and Vergil and Lucan. The inner judge, -the sterner I, is indisposed to analyse, unless education, or faith, -or circumstance, has laid a duty of severer watchfulness upon it. -Blending with other and not alarming sensuous feelings, veiling -itself, and gently, subtly passing its sweet fire into the veins, -the coming of love is unperceived until it is already strong to -exert a numbing influence on the mind. Abélard awoke one day to a -consciousness that a large part of the new sweetness that pervaded -his life was due to the birth of a new power in his soul—a power as -elusive to recognition as it is imperious in its demands. Then is the -trial of the soul. - -Before quoting Abélard’s confession, with respect to this -transformation of his character, it is necessary, out of justice to -him, to anticipate a little, in indicating the circumstances of the -making of the confession. The long letter which Abélard entitled the -‘Story of my Calamities’ was written twelve or thirteen years after -these events. By that time he had not only endured a succession of -cruel persecutions, but his outlook on life and on self had been -entirely changed. Not only had the memory of the events faded -somewhat, but he had become colour-blind in an important sense. -A frightful mutilation had distorted his physical and psychic -nature. Partly from this cause, and partly under the stress of -other circumstances, he had become a Puritan of the Puritans, an -ascetical hermit. As is the wont of such, he manifests a tendency to -exaggerate the shadows cast by actions of his which he can no longer -understand; for nature has withdrawn her inspiration. On the point we -are considering he does not evince the smallest desire of concealment -or palliation, but rather the reverse. And, finally, the letter, -though written ostensibly for the solace of a friend in distress, -was clearly written for circulation, and for the conciliation of the -gentler of the Puritans, who knew his life well. - -After speaking of the wealth and fame he had attained, he says: -‘But since prosperity ever puffs up the fool, and worldly ease -dissolves the vigour of the mind, and quickly enervates it by carnal -allurements; now that I thought myself to be the only philosopher -in the world, and feared no further menace to my position, whereas -I had hitherto lived most continently, I began to loose the rein -to passion. And the further I had advanced in philosophy and in -reading Holy Writ, so much the wider did I depart from philosophers -and divines by the uncleanness of my life. It is well known to thee -that philosophers and divines have ever been distinguished for this -virtue of continence. But, whilst I was thus wholly taken up with -pride and lust, the grace of God brought me a remedy, unwilling as I -was, for both maladies; for lust first, and then for pride. For lust, -by depriving me of its instrument; for pride—the pride which was -chiefly born of my knowledge of letters, according to the word of the -Apostle, ‘knowledge puffeth up’—by humbling me in the burning of the -book by which I set such store. And now I would have thee learn the -truth of both these stories, from the events themselves rather than -from rumour, in the order in which they befell. Since then I had ever -abhorred the uncleanness of harlots, and I had been withheld from the -company and intercourse of noble dames by the exactions of study, nor -had I more than a slight acquaintance with other women, evil fortune, -smiling on me, found an easier way to cast me down from the summit of -my prosperity; proud, as I was, and unmindful of divine favour, the -goodness of God humbled me, and won me to itself.’ And the penitent -passes on immediately to give the story of his relation to Heloise. - -It is quite clear that all the vehement language with which he -scourges himself before humanity refers exclusively to his liaison -with Heloise. Searching about, as he does, for charges to heap upon -his dead self, he yet denies that he had intercourse with women of -any description before he knew the one woman whom he loved sincerely -throughout life. In a later letter to Heloise, not intended to -circulate abroad, he repeats the statement; recalling their embraces, -he says they were the more treasured ‘since we had never known the -like (_ista gaudia_) before.’ Moreover, he says a little later in -the ‘Story’ that up to the time of his liaison with Heloise he had -a ‘repute for chastity’ in the city; the events we have to follow -prove this to have been the case. Finally, let us carefully remember -that there would be no advantage in concealing any earlier disorder, -and that there is clear indication, even in the short passage I have -quoted, of a disposition rather to magnify faults than to attenuate. - -I labour the point, because a writer who has introduced Abélard to -many of the present generation, and for whom and whose thoughts I -have otherwise a high regard, has somehow been led to lay here a very -damning indictment of Abélard. Mr. Cotter Morison was a follower of -the religion that worships the departed great, and should have a -special care to set in light the character of those whom the Church -has bruised in life, and slandered after death, under a false view -of the interest of humanity. Yet, in his _Life of St. Bernard_, he -has grossly added to the charge against Abélard, with the slenderest -of historical bases. It were almost an injustice to Kingsley to -say that Cotter Morison’s Abélard recalls the great novelist’s -pitiful Hypatia. The Positivist writer thus interprets this stage -in Abélard’s career. After saying that his passion broke out like -a volcano, and that he felt ‘a fierce, fiery thirst for pleasure, -sensual and animal,’ he goes on in this remarkable strain: ‘He drank -deeply, wildly. He then grew fastidious and particular. He required -some delicacy of romance, some flavour of emotion, to remove the -crudity of his lust. He seduced Heloise.’ - -Was ever a graver perversion in the historical construction of -character by an impartial writer? Stranger still, Mr. Cotter Morison -has already warned his readers that the ‘Story of my Calamities’ -must be shorn of some penitential _exaggeration_, if we are to give -it historical credence. But Mr. Morison has witnesses. Prior Fulques, -in a letter to Abélard, reminded him that he squandered a fortune on -harlots. The assertion of this monk of Deuil, based, professedly, -on the reports of Abélard’s bitter enemies, the monks of St. Denis, -and made in a letter which is wholly politic, is held by Mr. Morison -to ‘more than counterbalance’ the solemn public affirmation of a -morbidly humble, self-accusing penitent. And this, after warning us -not to take Abélard’s self-accusation too literally! I shall examine -this letter of Prior Fulques’ more closely later. Not only does the -letter itself belong to, but the charge refers to, a later period, -and will be weighed then. There is nothing at this stage to oppose -to the quiet and indirect claim of Abélard, allowed by the action -of Fulbert, that his character was unsullied up to the date of his -liaison with Heloise. - -Let us return to the accredited historical facts. Somewhere about the -year 1118 Abélard first felt the claims of love. He was wealthy and -prosperous, and living in comparative luxury. He had those gifts of -imagination which usually reveal an ardent temperament. Whether it -was Heloise who unwittingly kindled the preparing passion, or whether -Abélard yielded first to a vague, imperious craving, and sought one -whom he might love, we do not know. But we have his trustworthy -declaration that he detested the rampant harlotry, and knew no woman -until he felt the sweet caress of Heloise. - -I have now to set out with care the story of that immortal love. But -nine readers out of ten are minded to pass judgment on the acts and -lives of those we recall from the dead. My function is to reconstruct -the story as faithfully as the recorded facts allow. Yet I would make -one more digression before doing so. - -What standard of conduct shall be used in judging Abélard? There are -a thousand moral codes—that of the Hindu and that of the Christian, -that of the twelfth century and that of the _twentieth_. In the -twelfth century even the St. Bernards thought it just that a man -who could not see the truth of the Church’s claims should be burned -alive, and his soul tortured for all eternity; that a Being was -just and adorable who tortured a twelfth century babe for Adam’s -sin; that twelfth century Jews might be robbed because their remote -ancestors had put Christ to death; that the sanctity of justice -demanded, literally, an eye for an eye; and so forth. One may, of -course, choose whatever standard of conduct one likes to measure -Abélard’s, or anybody else’s, actions: Cardinal Newman, and such -writers, have a fancy for judging him by the perfected code of the -nineteenth. We cannot quarrel with them; though it is well to point -out that they are not measuring Abélard’s subjective guilt, nor -portraying his character, in so doing. And if any do elect to judge -Abélard by the moral code of the twelfth century, it must be noted -that this varied much, even on the point of sexual morality. St. -Bernard and his like saw an inherent moral evil in sexual union; they -thought the sanctity of the priestly character was incompatible with -it, and that virginity was, in itself, and by the mere abstinence -from sexual commerce, something holier than marriage. Apart from -this, no doubt—if it can be set apart in the question—good men were -agreed. But, as will appear presently, there were large bodies of -men, even clerks, who not only differed from them in practice, but -also in their deliberate moral judgment. We must approach closer -still. When we have to determine an individual conception of the law, -for the purpose of measuring real and personal guilt, we must have -a regard to the surrounding influences, the current thoughts and -prevailing habits, which may have impaired or obscured the feeling of -its validity in any respect. It is well, then, first to glance at the -morals of the time when one feels eager to measure Abélard’s guilt. - -It was a period when the dark triumph of what is called materialism, -or animalism, was as yet relieved only by a sporadic gleam of -idealism. There was purity in places, but over the broad face of the -land passion knew little law. If the unlettered Greek had immoral -gods to encourage him, the mediæval had immoral pastors. The Church -was just endeavouring to enforce its unfortunate law of celibacy on -them. With a stroke of the pen it had converted thousands of honest -wives into concubines. The result was utter and sad demoralisation. -In thus converting the moral into the deeply immoral, the Church -could appeal to no element in the consciences of its servants; nor -even to its basic Scriptures. Writers of the time use hyperbolic -language in speaking of the prevalent vice, and the facts given in -the chronicles, and embodied in the modern collections of ancient -documents, fully sustain it. Speaking of the close of the eleventh -century, Dubois, in his _Historia Ecclesiæ Parisiensis_, says: ‘The -condition of the Church [in general] at that time was unhappy and -wretched ... nearly all the clergy were infected with the vice of -simony ... lust and shameful pleasure were openly rampant.’ It is -true that he excepts his ‘Church of Paris,’ but his own facts show -that it is only a piece of foolish loyalty. Cardinal Jacques de -Vitry, who studied at Paris towards the close of the century (it must -have been worse in Abélard’s time), gives a clearly overdrawn, yet -instructive, picture of its life in his _Historia Occidentalis_. ‘The -clergy,’ he says, probably meaning the scholars in general, of whom -the majority were clerics, ‘saw no sin in simple fornication. Common -harlots were to be seen dragging off clerics as they passed along -to their brothels. If they refused to go, opprobrious names were -called after them. School and brothel were under the same roof—the -school above, the brothel below.... And the more freely they spent -their money in vice, the more were they commended, and regarded -by almost everybody as fine, liberal fellows.’ The vice that has -ever haunted educational centres and institutes was flagrant and -general. It is a fact that the authorities had at length to prohibit -the canons to lodge students in their houses on the island. In the -country and in the other towns the same conditions were found. In -Father Denifle’s _Chartularium_ there is a document (No. V.) which -throws a curious light on the habits of the clergy. A priest of -Rheims was dancing in a tavern one Sunday, when some of the scholars -laughed at him. He pursued them to their school, took the place by -storm, half-murdered, and then (presumably recalling his sacerdotal -character) excommunicated them. At another time, Cardinal Jacques -tells us, the lady of a certain manor warned the priest of the -village to dismiss his concubine. He refused; whereupon the noble -dame had the woman brought to her, and ordained her ‘priestess,’ -turning her out before the admiring villagers with a gaudy crown. -Another poor priest told his bishop, with many tears, that, if it -were a question of choosing between his church and his concubine, he -should have to abandon the church; the story runs that, finding his -income gone, the lady also departed. There is an equally dark lament -in Ordericus Vitalis, the Norman, who lived in Abélard’s day. The -letters and sermons of Abélard—Abélard the monk, of St. Bernard, and -of so many others, confirm the darkest features of the picture. Only -a few years previously the king had lived with the wife of one of his -nobles, in defiance of them all; and when a council, composed of one -hundred and twenty prelates, including two cardinals and a number of -bishops, met at Poitiers to censure him, the Duke of Aquitaine broke -in with his soldiers, and scattered them with the flat of his sword. -Indeed, an ancient writer, Hugo Flaviniacensis, declares there was a -feeling that Pope Paschal did not, for financial reasons, approve the -censure passed by his legates. - -Considering the enormous prevalence of simony, one could hardly -expect to find the Church in a better condition. The writers of -the time make it clear that there was an appalling traffic in -bishoprics, abbeys, prebends, and all kinds of ecclesiastical goods -and dignities. We have already seen one tragic illustration of -the evil, and we shall meet many more. A few years previously the -king had nominated one of his favourites, Étienne de Garlande, for -the vacant bishopric of Beauvais; and this youth, ‘of no letters -and of unchaste life,’ at once took even major orders, and talked -of going to Rome ‘to buy the curia.’ But, as with regard to the -previous point, it is useless to give instances. Corruption was very -prevalent; and one cannot wonder at it in view of the reputation -which the papacy itself had, in spite of its occasional quashing of a -corrupt election. This point will be treated more fully in the sixth -chapter. - -The question of the deep and widespread corruption of the regular -clergy must also be deferred. In his fourth letter to Heloise, -Abélard complains that ‘almost all the monasteries of our day’ are -corrupt; Jacques de Vitry affirms that no nunneries, save those of -the Cistercians, were fit abodes for an honest woman in his day.[15] -It is not a little instructive to find Abbot Abélard, in his latest -and most ascetic period, telling his son (a monk), in the course -of a number of admirable moral maxims, that: ‘A humble harlot is -better than she who is chaste and proud,’ and that ‘Far worse is the -shrewd-tongued woman than a harlot.’ - - [15] The condition of monasteries will be found treated more - fully on p. 125; that of nunneries on p. 209. - -Finally, mention must be made of the extreme violence of the -age. Several illustrations have been given in the course of the -narrative, and it will bring many more before the reader. They were -still the days of the _lex talionis_, the judicial duel, the ordeal, -and the truce of God. Murder was common in town and country. We -have seen the brutal murder of the Bishop of Laon in 1112; we find -the Bishop of Paris threatened by the relatives of his archdeacon, -and the Prior of St. Victor’s murdered by them, in 1133. But the -story will contain violence enough. As for ‘the undisciplined -student-hordes of the Middle Ages,’ see the appalling picture of -their life in Rashdall’s _Universities of Europe_. Our period is -pre-university—and worse: with the founding of the university came -some degree of control. Yet even then the documentary evidence -discloses a fearful condition of violence and lawlessness. In the -year 1197 we find the Bishop of Paris abolishing the ‘Feast of -Fools.’ On January 1st (and also on the feast of St. Stephen), it -seems, a carnival was held, during which the masquers had free run of -the cathedral and the churches, making them echo with ribald songs, -and profaning them with bloodshed and all kinds of excess. In 1218, -says Crevier, we find the ecclesiastical judges of Paris complaining -that the students break into the houses of the citizens, and carry -off their womenfolk. In 1200 we find a pitched battle between the -students of Paris and the governor and his guards, in which several -are killed; and the king condemns the unfortunate governor to be -tried by ordeal; to be hanged forthwith if it proves his guilt, and -to be imprisoned for life (in case Providence has made a mistake) if -it absolves him. After another of these battles, when the governor -has hanged several students, the king forces him and his council to -go in their shirts to the scaffold and kiss the bodies. In another -case, in 1228, the king sides with the governor, and the masters -close the university in disgust until the students are avenged. - -But of story-telling there would be no end. And, indeed, there is -the danger of giving a false impression of scantiness of evidence -when one follows up a large assertion with a few incidents. It is, -however, clear from the quoted words of accredited historians, and -will be made clearer in the progress of the narrative, that simony, -unchastity, violence, cruelty, and usury were real and broad features -of the age of Abélard. The reader will not forget them, when he is -seeking to enter into the conscience of the famous master. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -DEAD SEA FRUIT - - -The great cemetery of Père Lachaise at Paris is a city of historic -tombs. Names of world-fame look down on you from the marble dwellings -of the dead, as you pass along its alleys and broad avenues. Paris -loves to wander there on Sundays; to scatter floral symbols of a -living memory on the youngest graves, and to hang wreaths of unfading -honour over the ashes of those who have fought for it and served it. -The memory of the dead soon fades, they say, yet you will see men and -women of Paris, on many a summer’s day, take flowers and wreaths in -solemn pity to lay on the tomb of a woman who was dust seven hundred -years ago. It is the grave of Heloise, and of her lover, Abélard. - -It is scarcely necessary to say that in a serious endeavour to -depict the historical Heloise much myth and legend must be soberly -declined. Even historians have been seduced from their high duty in -writing her praise: witness the fond exaggeration of M. de Rémusat, -which would make her ‘the first of women.’ Yet it must be admitted -that impartial study brings us face to face with a very remarkable -personality. This will be easily accepted in the sequel, when we have -followed the course of her life to some extent—when, for instance, -we see the affection and the extraordinary respect with which she -inspires the famous abbot of Cluny, Peter the Venerable. It is -more difficult to recall her at the period of her fateful meeting -with Abélard. We have, however, the sober assurance of Peter the -Venerable that, even at this early date, she was ‘of great repute -throughout the entire kingdom’; and there is no reason whatever to -resent Abélard’s assertion that she was already distinguished for her -knowledge. - -The mythic additions to the portraiture of Heloise refer almost -exclusively to her parentage and her beauty. Abélard introduces -her to us as the niece of a canon of the cathedral chapter, named -Fulbert. It is quite clear that Abélard considered her such -throughout life, and that it was the belief of Heloise herself; but -of her parentage neither of them speaks. In strict justice, the only -inference we may draw from this is that she lost her parents at an -early age. We should never have known the parentage of Abélard but -for his own autobiography. However, the tradition that has charged -itself with the romance of Abélard’s life found in this silence a -convenient pretext for weaving further romantic elements into the -story. There is a pretty collection of myths about Heloise’s birth, -most of them, of course, making her illegitimate. The issue of lawful -wedlock is ever too prosaic and ordinary for the romantic faculty—in -spite of facts. The favourite theory is that Heloise was the daughter -of Canon Fulbert; even Hausrath thinks Fulbert’s conduct points to -this relationship. Two other canons of Paris are severally awarded -the honour by various writers. On the other hand, it was inevitable -that she should be given a tinge of ‘noble’ blood, and this is traced -on the maternal side. Turlot makes the best effort—from the romantic -point of view—in describing her as the daughter of an abbess, who was -the mistress of a Montmorency, but who gave an air of respectability -to her family matters by passing for the mistress of Fulbert. From -the less interesting point of view of history, we can only say that -she lived with her uncle, Canon Fulbert, and we must admit that we do -not know whether she was illegitimate or an orphan. But the former -category was very much the larger one, even in those violent days. - -It was also natural that tradition should endow her with a singular -beauty: an endowment which sober history is unable to confirm. She -must, it is true, have had a singular grace and charm of person. It -is impossible to think that her mental gifts alone attracted Abélard. -Moreover, in the course of the story, we shall meet several instances -of the exercise of such personal power. But we cannot claim for her -more than a moderate degree of beauty. ‘Not the least in beauty of -countenance,’ says Abélard, ‘she was supreme in her knowledge of -letters.’ The antithesis does not seem to be interpreted aright by -those writers who think it denies her any beauty. ‘Not the least’ is -a figure of rhetoric, well known to Abélard, which must by no means -be taken with Teutonic literalness. - -But that ‘repute throughout the kingdom,’ which Peter the Venerable -grants her, was based on her precocious knowledge. It is generally -estimated that she was in her seventeenth or eighteenth year when -Abélard fell in love with her. She had spent her early years at the -Benedictine nunnery at Argenteuil, a few miles beyond St. Denis. -Her education was then continued by her uncle. Canon Fulbert has no -reputation for learning in the chronicles of the time; in fact, the -only information we have of him, from other sources than the story of -Abélard, is that he was the happy possessor of ‘a whole bone’ out of -the spine of St. Ebrulfus. However, it is indisputable that Heloise -had a reputation for letters even at that time. Both Abélard and -Peter of Cluny are explicit on the point; the latter says to her, in -one of his admiring letters, ‘in study you not only outstripped all -women, but there were few men whom you did not surpass.’ From this -it is clear that the learning of Heloise was not distinguished only -when compared with the general condition of the feminine mind. In -fact, although Abbot Peter speaks slightingly of womanly education in -general, this was a relatively bright period. We have already seen -the wife and daughters of Manegold teaching philosophy at Paris with -much distinction at the close of the eleventh century, and one cannot -go far in the chronicles of the time without meeting many instances -of a learned correspondence in Latin between prelates and women. - -Nevertheless, the learning of Heloise cannot have been considerable, -absolutely speaking. Her opportunities were even more limited than -the erudition of her time. That she knew Hebrew is explicitly stated -by Abélard and Peter of Cluny, and also by Robert of Auxerre; but -she probably learned it (with Greek) from Abélard, and knew no more -than he. Her Latin is good; but it is impossible to discuss here -her famous _Letters_, which give us our sole direct insight into -her personality. Learned, critical, penetrative, she certainly was, -but Rémusat’s estimate is entirely inadmissible. Beside Aspasia or -Hypatia she would ‘pale her ineffectual fire.’ - -It is not difficult to understand how the two were brought together. -Both of high repute ‘in the whole kingdom,’ or, at all events, in -Paris, they could not long remain strangers. Abélard was soon ‘wholly -afire with love of the maid,’ he tells us, and sought an opportunity -of closer intercourse with her. Though Cotter Morison’s theory of -the sated sensualist looking round for a dainty morsel is utterly at -variance with Abélard’s narrative—the only account of these events -that we have—it is, nevertheless, clear that Abélard sought the -intimacy of Heloise for the purpose of gaining her love. He says so -repeatedly; and, though we have at times to moderate the stress of -his words, we cannot refuse to accept their substance. Mr. Poole -considers the idea of a deliberate seduction on the part of Abélard -‘incredible.’ It is strange that one who is so familiar with the -times should think this. ‘I thought it would be well to contract a -union of love with the maid,’ Abélard says. From the circumstance -that he had to approach Fulbert (who was, however, only too willing) -through the mediation of friends, it does not seem rash to infer that -he had had no personal intercourse with the canon and his niece. It -was through her fame and, perhaps, an occasional passing glance that -he had come to love her. He had, however, little diffidence about -the issue. Though between thirty-five and forty years of age, he -looked ‘young and handsome,’ he tells us; and we learn further from -Heloise that he had gifts ‘of writing poetry and of singing’ which -no female heart could resist. The ‘Socrates of Gaul’ set out on a -love-adventure. - -And one fine day the little world of Paris was smirking and -chattering over the startling news that Master Peter had gone -to live with Heloise and her uncle. The simple canon had been -delighted at the proposal to receive Abélard. Alleging the expense of -maintaining a separate house and the greater convenience of Fulbert’s -house for attending the school, Abélard had asked his hospitality in -consideration of a certain payment and the instruction of Heloise in -leisure hours. It may or may not be true that Fulbert was avaricious, -as Abélard affirms, but the honour of lodging the first master -in Christendom and the valuable advantage to his niece are quite -adequate to explain Fulbert’s eager acceptance. ‘Affection for his -niece and the repute of my chastity,’ says Abélard, blinded the canon -to the obvious danger, if not the explicit intention. The master was -at once established in the canon’s house. One reads with pity how the -uncle, blind, as only an erudite priest can be, to the rounded form -and quickened pulse, child-like, gave Abélard even power to beat his -niece, if she neglected her task. - -A tradition, which seems to have but a precarious claim to credence, -points out the spot where the idyll of that love was lived. In -the earlier part of the present century there was a house at the -corner of the Rue des Chantres (on the island, facing the Hotel de -Ville), which bore an inscription claiming that ‘Heloise and Abélard, -the model of faithful spouses, dwelt in this house.’ If we accept -the vague legend, we can easily restore in imagination the little -cottage of Fulbert. It lay a few yards from the water’s edge, and -one could look out from its narrow windows over the gently sloping -garden of the bank and the fresh, sweet bosom of the river; the quays -were beyond—where the Hotel de Ville now stands—and further still -outspread the lovely panorama that encircled Paris. - -In a very short time master and pupil were lovers. He did assuredly -fulfil his promise of teaching her. Most probably it was from him -that she learned what Greek and Hebrew she knew; for Abélard, in -later years, not only reminds her nuns that they ‘have a mother who -is conversant with these tongues,’ but adds also that ‘she alone has -attained this knowledge,’ amongst the women of her time. It is also -clear that he taught her dialectics, theology, and ethics. But it was -not long, he confesses, before there were ‘more kisses than theses,’ -and ‘love was the inspirer of his tongue.’ He does not hesitate to -speak of having ‘corrupted’ or seduced her, but it is only prejudice -or ignorance that can accept this in the full severity and gravity of -the modern term. Heloise had been educated in a nunnery; but before -many years we find these nuns of Argenteuil turned on the street -for ‘the enormity of their lives.’ The charge must not be taken too -literally just yet, but it should make us hesitate to credit Heloise -with a rigorous moral education. She lived, too, in a world where, -as we saw, such liaisons were not considered sinful. It is far from -likely that she would oppose any scruple to Abélard’s desire. Indeed, -from the study of her references to their love, in the letters she -wrote long years afterwards—wrote as an abbess of high repute—one -feels disposed to think that Abélard would have had extreme -difficulty in pointing out to her the sinfulness of such a love. It -is with an effort, even after twenty years of chaste, conventual -life, that she accepts the ecclesiastical view of their conduct. -Abélard sinned; but let us, in justice, limit his sin at least to -its due objective proportion; its subjective magnitude I shall not -venture to examine. - -In a few months the famed philosopher appeared in a new character, -as ‘the first of the troubadours,’ to use the words of Ampère. ‘À -mesure qu’on a plus d’esprit les passions sont plus grandes,’ said -Pascal. Of all false epigrams that is surely the falsest, but it -would be easily inspired by the transformation of Pierre Abélard. The -sober-living man of forty, whom all had thought either never to have -known or long since to have passed the fever of youth, was mastered -by a deep, tyrannical passion. The problems of dialectics were -forgotten, the alluring difficulties of Ezechiel unheeded. Day after -day the murmuring throng was dismissed untaught from the cloistral -school; whilst passers-by heard songs that were ardent with deep love -from the windows of the canon’s house. All Paris, even all France, -caught the echo, says Heloise, and ‘every street, every house, -resounded with my name.’ The strange ‘Story of love and learning,’ -as an old ballad expressed it, was borne through the kingdom in -Abélard’s own impassioned words.[16] - - [16] Not a single one of Abélard’s songs has come down to us. A - few songs are to be found which bear his name, but they are not - genuine. It is an unfortunate loss, since the religious hymns - of his later years convey no better impression of his true and - unspoiled poetic faculty than the moonlight does of the rays of - the sun. - -Months ran on, and the purblind priest remained wholly unconscious -of what all Paris sang nightly in its taverns. At length the truth -was forced upon his mind, and he at once interrupted the love-story. -He drove Abélard from the house, and raised the usual futile barriers -to the torrent of passion. Whether the canon was really more earnest -than the majority of his order, and therefore sincerely shocked at -the thought of the liaison, or whether it had disturbed some other -project he had formed, it is impossible to say. Heloise herself, -in her sober maturity, affirms that any woman in France would have -thought her position more honourable than any marriage. However that -may be, Fulbert angrily forbade a continuance of the relation. Once -more Abélard must have felt the true alternative that honour placed -before him: either to crush his passion and return to the school, or -to marry Heloise and sacrifice the desire of further advancement in -ecclesiastical dignity. - -Abélard was not a priest at that time. He was probably a canon of -Notre Dame, but there are very satisfactory reasons for holding -that he did not receive the priesthood until a much later date. In -the ‘Story’ he makes Heloise address him, about this time, as ‘a -cleric and canon,’ but he is nowhere spoken of as a priest. Had -he been a priest, the circumstance would have afforded Heloise one -of the most powerful objections to a marriage; in the curious and -lengthy catalogue of such objections which we shall find her raising -presently she does not mention the priesthood. But even if he were -a priest, it is not at all clear that he would have considered this -in itself an impediment to marriage. From the acts of the Council of -London (1102), the Council of Troyes (1107), the Council of Rheims -(1119), and others, we find that the decree of the Church against the -marriage of priests, and even bishops, was far from being universally -accepted. Indeed, we have specific reason for thinking that Abélard -did not recognise an impediment of that character. In a work which -bears the title _Sententiae Abaelardi_, we find the thesis, more or -less clearly stated, that the priest may marry. The work is certainly -not Abélard’s own composition, but the experts regard it as a careful -summary of his views by some master of the period. - -Apart from the laxer view of love-relation which Abélard probably -shared, we can only find firm ground to interpret his reluctance to -marry in the fear of injuring his further ambition. Marriage was -fast becoming a fatal obstacle to advancement in the ecclesiastical -world; a lover—with wealth—was not a serious difficulty. Even this -point, however, cannot be pressed; it looks as though his ambition -had become as limp and powerless as all other feelings in the new -tyranny of love. Historians have been so eager to quarrel with -the man that they have, perhaps, not paid a just regard to the -fact that Heloise herself was violently opposed to marriage, and -conscientiously thought their earlier union more honourable. This -will appear presently. - -Whatever struggle may have distracted Abélard after their separation, -he was soon forced to take practical measures. Heloise found means -to inform him—not with the conventional tears, but, he says, ‘with -the keenest joy’—that she was about to become a mother. Fate had cut -the ethical knot. He at once removed her from Fulbert’s house during -the night, and had her conveyed, in the disguise of a nun,[17] to his -home at Pallet. It is not clearly stated that Abélard accompanied -her, but, beside the intrinsic probability, there is a local -tradition that Abélard and Heloise spent many happy months together -at Pallet, and there is a phrase in the ‘Story’ which seems to -confirm it. However that may be, we find him in Paris again, after a -time, seeking a reconciliation with Fulbert. - - [17] This detail is found in Abélard’s second letter to Heloise. - It is characteristic of Mr. Cotter Morison’s ‘sketch’ of Abélard - that he should have missed it, and thought fit to deny it. - Deutsch reads him a severe lesson on the duty of accuracy in his - _Peter Abälard_. - -Fulbert was by no means the quiet, passive recluse that one would -imagine from his earlier action, or inaction. The discovery of -Abélard’s treachery and the removal of his niece had enkindled -thoughts of wild and dark revenge. He feared, however, to attack -Abélard whilst Heloise remained at Pallet; it is a fearful commentary -on the times that Abélard should coolly remark that a retaliation on -the part of his own relatives was apprehended. Revenge was considered -a legitimate daughter of justice in those days. A compromise was at -length imagined by Abélard. He proposed to marry Heloise, if Fulbert -and his friends would agree to keep the marriage secret. In this we -have a still clearer revelation of the one serious flaw in Abélard’s -character—weakness. No doubt, if we had had an autobiography from -an unmaimed Abélard—an Abélard who identified himself with, and -endeavoured proudly to excuse, the lover of Heloise—we should be -reminded of many extenuating elements; the repugnance of Heloise, the -stupid anti-matrimonialism of the hierarchy, the current estimate -of an unconsecrated liaison, and so forth. Even as it is, Abélard -perceives no selfishness, no want of resolution, in his action. ‘Out -of compassion for his great anxiety,’ he says, he approached Fulbert -on the question of a private marriage. The canon consented, though -secretly retaining his intention of taking a bloody revenge, Abélard -thinks; and the master hastened once more to Brittany for his bride. - -Abélard probably flattered himself that he had found an admirable -outlet from his narrow circumstances. Fulbert’s conscience would be -salved by the Church’s blessing on their love; the hierarchy would -have no matrimonial impediment to oppose to his advancement; Paris -would give an indulgent eye to what it would regard as an amiable -frailty, if not a grace of character. Unfortunately for his peace, -Heloise energetically repulsed the idea of marriage. The long passage -in which Abélard gives us her objections is not the least interesting -in the ‘Story.’ - -‘She asked,’ he writes, ‘what glory she would win from me, when she -had rendered me inglorious, and had humbled both me and her. How -great a punishment the world would inflict on her if she deprived -it of so resplendent a light: what curses, what loss to the Church, -what philosophic tears, would follow such a marriage. How outrageous, -how pitiful it was, that he whom nature had created for the common -blessing should be devoted to one woman, and plunged in so deep a -disgrace. Profoundly did she hate the thought of a marriage which -would prove so humiliating and so burdensome to me in every respect.’ - -Then follows an elaborate, rhetorical discourse on the disadvantages -of matrimony, with careful division and subdivision, arguments from -reason, from experience, from authority, and all the artifices of -rhetoric and dialectics. That the learned Heloise did urge many -of its curious points will scarcely be doubted, but as a careful -and ordered piece of pleading against matrimony it has an obvious -ulterior purpose. St. Paul is the first authority quoted; then follow -St. Jerome, Theophrastus, and Cicero. She (or he) then draws an -animated picture of the domestic felicity of a philosopher, reminding -him of servants and cradles, infant music and the chatter of nurses, -the pressing throng of the family and the helplessness of the little -ones. The example of monks, of Nazarites, and of philosophers is -impressively urged; and if he will not hesitate, as ‘a cleric and a -canon,’ to commit himself ‘irrevocably to domestic joy,’ at least -let him remember his dignity as a philosopher. The sad fate of the -married Socrates is adduced, together with the thunder and rain -incident. Finally, she is represented as saying that it is ‘sweeter -to her and more honourable to him that she should be his mistress -rather than his wife,’ and that she prefers to be united to him ‘by -love alone, not by the compulsion of the marriage vow.’ - -When the letter containing this curious passage reached Heloise, -nearly twenty years after the event, she, an abbess of high repute -for holiness, admitted its correctness, with the exception that ‘a -few arguments had been omitted in which she set love before matrimony -and freedom before compulsion.’ Holy abbess writing to holy abbot, -she calls God to witness that ‘if the name of wife is holier, the -name of friend, or, if he likes, mistress or concubine, is sweeter,’ -and that she ‘would rather be his mistress than the queen of a -Cæsar.’ They who disregard these things in sitting in judgment on -that famous liaison are foredoomed to error. - -But Abélard prevailed. ‘Weeping and sobbing vehemently,’ he says, -‘she brought her discourse to an end with these words: “One thing -alone remains for us now, we must exhibit in our common ruin a grief -as strong as the love that has gone before.”’ It is an artistic -termination to Abélard’s discourse, at all events. - -Back to Paris once more, therefore, the two proceeded. Heloise had -a strong foreboding of evil to come from the side of Fulbert; she -did not trust his profession of conciliation. However, she left her -boy, whom, with a curious affectation, they had called Astrolabe -(the name of an astronomic apparatus), in the charge of Abélard’s -sister Denyse. They were married a few days after their arrival -at Paris. The vigil was spent, according to custom, in one of the -churches: they remained all night in prayer, and the ceremony took -place after an early Mass in the morning. Their arrival in Paris had -been kept secret, and only Fulbert and a few friends of both parties -were present at the marriage. Then they parted at the altar: the man -weakly proceeding to follow his poor ambition in the school, the -noble young wife making herself a sad sacrifice to his selfishness -and irresolution. - -During the next few dreary months they saw each other rarely and in -secret. Abélard was a man of the type that waits for the compulsion -of events in a serious conflict of desires, or of desire and duty. He -could not lay aside his day-dream that somehow and some day the fates -would smooth out a path along which he could carry both his whole -ambition and his love. Events did decide for him once more. Fulbert, -it seems, broke his faith with Abélard and divulged the marriage. -But when people came to Heloise for confirmation, she did more than -‘lie with the sweetness of a Madonna,’ in Charles Reade’s approving -phrase; she denied on oath that she was the wife of Abélard. Fulbert -then began to ill-treat her (the circumstance may be commended to -the notice of those historians who think he had acted from pure -affection), and Abélard removed her secretly from her uncle’s house. - -It was to the convent at Argenteuil that Abélard conveyed his wife -this time. One passes almost the very spot in entering modern Paris -by the western line, but the village lay at a much greater distance -from the ancient island-city, a few miles beyond St. Denis, going -down the river. It was a convent of Benedictine nuns, very familiar -to Heloise, who had received her early education there. In order to -conceal Heloise more effectually, he bade her put on the habit of the -nuns, with the exception of the veil, which was the distinguishing -mark of the professed religious. Here she remained for some months; -Abélard waiting upon events, as usual, and occasionally making a -secret visit to Argenteuil. According to Turlot, the abbess of -Argenteuil was the mother of Heloise. We know, at least, that -the nunnery was in a very lax condition, and that, beyond her -unconquerable presentiment of evil, Heloise would suffer little -restraint. Indeed, Abélard reminds her later, in his second letter to -her, that their conjugal relations continued whilst she was in the -nunnery. - -How long this wretched situation continued it is impossible to -determine. It cannot have been many months, at the most, before -Fulbert discovered what had happened; it was probably a matter -of weeks. Yet this is the only period in which it is possible to -entertain the theory of Abélard’s licentiousness. We have already -seen that Cotter Morison’s notion of a licentious period before the -liaison with Heloise is quite indefensible. The tragic event which we -have presently to relate puts the latest term to the possibility of -such licence. Now, there are two documents on which Abélard’s critics -rely: a letter to him from Fulques, prior in the monastery of Deuil -near Paris, and a letter from his former teacher, Master Roscelin. -Prior Fulques, however, merely says he ‘has heard’ that Abélard was -reduced to poverty through ‘the greed and avarice of harlots’; and -Roscelin explicitly states that he heard his story from the monks -of St. Denis. Indeed, we may at once exclude Roscelin’s letter; not -merely because it was written in a most furious outburst of temper, -when a man would grasp any rumour, but also on the ground that his -story is absurd and impossible. He represents Abélard, when a monk at -St. Denis, later, returning to his monastery with the money earned by -his teaching, and marching off with it to pay a former mistress. We -shall see, in a later chapter, that Abélard did not begin to teach -until he had left St. Denis. - -If, however, Roscelin’s story is too absurd to entertain in itself, -it is useful in casting some light on Fulques’s letter. Fulques was -writing to Abélard on behalf of the monks of St. Denis. He would be -well acquainted with their gossip, and would, therefore, probably -be referring to the story which Roscelin shows to be impossible in -giving it more fully. It is not unlikely that the story was really -a perverse account of Abélard’s visits to Heloise at Argenteuil. -In any case we are reduced to the gossip of a band of monks of -notorious character (_teste_ St. Bernard), of indirect and uncertain -information, and of bitter hostility to Abélard. - -And this is all the evidence which can be found in support of the -calumny. On the strength of this monkish gossip we are asked to -believe that Abélard grossly deceived his young wife, and made an -attempt, as ridiculous (if the rumour contained truth) as it was -hypocritical, to deceive the readers of his heart-naked confession. -We are to suppose that ‘the abhorrence of harlots,’ of which he spoke -earlier, entirely disappeared when he found himself united by the -sacred bonds of both religion and love to a noble and devoted wife. -We are to suppose that his apparent detestation and condemnation -of his past conduct was a mere rhetorical artifice to conceal the -foulest and most extraordinary episode in his career from the people -amongst whom he had lived—an artifice, moreover, which would be -utterly inconsistent with his life and character at the time he wrote -the ‘Story.’ It is almost impossible to take such a notion seriously. - -Once more, then, we are in a period of waiting for the direction of -events. It came this time in tragic accents that for ever cured the -unfortunate Breton of his listless trust in fate. - -Fulbert learned at length that Heloise had been sent to Argenteuil, -and had taken the habit. The canon at once inferred that this was -a preliminary step to a dissolution of the marriage. He would be -unaware that it had been consummated, and would suppose that Abélard -intended to apply to Rome for a dispensation to relieve him of an -apparent embarrassment. He decided on a fearful revenge, which should -at least prevent Abélard from marrying another. - -And one early morning, a little later, Paris was in a frenzy of -excitement. Canons, students, and citizens, thronged the streets, and -pressed towards Abélard’s house on St. Genevieve. ‘Almost the entire -city,’ says Fulques, went clamouring towards his house: ‘women wept -as though each one had lost her husband.’ Abélard had been brutally -mutilated during the night. Hirelings of Canon Fulbert had corrupted -his valet, and entered his room whilst he slept. They had perpetrated -an indescribable outrage, such as was not infrequently inflicted in -the quarrels of the Patareni and the Nicolaitæ. In that dark night -the sunshine disappeared for ever from the life of Pierre Abélard. -Henceforth we have to deal with a new man. - -It is a pious theory of the autobiographist himself that this -mutilation led indirectly to his ‘conversion.’ There is undoubtedly -much truth in this notion of an indirect occasioning of better -thoughts and of an indirect influence being cast on his mind for -life. Yet we of the later date, holding a truer view of the unity of -human nature, and of the place that sex-influence occupies in its -life, can see that the ‘conversion’ was largely a direct, physical -process. We have, in a very literal sense, another man to deal with -henceforward. - -As Abélard lay on the bed of sickness, the conversion gradually -worked onwards towards a critical decision. It is not clear that -the mutilation would prove of itself an impediment to scholastic -honour or ecclesiastical office, but the old life could not be faced -again by one with so little strength and so keen a sensibility. ‘I -pondered on the glory I had won and on the swift chance blow that had -obscured it, nay, wholly extinguished it: on the just judgment of -God by which I had been punished in the member that had sinned: on -the justice of treachery coming from him whom I had myself betrayed: -on the joy of my rivals at such a humiliation: on the endless sorrow -this wound would inflict on my family and my friends: on the speed -with which this deep disgrace would travel through the world. What -path was open to me now? How could I ever walk abroad again, to be -pointed at by every finger, ridiculed by every tongue, a monstrous -spectacle to all?... In such sorry plight as I was, the confusion of -shame rather than a devout conversion impelled me to seek refuge in -the monastery.’ - -To this natural ‘confusion of shame’ we must look for an explanation -of, not merely the folly, but the cruelty and selfishness, of -Abélard’s proposal. It involved the burial of Heloise in a nunnery. -No one could shrink more feelingly from the unnatural shade of the -cloister than did Heloise, as Abélard must have known, but in his -pain and despair he forgot the elementary dictates of love or of -honour. In any other circumstances the act would be deemed brutal. -Indeed, he wantonly increased the suffering of his young wife by -ordering her to take the vows first. Twenty years afterwards she -plaintively tells him the sorrow he gave her by such a command. ‘God -knows,’ she says, ‘I should not have hesitated, at your command, to -precede or to follow you to hell itself.’ She was ‘profoundly grieved -and ashamed’ at the distrust which seemed to be implied in his -direction. But hers was the love that ‘is stronger than death,’ and -she complied without a murmur, making of her sunny nature one more -victim on the altar of masculine selfishness. - -Abélard has left us a dramatic picture of her taking the vows. It -shows clearly that the love which impelled her to such a sacrifice -was not the blind, child-like affection that is wholly merged in the -stronger loved one, but the deep, true love that sees the full extent -of the sacrifice demanded, and accepts it with wide-opened eyes. -At the last moment a little group of friends surrounded her in the -convent-chapel. The veil, blessed by the bishop, lay on the altar -before them, and they were endeavouring to dissuade her from going -forward to take it. She waved them aside—waved aside for the last -time the thought of her child and the vision of a sun-lit earth—and -took the fateful step towards the altar. Then, standing on the spot -where the young nun generally knelt for the final thanksgiving to -God, she recited with the tense fervour of a human prayer the words -of Cornelia in Lucan: - - ‘O spouse most great, - O thou whose bed my merit could not share! - How hath an evil fortune worked this wrong - On thy dear head? Why hapless did I wed, - If this the fruit that my affection bore? - Behold the penalty I now embrace - For thy sweet sake!’ - -And, weeping and sobbing, she walked quickly up the steps of the -altar, and covered herself with the veil of the religious profession. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE MONK OF ST. DENIS - - -Abélard had now entered upon the series of blunders which were to -make his life a succession of catastrophes. A stronger man would have -retired to Pallet, and remained there until the discussion of his -outrage had abated somewhat; then boldly, and, most probably, with -complete success, have confronted the scholastic world once more, -with his wife for fitting companion, like Manegold of Alsace. In his -distraction and abnormal sense of humiliation, Abélard grasped the -plausible promise of the monastic life. In the second place, he, with -a peculiar blindness, chose the abbey of St. Denis for his home. - -The abbey of St. Denis was not only one of the most famous -monasteries in Europe, but also a semi-religious, semi-secular -monarchical institution. It was the last monastery in the world to -provide that quiet seclusion which Abélard sought. It lay about six -miles from Paris, near one of the many bends of the Seine on its -journey to the sea. Dagobert was its royal founder; its church was -built over the alleged bones of the alleged St. Denis the Areopagite, -the patron of France; it was the burial-place of the royal house. -Over its altar hung the oriflamme of St. Denis, the palladium of -the country, which the king came to seek, with solemn rite and -procession, whenever the cry of ‘St. Denis for France’ rang through -the kingdom. Amongst its several hundred monks were the physicians -and the tutors of kings—Prince Louis of France was even then studying -in its school. - -Rangeard, in his history of Brittany, says, that at the beginning of -the twelfth century there were more irregular than regular abbeys -in France. Abélard himself writes that ‘nearly all the monasteries’ -of his time were worldly. The truth is that few monasteries, beside -those which had been very recently reformed, led a very edifying -life. Hence it is not surprising, when one regards the secular -associations of the place, to find that the Benedictine abbey of St. -Denis was in a very lax condition. Abélard soon discovered that, -as he says, it was an abbey ‘of very worldly and most disgraceful -life.’ The great rhetorician has a weakness for the use of -superlatives, but other witnesses are available. St. Bernard wrote of -it, in his famed, mellifluous manner, that it was certain the monks -gave to Cæsar the things that were Cæsar’s, but doubtful if they gave -to God the things that were God’s. A chronicler of the following -century, Guillaume de Nangis, writes that ‘the monks scarcely -exhibited even the appearance of religion.’ - -The abbey had not been reformed since 994, so that human nature had -had a considerable period in which to assert itself. The preceding -abbot, Ives I., was accused at Rome of having bought his dignity in a -flagrant manner. The actual abbot, Adam, is said by Abélard to have -been ‘as much worse in manner of life and more notorious than the -rest as he preceded them in dignity.’ It is certainly significant -that the Benedictine historian of the abbey, Dom Félibien, can find -nothing to put to the credit of Adam, in face of Abélard’s charge, -except a certain generosity to the poor. Nor have later apologists -for the angels, de Nangis, Duchesne, etc., been more successful. -Ecclesiastical history only finds consolation in the fact that Adam’s -successor was converted by Bernard in 1127, and at once set about -the reform of the abbey. - -When Abélard donned the black tunic of the Benedictine monk in it, -probably in 1119, the royal abbey was at the height of its gay -career. St. Bernard himself gives a bright picture of its life in one -of his letters. He speaks of the soldiers who thronged its cloisters, -the jests and songs that echoed from its vaulted roofs, the women -who contributed to its gaiety occasionally. From frequent passages -in Abélard we learn that the monks often held high festival. It may -be noted that monastic authorities nearly always give occasion to -these festivities, for, even in the severest rules, one always finds -an egg, or some other unwonted luxury, admitted on ‘feast-days.’ It -is the consecration of a principle that no body of men and women -on earth can apply and appreciate better than monks and nuns. The -feasts of St. Denis rivalled those of any château in gay France. -The monks were skilful at mixing wine—it is a well-preserved -monastic tradition—their farmer-vassals supplied food of the best -in abundance, and they hired plenty of conjurors, singers, dancers, -jesters, etc., to aid the task of digestion. - -Nor was the daily life too dull and burdensome. Royal councils were -frequently held at the abbey, and one does not need much acquaintance -with monastic life to appreciate that circumstance. Then there -was the school of the abbey, with its kingly and noble pupils—and -corresponding visitors: there was the continual stream of interesting -guests to this wealthiest and most famous of all abbeys: there was -the town of St. Denis, which was so intimately dependent on the -abbey. Above all, there were the country-houses, of which the abbey -had a large number, and from which it obtained a good deal of its -income. Some dying sinner would endeavour to corrupt the Supreme -Judge by handing over a farm or a château, with its cattle, and men -and women, and other commodities of value, to the monks of the great -abbey. These would be turned into snug little ‘cells’ or ‘priories,‘ -and important sources of revenue. Sometimes, too, they had to be -fought for in the courts, if not by force of arms. Abélard complains -that ‘we [monks] compel our servants to fight duels for us’: he has -already complained of the frequent presentation to monasteries of -both man and maid servants. In 1111 we find some of the monks of St. -Denis, at the head of a small army, besieging the château of Puiset, -capturing its lieutenant, and casting him into a monastic prison. At -Toury Abbot Adam had his important dependence armed as a fortress, -and made a financial speculation in the opening of a public market. -Rangeard tells us, in addition, that many of the monks were expert in -canon law, and they travelled a good deal, journeying frequently to -Rome in connection with matrimonial and other suits. - -But before Abélard turned his attention to the condition of the -abbey, he was long preoccupied with the thought of revenge. Revenge -was a branch virtue of justice in those days, and Abélard duly -demanded the punishment of _talio_. The valet, who had betrayed -him, and one of the mutilators, had been captured, and had lost -their eyes, in addition to suffering the same mutilation as they had -inflicted. But Abélard seems to have been painfully insistent on the -punishment of Fulbert. The matter belonged to the spiritual court, -since Abélard was a cleric, and Bishop Girbert does not seem to have -moved quickly enough for the new monk. Fulbert escaped from Paris, -and all his goods were confiscated, but this did not meet Abélard’s -(and the current) idea of justice. He began to talk of an appeal to -Rome. - -In these circumstances was written the famous letter of Prior -Fulques, to which we have referred more than once. It is a -characteristic piece of mediæval diplomacy. Fulques was the prior of -Deuil, in the valley of Montmorency, a dependency of the abbey of -St. Florent de Saumur. He was apparently requested by the abbot of -St. Denis to persuade Abélard to let the matter rest. At all events, -he begins his letter with a rhetorical description of Abélard’s -success as a teacher, depicting Britons and Italians and Spaniards -braving the terrors of the sea, the Alps, and the Pyrenees, under the -fascination of Abélard’s repute. Then, with a view to dissuading him -from the threatened appeal to Rome, he reminds him of his destitution -and of the notorious avarice of Rome. There is no reason why we -should hesitate to accept Fulques’s assertion that Abélard had no -wealth to offer the abbey when he entered it. If, as seems to be the -more correct proceeding, we follow the opinion that he spent the -interval between the first withdrawal of Heloise and the marriage -with her at Pallet, he cannot have earned much during the preceding -two or three years. He was hardly likely to be a provident and -economical person. Most of whatever money he earned, after he first -began to serve up stale dishes to his students in the absorption -of his passion, would probably pass into the coffers of Fulbert -or, later, of the nunnery at Argenteuil. There is no need whatever -to entertain theories of licentiousness from that ground. We have, -moreover, already sufficiently discussed that portion of Fulques’s -letter. - -But the second part of the prior’s argument, the avarice of -Rome, requires a word of comment. It is characteristic of the -ecclesiastical historian that in Migne’s version of Fulques’s -letter the indictment of Abélard is given without comment, and the -indictment of Rome is unblushingly omitted. It might be retorted that -such historians as Deutsch and Hausrath insert the indictment against -Rome, and make a thousand apologies for inserting the charge against -Abélard. The retort would be entirely without sting, since a mass -of independent evidence sustains the one charge, whilst the other -is at variance with evidence. The passage omitted in Migne, which -refers to Abélard’s proposal to appeal to Rome, runs as follows. ‘O -pitiful and wholly useless proposal! Hast thou never heard of the -avarice and the impurity of Rome? Who is wealthy enough to satisfy -that devouring whirlpool of harlotry? Who would ever be able to fill -their avaricious purses? Thy resources are entirely insufficient for -a visit to the Roman Pontiff.... For all those who have approached -that see in our time without a weight of gold have lost their cause, -and have returned in confusion and disgrace.’ - -Let us, in justice, make some allowance for the exigency of diplomacy -and the purposes of rhetoric; the substance of the charge is -abundantly supported by other passages in Migne’s own columns. For -instance, Abbot Suger, in his _Vita Ludovici Grossi_, says of his -departure from Rome after a certain mission, ‘evading the avarice -of the Romans we took our leave.’ The same abbot speaks of their -astonishment at St. Denis when Paschal II. visited the abbey in 1106: -‘contrary to the custom of the Romans, he not only expressed no -affection for the gold, silver, and precious pearls of the monastery -(about which much fear had been entertained),’ but did not even -look at them. It may be noted, without prejudice, that Paschal was -seeking the sympathy and aid of France in his quarrel with Germany. -In the apology of Berengarius, which is also found in Migne, there is -mention of ‘a Roman who had learned to love gold, rather than God, -in the Roman curia.’ Bernard of Cluny, a more respectable witness, -tersely informs us that ‘Rome gives to every one who gives Rome all -he has.’ Matthew of Paris is equally uncomplimentary. We have spoken -already of the licentious young Étienne de Garlande and his proposal -of going to Rome to buy the curia’s consent to his installation in a -bishopric; also of the rumour that Pope Paschal disapproved, out of -avarice, the censure passed on the adulterous king. Duboulai, after -giving Fulques’s letter, is content to say that the pope feared too -great an interference with the officials of the curia on account of -the papal schism. - -Whether the letter of the monastic diplomatist had any weight with -Abélard or no, it seems that he did desist from his plan, and -laid aside all thought of Fulbert. But the unfortunate monk soon -discovered the disastrous error he had made in seeking peace at -the abbey of St. Denis. There had, in fact, been a serious mistake -on both sides. The monks welcomed one whom they only knew as a -lively, witty, interesting associate, a master of renown, a poet and -musician of merit. A new attraction would accrue to their abbey, -a new distraction to their own life, by the admission of Abélard. -The diversion of the stream of scholars from Paris to St. Denis -would bring increased colour, animation, and wealth. The erudite -troubadour and brilliant scholar would be an excellent companion in -the refectory, when the silent meal was over, and the wine invited -conversation. - -They were rudely awakened to their error when Abélard began to lash -them with mordant irony for their ‘intolerable uncleanness.’ They -found that the love-inspired songster was dead. They had introduced a -kind of Bernard of Clairvaux, a man of wormwood valleys, into their -happy abbey: a morose, ascetic, sternly consistent monk, who poured -bitter scorn on the strong wines and pretty maids, the high festivals -and pleasant excursions, with which the brothers smoothed the rough -path to Paradise. And when the gay Latin Quarter transferred itself -to St. Denis, and clamoured for the brilliant master, Abélard utterly -refused to teach. Abbot Adam gently remonstrated with his ‘subject,’ -pointing out that he ought now to do more willingly for the honour -of God and the sake of his brothers in religion what he had formerly -done out of worldly and selfish interest. Whereupon Abbot Adam was -urgently reminded of a few truths, nearly concerning himself and -‘the brothers,’ which, if not new to his conscience, were at least -novel to his ears. - -So things dragged on for a while, but Adam was forced at length to -rid the monastery of the troublesome monk. Finding a pretext in -the importunity of the students, he sent Abélard down the country -to erect his chair in one of the dependencies of the abbey. These -country-houses have already been mentioned. Large estates were left -to the abbey in various parts of the country. Monks had to be sent -to these occasionally, to collect the revenue from the farmers and -millers, and, partly for their own convenience, partly so that -they might return something in spiritual service to the district, -they built ‘cells’ or ‘oratories’ on the estates. Frequently the -cell became a priory; not infrequently it rebelled against the -mother-house; nearly always, as is the experience of the monastic -orders at the present day, it was a source of relaxation and decay. - -The precise locality of the ‘cell’ which was entrusted to Brother -Peter is matter of dispute, and the question need not delay us. It -was somewhere on the estates of Count Theobald of Champagne, and -therefore not very far from Paris. Here Abélard consented to resume -his public lectures, and ‘gathered his horde of barbarians about him’ -once more, in the jealous phrase of Canon Roscelin. - -Otto von Freising relates that Abélard had now become ‘more subtle -and more learned than ever.’ There is no reason to doubt that he -continued to advance in purely intellectual power, but it seems -inevitable that he must have lost much of the brightness and charm -of his earlier manner. Yet his power and his fascination were as -great as ever. Maisoncelle, or whatever village it was, was soon -transformed into the intellectual centre of France. It is said -by some historians that three thousand students descended upon -the village, like a bewildering swarm of locusts. Abélard says -the concourse was so great that ‘the district could find neither -hospitality nor food’ for the students. One need not evolve from -that an army of several thousand admirers, but it seems clear that -there was a second remarkable gathering of students from all parts -of Christendom. There was no teacher of ability to succeed him at -Paris; he was still the most eminent master in Europe. Even if he had -lost a little of the sparkle of his sunny years, no other master -had ever possessed it. Indeed, it is not audacious to think that the -renewal of his early success and the sweetness of life in lovely -Champagne may have in time quickened again such forces and graces of -his character as had not been physically eradicated. He began to see -a fresh potentiality of joy in life. - -Unfortunately for Abélard, his perverse destiny had sent him down to -the neighbourhood of Rheims. It will be remembered that Anselm of -Laon was urged to suppress Abélard’s early theological efforts by -two of his fellow-pupils, Alberic of Rheims and Lotulphe of Novare. -Alberic appears to have been a man of ability, and he had been made -archdeacon of the cathedral, and head of the episcopal school, at -Rheims. He had associated Lotulphe with himself in the direction of -the schools, and they were teaching with great success when Abélard -appeared on the near horizon. Anselm of Laon and William of Champeaux -had gone, and the two friends were eager to earn the title of their -successors. The apparent extinction of Master Abélard had largely -increased their prestige, and had filled the school of Rheims. -Indeed, we gather from the details of a ‘town and gown’ fight which -occurred at Rheims about this time that the students had almost come -to outnumber the citizens. - -Hence it is not surprising that Abélard’s newfound peace was soon -disturbed by rumours of the lodging of complaints against him in -high quarters. The Archbishop of Rheims, Ralph the Green, began to -be assailed with charges. In the first place, he was reminded, it -was uncanonical for a monk to give lectures, and take up a permanent -residence, outside his monastery; moreover, the said monk was most -unmonastically engaged in reading Aristotle, with a flavour of -Vergil, Ovid, and Lucan. Raoul le Vert probably knew enough about -St. Denis not to attempt to force Abélard to return to it. Then the -grumblers—‘chiefly those two early intriguers,’ says the victim—urged -that Abélard was teaching without a ‘respondent’; but the archbishop -still found the pretext inadequate. Then, at length, came the second -great cloud, the accusation of heresy. - -The convert had now made theology his chief object of study. The -students who gathered about him in his village priory loudly -demanded a resumption of the lectures on dialectics and rhetoric, -but Abélard had really passed to a new and wholly religious outlook. -He complied with the request, only with a secret intention that, as -he states in the ‘Story,’ philosophy should be used as a bait in the -interest of divinity. The religious welfare of his followers now -seriously concerned him. It will be seen presently that he exercised -a strict control over their morals, and it was from the purest of -motives that he endeavoured, by a pious diplomacy, to direct their -thoughts to the study of Holy Writ. His rivals and enemies have -attempted to censure him for this casting of pearls before swine. -Certainly there were dangers accompanying the practice, but these -were not confined to Abélard’s school. We can easily conceive the -disadvantage of discussing the question, for instance, _utrum Maria -senserit dolorem vel delectationem in Christo concipiendo_? before a -crowd of twelfth century students. However, Abélard’s attitude was -wholly reverent, and his intention as pure as that of St. Anselm. - -The one characteristic feature of Abélard’s theological work—the -feature which was constantly seized by his enemies, and which invests -him with so great an interest for the modern student—was his concern -to conciliate human reason. His predecessors had complacently -affirmed that reason had no title to respect in matters of faith. -They insulted it with such pious absurdities as ‘I believe in order -that I may understand’ and ‘Faith goeth before understanding.’ -Abélard remained until his last hour constitutionally incapable -of adopting that attitude. He frequently attributes his obvious -concern to meet the questioning of reason to the desire of helping -his followers. This is partly a faithful interpretation of their -thoughts—for which, however, he himself was chiefly responsible—and -partly a subtle projection of his own frame of mind into his -hearers. The development of the reasoning faculty which was involved -in so keen a study of dialectics was bound to find expression in -rationalism. - -Abélard seems already to have written two works of a very remarkable -character for his age. One of these is entitled _A Dialogue between -a Philosopher, a Jew, and a Christian_. It may have been founded -on the _Octavius_ of Minucius Felix; on the other hand it may be -classed with Lessing’s _Nathan_. It has been called ‘the most radical -expression of his rationalism,’ and it would certainly seem to -embody his attitude during the period of his highest prosperity. The -ultimate victory lies with the Christian, so far as the work goes -(it is unfinished), but incidentally it shows more than one bold -departure from traditional formulæ. Abélard’s reluctance to consign -all the heathen philosophers to Tartarus would be highly suspect -to his pious contemporaries. It is a matter of faith in the Roman -Catholic Church to-day that no man shall enter heaven who has not a -belief in a personal God, at least; many theologians add the narrower -qualification of a literal acceptance of the Trinity. But Abélard -tempered his audacity by proving that his favourite heathens _had_ -this qualification of a knowledge of the Trinity, probably under the -inspiration of St Augustine. - -The _Dialogue_ was not much assailed by his rivals; probably it -was not widely circulated. It is, however, an important monument -of Abélard’s genius. It anticipated not merely the rationalistic -attitude of modern theology, but also quite a number of the -modifications of traditional belief which modern rational and -ethical criticism has imposed. Abélard regards the ethical content -of Christianity, and finds that it is only the elaboration or the -reformation of the natural law, the true essence of religion. God has -given this essential gift in every conscience and in every religion; -there are no outcasts from the plan of salvation; the higher -excellence of the Christian religion lies in its clearer formulation -of the law of life. The popular notions of heaven and hell and -deity are travesties of true Christian teaching. God, as a purely -spiritual being, is the supreme good, and heaven is an approach to -Him by obedience; hell, isolation from Him. When we remember that -Abélard had before him only the works of the fathers and such recent -speculations as those of Anselm, we shall surely recognise the action -of a mind of the highest order in these debates. - -The second work was not less remarkable. It was a collection of -sentences from the fathers on points of dogma. So far the compilation -would be an admirable one, but apart from the growing accusation that -Abélard was wanting in reverence for the authority of the fathers, -there was the suspicious circumstance that he had grouped these -eighteen hundred texts in contradictory columns. Thus one hundred and -fifty-eight questions are put by the compiler, relating to God, the -Trinity, the Redemption, the Sacraments, and so forth. The quotations -from the fathers are then arranged in two parallel columns, one -half giving an affirmative, and the rest a negative, answer to the -question. Such a work would be perfectly intelligible if it came from -the pen of a modern freethinker. Abélard’s _Sic et Non_ (Yes and No), -as the work came to be called, has borne many interpretations. Such -careful and impartial students of Abélard’s work as Deutsch pronounce -the critical element in it to be ‘constructive, not sceptical.’ -Most probably it was the intention of the compiler to shatter the -excessive regard of his contemporaries for the words of the fathers, -and thus to open the way for independent speculation on the deposit -of revelation (to which he thought he had as much right as Jerome or -Augustine), by making a striking exhibition of their fallibility. - -Neither of these works seems to have fallen into the hands of -Alberic. Twenty years afterwards we find a theologian complaining -of the difficulty of obtaining some of Abélard’s works, which had -been kept secret. He probably refers to one or both of these works. -However that may be, Abélard wrote a third book during his stay at -Maisoncelle, and on this the charge of heresy was fixed. - -Wiser than the Church of those days, and anticipating the wisdom of -the modern Church of Rome, Abélard saw the great danger to the faith -itself of the Anselmian maxim, _Fides praecedit intellectum_. He -argued that, as the world had somehow outlived the age of miracles, -God must have intended rational evidence to take its place. In any -case, there was an increasingly large class of youths and men who -clamoured for ‘human and philosophic grounds,’ as he puts it, who -would lie to their consciences if they submitted to the current -pietism. Abélard believed he would render valuable service to the -Church if he could devise rational proofs, or at least analogies, -of its dogmas. It was in this frame of mind, not in a spirit of -destructive scepticism, that he raised the standard of rationalism. -He at once applied his force to the most preterrational of dogmas, -and wrote his famous _Treatise on the Unity and Trinity of God_. - -A manuscript of the treatise was discovered by Stölzle a few years -ago. It is unnecessary to inflict on the reader an analysis of the -work. It is perfectly sincere and religious in intention, but, like -every book that has ever been penned on the subject of the Trinity, -it contains illustrations which can be proved to be heretical. We may -discuss the point further apropos of the Council of Soissons. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE TRIAL OF A HERETIC - - -The swiftly multiplying charges seem to have impaired Abélard’s -health. He became much more sensitive to the accusation of heresy -than the mere injustice of it can explain. We have an evidence of -his morbid state at this period in a letter he wrote to the Bishop -of Paris. The letter must not be regarded as a normal indication of -the writer’s character, but, like the letter of Canon Roscelin which -it elicited, it is not a little instructive about the age in which -the writers lived. There are hypercritical writers who question the -correctness of attributing these letters to Abélard and Roscelin, but -the details they contain refer so clearly to the two masters that -any doubt about their origin is, as Deutsch says, ‘frivolous and of -no account’; he adds that we should be only too glad, for the sake -of the writers, if there were some firm ground for contesting their -genuineness. - -A pupil of Abélard’s, coming down from Paris, brought him word -that Roscelin had lodged an accusation of heresy against him with -the bishop. As a monk of St. Denis, Abélard still belonged to -Bishop Girbert’s jurisdiction. Roscelin had himself been condemned -for heresy on the Trinity at Soissons in 1092, but his was an -accommodating rationalism; he was now an important member of the -chapter of St. Martin at Tours. Report stated that he had discovered -heresy in Abélard’s new work, and was awaiting the return of Girbert -to Paris in order to submit it to him. Abélard immediately grasped -the pen, and forwarded to Girbert a letter which is a sad exhibition -of ‘nerves.’ ‘I have heard,’ he says, after an ornate salutation of -the bishop and his clergy, ‘that that ever inflated and long-standing -enemy of the Catholic faith, whose manner of life and teaching are -notorious, and whose detestable heresy was proved by the fathers of -the Council of Soissons, and punished with exile, has vomited forth -many calumnies and threats against me, on account of the work I have -written, which was chiefly directed against his heresy.’ And so the -violent and exaggerated account of Roscelin’s misdeeds continues. -The practical point of the epistle is that Abélard requests the -bishop to appoint a place and time for him to meet Roscelin face -to face and defend his work. The whole letter is marred by nervous -passion of the most pitiful kind. It terminates with a ridiculous, -but characteristic, dialectical thrust at the nominalist: ‘in that -passage of Scripture where the Lord is said to have eaten a bit of -broiled fish, he [Roscelin] is compelled to say that Christ ate, not -a part of the reality, but a part of the term “broiled fish.”’ - -Roscelin replied directly to Abélard, besides writing to Girbert. -The letter is no less characteristic of the time, though probably an -equally unsafe indication of the character of the writer. ‘If,’ it -begins, in the gentle manner of the time, ‘you had tasted a little of -that sweetness of the Christian religion which you profess by your -habit, you would not, unmindful of your order and your profession, -and forgetful of the countless benefits you received from my teaching -from your childhood to youth, have so far indulged in words of -malice against me as to disturb the brethren’s peace with the sword -of the tongue, and to contemn our Saviour’s most salutary and easy -commands.’ He accepts, with an equally edifying humility, Abélard’s -fierce denunciation: ‘I see myself in your words as in a mirror. Yet -God is powerful to raise up out of the very stones,’ etc. But he -cannot long sustain the unnatural tone, and he suddenly collapses -into depths of mediæval Latin, which for filth and indecency rival -the lowest productions of Billingsgate. The venerable canon returns -again and again, in the course of his long letter, to Abélard’s -mutilation, and with the art of a Terence or a Plautus. As to the -proposed debate, he is only too eager for it. If Abélard attempts -to shirk it at the last moment, he ‘will follow him all over the -world.’ He finally dies away in an outburst of childish rage which -beats Abélard’s peroration. He will not continue any longer because -it occurs to him that Abélard is, by the strictest force of logic, a -nonentity. He is not a monk, for he is giving lessons; he is not a -cleric, for he has parted with the soutane; he is not a layman, for -he has the tonsure; he is not even the Peter he signs himself, for -Peter is a masculine name. - -These were the two ablest thinkers of Christendom at the time. -Fortunately for both, the battle royal of the dialecticians did not -take place. Possibly Roscelin had not lodged the rumoured complaint -at all. In any case Girbert was spared a painful and pitiful scene. - -A short time afterwards, however, Alberic and Lotulphe found an -excellent opportunity to take action. Some time in the year 1121 -a papal legate, Conon, Bishop of Praeneste, came to Rheims. Conon -had been travelling in France for some years as papal legate, and -since it was the policy of Rome to conciliate France, in view of -the hostility of Germany, the legate had a general mission to make -himself as useful and obliging as possible. Archbishop Ralph, for his -part, would find it a convenient means of gratifying his teachers, -without incurring much personal responsibility. The outcome of their -conferences was, therefore, that Abélard received from the legate a -polite invitation to appear at a provincial synod, or council, which -was to be held at Soissons, and to bring with him his ‘celebrated -work on the Trinity.’ The simple monk was delighted at the apparent -opportunity of vindicating his orthodoxy. It was his first trial for -heresy. - -When the time drew near for what Abélard afterwards called ‘their -conventicle,’ he set out for Soissons with a small band of friends, -who were to witness the chastisement of Alberic and Lotulphe. But -those astute masters had not so naïve a view of the function of a -council. Like St. Bernard, with whom, indeed, they were already in -correspondence, they relied largely on that art of ecclesiastical -diplomacy which is the only visible embodiment of the Church’s -supernatural power. Moreover, they had the curious ecclesiastical -habit of deciding that an end—in this case, the condemnation of -Abélard—was desirable, and then piously disregarding the moral -quality of the means necessary to attain it. How far the two masters -had arranged all the conditions of the council we cannot say, but -these certainly favoured their plans. - -Soissons, to begin with, was excellently suited for the holding -of a council which was to condemn, rather than investigate. Its -inhabitants would remember the sentence passed on Roscelin for a -like offence. In fact Longueval says, in his _Histoire de l’Église -Gallicane_, that the people of Soissons were religious fanatics as a -body, and had of their own impulse burned, or ‘lynched,’ a man who -was suspected of Manichæism, only a few years previously. Alberic and -Lotulphe had taken care to revive this pious instinct, by spreading -amongst the people the information that ‘the foreign monk,’ ‘the -eunuch of St. Denis,’ who was coming to the town to be tried, had -openly taught the error of tri-theism. The consequence was that when -the Benedictine monk appeared in the streets with his few admirers, -he had a narrow escape of being stoned to death by the excited -citizens. It was a rude shock to his dream of a great dialectical -triumph. - -On one point, however, Abélard’s simple honesty hit upon a correct -measure. He went straight to Bishop Conon with his work, and -submitted it for the legate’s perusal and personal judgment. The -politician was embarrassed. He knew nothing whatever about theology, -and would lose his way immediately in Abélard’s subtle analogies. -However, he bade Abélard take the book to the archbishop and the two -masters. They in turn fumbled it in silence, Abélard says, and at -length told him that judgment would be passed on it at the end of the -council. - -Meantime Abélard had succeeded in correcting, to some extent, the -inspired prejudice of the townsfolk. Every day he spoke and disputed -in the streets and churches, before the council sat, and he tells us -that he seemed to make an impression on his hearers. Alberic, in -fact, came one day with a number of his pupils for the purpose of -modifying his rival’s success; though he hurriedly retreated when -it was shown that his specially prepared difficulty had no force. -Premising ‘a few polite phrases,’ he pointed out that Abélard had -denied that God generated himself in the Trinity; for this statement, -he carefully explained, he did not ask reasons, but an authority. -Abélard promptly turned over the page, and pointed to a quotation -from St. Augustine. It was a swift and complete victory. But Abélard -must needs improve on it by accusing his accuser of heresy, and -Alberic departed ‘like one demented with rage.’ Priests and people -were now openly asking whether the council had discovered the error -to lie with itself rather than with Abélard. They came to the last -day of the council. - -Before the formal opening of the last session, the legate invited -the chief actors in the comedy (except Abélard) to a private -discussion of the situation. Conon’s position and attitude were -purely political. He cared little about their dialectical subtleties; -was, in fact, quite incompetent to decide questions of personality, -modality, and all the rest. Still it was mainly a minor political -situation he had to deal with, and he shows an eagerness to get -through it with as little moral damage as possible. Ralph the Green, -president of the council, knew no more than Conon about theology; -he also regarded it as a political dilemma, and the prestige of -his school would gain by the extinction of Abélard. Ralph had nine -suffragan bishops, but only one of these is proved to have taken part -in the ‘conventicle.’ It was Lisiard de Crespy, Bishop of Soissons, -who would support his metropolitan. Joscelin, an earlier rival of -Abélard, was teaching in Soissons at that time, and would most -probably accompany his bishop. Abbot Adam of St. Denis was present; -so were Alberic and Lotulphe. One man of a more worthy type sat with -them, an awkward and embarrassing spokesman of truth and justice, -Geoffroi, Bishop of Chartres, one of the most influential and most -honourable members of the French episcopacy. - -Conon at once shrewdly introduced the formal question, what heresy -had been discovered in Abélard’s book? After his ill-success in -the street-discussion, Alberic seems to have hesitated to quote -any definite passage in the work. Indeed, we not only have two -contradictory charges given, but the texts which seem to have -been used in this council to prove the charge of tri-theism were -quoted by the Council of Sens in 1141 in proof of an accusation of -Sabellianism. Otto von Freising says that Abélard held the three -divine persons to be modifications of one essence (the Anselmists -claiming that the three were _realities_); Abélard himself says he -was accused of tri-theism. Every ‘analogy’ that has been found in -the natural world for the dogma of the Trinity, from the shamrock -of St. Patrick to the triangle of Père Lacordaire, exposes its -discoverer to one or other of those charges—for an obvious reason. -After the death of Dr. Dale I remember seeing a passage quoted by -one of his panegyrists in illustration of his singularly sound and -clear presentation of dogma: it was much more Sabellian than anything -Abélard ever wrote. - -However, the explicit demand of the legate for a specimen of -Abélard’s heresy was embarrassing. Nothing could be discovered in -the book to which Abélard could not have assigned a parallel in -the fathers. And when Alberic began to extort heresy by ingenious -interpretation Geoffroi de Lèves reminded them of the elementary -rules of justice. In the formal proceedings of a trial for heresy no -one was condemned unheard. If they were to anticipate the trial by -an informal decision, the requirement of justice was equally urgent. -They must give the accused an opportunity of defending himself. That -was the one course which Alberic dreaded most of all, and he so -well urged the magical power of Abélard’s tongue that the bishop’s -proposal was rejected. Geoffroi then complained of the smallness of -the council, and the injustice of leaving so grave and delicate a -decision to a few prelates. Let Abélard be given into the care of -his abbot, who should take him back to St. Denis and have him judged -by an assembly of expert theologians. The legate liked the idea. The -Rheims people regarded it, for the moment, as an effective removal of -Abélard from their neighbourhood. The proposal was agreed to, and the -legate then proceeded to say the Mass of the Holy Ghost. - -Meantime Archbishop Ralph informed Abélard of the decision. -Unsatisfactory as the delay was, he must have been grateful for an -escape from the power of Rheims. He turned indifferently from the -further session of the council. Unfortunately another conference was -even then taking place between Alberic, Ralph, and Conon; and Abélard -was presently summoned to bring his book before the council. - -Alberic and Lotulphe were, on reflection, dissatisfied with the -result. Their influence would have no weight in a trial at Paris, -and their ambition required the sacrifice of the famous master. They -therefore went to the archbishop with a complaint that people would -take it to be a confession of incompetency if he allowed the case -to go before another court. The three approached the legate again, -and now reminded him that Abélard’s work was published without -episcopal permission, and could justly be condemned on that ground. -As ignorant of canon law as he was of theology, and seeing the -apparent friendlessness of Abélard, and therefore the security of a -condemnation, Conon agreed to their proposal. - -Abélard had long looked forward to the hour of his appearance -before the Council. It was to be an hour of supreme triumph. The -papal legate and the archbishop in their resplendent robes in the -sanctuary; the circle of bishops and abbots and canons; the crowd -of priests, theologians, masters, and clerics; the solemn pulpit -of the cathedral church, from which he should make his highest -effort of dialectics and oratory; the scattered rivals, and the -triumphant return to his pupils. He had rehearsed it daily for a -month or more. But the sad, heart-rending reality of his appearance! -He was brought in, condemned. He stood in the midst of the thronged -cathedral, with the brand of heresy on his brow, he, the intellectual -and moral master of them all. A fire was kindled there before the -Council. There was no need for Geoffrey of Chartres to come, the -tears coursing down his cheeks, to tell him his book was judged and -condemned. Quietly, but with a fierce accusation of God Himself in -his broken heart, as he afterwards said, he cast his treasured work -in the flames. - -Even in that awful moment the spirit of comedy must needs assert -its mocking presence; or is it only part of the tragedy? Whilst the -yellow parchment crackled in the flames, some one who stood by the -legate muttered that one passage in it said that God the Father -alone was omnipotent. Soulless politician as he was, the ignorant -legate fastened on the charge as a confirmation of the justice of his -sentence. ‘I could scarcely believe that even a child would fall -into such an error,’ said the brute, with an affectation of academic -dignity. ‘And yet,’ a sarcastic voice fell on his ear, quoting the -Athanasian Creed, ‘and yet there are not Three omnipotent, but One.’ -The bold speaker was Tirric, the Breton scholastic, who, as we -have seen, probably instructed Abélard in mathematics. His bishop -immediately began to censure him for his neat exhibition of the -legate’s ignorance, but the teacher was determined to express his -disgust at the proceedings. ‘You have condemned a child of Israel,’ -he cried, lashing the ‘conventicle’ with the scornful words of -Daniel, ‘without inquiry or certainty. Return ye to the judgment -seat, and judge the judges.’ - -The archbishop then stepped forward to put an end to the confusion. -‘It is well,’ he said, making a tardy concession to conscience, -‘that the brother have an opportunity of defending his faith before -us all.’ Abélard gladly prepared to do so, but Alberic and Lotulphe -once more opposed the idea. No further discussion was needed, they -urged. The council had finished its work; Abélard’s errors had been -detected and corrected. If it were advisable to have a profession of -faith from Brother Peter, let him recite the Athanasian Creed. And -lest Abélard should object that he did not know the Creed by heart, -they produced a copy of it. The politic prelates were easily induced -to take their view. In point of fact the archbishop’s proposal was a -bare compliance with the canons. Abélard’s book had been condemned -on the ground that it had been issued without authorisation; nothing -had been determined as to the legitimacy of its contents. The canons -still demanded that he should be heard before he was sent out into -the world with an insidious stigma of heresy. - -But charity and justice had no part in that pitiful conventicle. -Archbishop and legate thought it politic to follow the ruling of -Alberic to the end, and the parchment was handed to Abélard. And -priest and prelate, monk and abbot, shamelessly stood around, whilst -the greatest genius of the age, devoted to religion in every gift of -his soul, as each one knew, faltered out the familiar symbol. ‘Good -Jesus, where wert thou?’ Abélard asks, long years afterwards. There -are many who ask it to-day. - -So ended the holy Council of Soissons, Provincial Synod of the -arch-diocese of Rheims, held under the ægis of a papal legate, in -the year of grace 1121. Its _acta_ are not found in Richard, or -Labbé, or Hefele: they ‘have not been preserved.’ There is an earlier -ecclesiastical council that earned the title of the _latrocinium_ -(‘rogues’ council’), and we must not plagiarise. Ingenious and -audacious as the apologetic historian is, he has not attempted -to defend the Council of Soissons. But his condemnation of it is -mildness itself compared with his condemnation of Abélard. - -For a crowning humiliation Abélard was consigned by the council to a -large monastery near Soissons, which served as jail or penitentiary -for that ecclesiastical province. The abbot of this monastery, -Geoffrey of the Stag’s-neck, had assisted at the council, and -Dom Gervaise would have it that he had secured Abélard for his -own purposes. He thinks the abbot was looking to the great legal -advantage, in the frequent event of a lawsuit, of having such an -orator as Abélard in his monastery. It is a possibility, like -many other details in Gervaise’s _Life of Abélard_. In forbidding -his return either to Maisoncelle or to St. Denis, and definitely -consigning him to the abbey of St. Médard, the council was once -more treating him as a legally convicted heretic. As far as it was -concerned, it was filling the chalice of the poor monk’s bitterness. -It is a mere accident that Geoffrey was a man of some culture, and -was so far influenced by the hideous spectacle he had witnessed as to -receive Brother Peter with sympathy and some honour. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -CLOUD UPON CLOUD - - -The abbey of St. Médard, to which Abélard accompanied his friendly -jailer, was a very large monastery on the right bank of the Aisne, -just outside Soissons. At that time it had a community of about -four hundred monks. It derived a considerable revenue from its two -hundred and twenty farms, yet it bore so high a repute for regular -discipline that it had become a general ‘reformatory school’ for -the district. ‘To it were sent the ignorant to be instructed, the -depraved to be corrected, the obstinate to be tamed,’ says a work of -the time; though it is not clear how Herr Hausrath infers from this -that the abbey also served the purpose of monastic asylum. For this -character of penitentiary the place was chosen for the confinement -of Abélard. Thither he retired to meditate on the joy and the wisdom -of ‘conversion.’ ‘God! How furiously did I accuse Thee!’ he says of -those days. The earlier wound had been preceded, he admits, by his -sin; this far deeper and more painful wound had been brought upon him -by his ‘love of our faith.’ - -Whether Abbot Geoffrey thought Abélard an acquisition or no, there -was one man in authority at St. Médard who rejoiced with a holy joy -at his advent. This was no other than Abélard’s earlier acquaintance, -St. Goswin. The zealous student had become a monastic reformer, and -had recently been appointed Prior[18] of St. Médard. In the recently -reformed abbey, with a daily arrival of ‘obstinate monks to be -trained,’ and a convenient and well-appointed ascetical armoury or -whipping-room, the young saint was in a congenial element. Great was -his interest when ‘Pope Innocent,’[19] as his biographers say, ‘sent -Abélard to be confined in the abbey, and, like an untamed rhinoceros, -to be caught in the bonds of discipline.’ Abélard was not long in the -abbey before the tamer approached this special task that Providence -had set him. We can imagine Abélard’s feelings when the obtuse monk -took him aside, and exhorted him ‘not to think it a misfortune or an -injury that he had been sent there; he was not so much confined in a -prison, as protected from the storms of the world.’ He had only to -live piously, and set a good example, and all would be well. Abélard -was in no mood to see the humour of the situation. He peevishly -retorted that ‘there were a good many who talked about piety and did -not know what piety was.’ Then the prior, say his biographers, saw -that it was not a case for leniency, but for drastic measures. ‘Quite -true,’ he replied, ‘there are many who talk about piety, and do not -know what it is. But if we find you saying or doing anything that is -not pious, we shall show you that we know how to treat its contrary, -at all events.’ The saint prevailed once more—in the biography: ‘the -rhinoceros was cowed, and became very quiet, more patient under -discipline, more fearful of the lash, and of a saner and less raving -mind.’ - - [18] A prior is the second in command in an abbey, or the head of - a priory; a priory was a small branch monastery, in those days, - though it may now, as with the Dominicans, be a chief house. - - [19] This is erroneous; Calixtus II. filled the papal chair at - the time. - -Fortunately, the boorish saint had a cultured abbot, one at least who -did not hold genius to be a diabolical gift, and whose judgment of -character was not wholly vitiated by the crude mystic and monastic -ideal of the good people of the period. The abbot seems to have -saved Abélard from the zeal of the prior, and possibly he found -companionable souls amongst the four hundred monks of the great -abbey, some of whom were nobles by birth. We know, at all events, -that in the later period he looked back on the few months spent at -St. Médard with a kindly feeling. - -His imprisonment did not last long. When the proceedings of the -council were made known throughout the kingdom, there was a strong -outburst of indignation. It must not be supposed that the Council -of Soissons illustrates or embodies the spirit of the period or the -spirit of the Church; this feature we shall more nearly find in the -Council of Sens, in 1141. The conventicle had, in truth, revealed -some of the evils of the time: the danger of the Church’s excessively -political attitude and administration, the brutality of the spirit -it engendered with regard to heresy, the fatal predominance of dogma -over ethic. But, in the main, the conventicle exhibits the hideous -triumph of a few perverse individuals, who availed themselves of all -that was crude and ill-advised in the machinery of the Church. When, -therefore, such men as Tirric, and Geoffrey of Chartres, and Geoffrey -of the Stag’s-neck, spread their story abroad, there were few who did -not sympathise with Abélard. The persecutors soon found it necessary -to defend themselves; there was a chaos of mutual incriminations. -Even Alberic and Lotulphe tried to cast the blame on others. The -legate found it expedient to attribute the whole proceeding openly to -‘French malice.’ He had been ‘compelled for a time to humour their -spleen,’ as Abélard puts it, but he presently revoked the order of -confinement in St. Médard, and gave Abélard permission to return to -St. Denis. - -It was a question of Scylla or Charybdis, of Prior Goswin or Abbot -Adam. The legate seems to have acted in good faith in granting the -permission—perhaps we should say in good policy, for he again acted -out of discreet regard for circumstances; but when we find Abélard -availing himself of what was no more than a permission to return -to St. Denis we have a sufficient indication of the quality of his -experience at St. Médard. He does indeed remark that the monks of the -reformed abbey had been friendly towards him, though this is inspired -by an obvious comparison with his later experience at St. Denis. But -St. Médard was a prison; that sufficed to turn the scale. A removal -from the penitentiary would be equivalent, in the eyes of France, to -a revocation of the censure passed on him. So with a heart that was -hopelessly drear, not knowing whether to smile or weep, he went back, -poor sport of the gods as he was, to the royal abbey. - -For a few months Brother Peter struggled bravely with the hard task -the fates had set him. He was probably wise enough to refrain from -inveighing, in season and out of season, against the ‘intolerable -uncleanness’ of Adam and his monks. Possibly he nursed a hope—or was -nursed by a hope—of having another ‘cell’ entrusted to his charge. In -spite of the irregularity of the abbey, formal religious exercises -were extensively practised. All day and night the chant of the -breviary was heard in the monastic chapel. There was also a large -and busy _scriptorium_; the _archivium_ of the ancient abbey was a -treasury of interesting old documents; and there was a relatively -good library. It was in the latter that Brother Peter found his next -adventure, and one that threatened to be the most serious of all. - -Seeing the present futility of his theological plans, he had turned -to the study of history. There was a copy of Bede’s _History of -the Apostles_ in the library, and he says that he one day, ‘by -chance,’ came upon the passage in which Bede deals with St. Denis. -The Anglo-Saxon historian would not admit the French tradition about -St. Denis. He granted the existence of a St. Denis, but said that -he had been Bishop of Corinth, not of Athens. The legend about the -martyrdom of Denis the Areopagite, with his companions Rusticus and -Eleutherius, at Paris in the first century, is now almost universally -rejected by Roman Catholic historians, not to mention others. It is, -however, still enshrined with honour in that interesting compendium -of myths of the Christian era, the Roman breviary, and is read with -religious solemnity by every priest and every monastic choir in the -Catholic world on the annual festival. - -However, the abbey of St. Denis, the monastery that owed all -its wealth and repute to its possession of the bones of ‘the -Areopagite,’ was the last place in the world in which to commence -a rationalistic attack on the legend. With his usual want of tact -and foresight Brother Peter showed the passage in Bede to some of -his fellow-monks, ‘in joke,’ he says; he might as well have cut the -abbot’s throat, or destroyed the wine-cellar ‘in joke.’ There was a -violent commotion. Heresy about the Trinity was bad, but heresy about -the idol of the royal abbey was more touching. It is not quite clear -that Abélard came to the opinion of modern religious historians, that -the St. Denis of Paris was a much later personage than the Areopagite -of the Acts of the Apostles, but he seems to hold that opinion. In -any case, the monks felt that to be the substance of his discovery, -and held it to be an attack on the glory of the abbey. Venerable -Bede was, they bluntly replied, a liar. One of their former abbots, -Hilduin, had made a journey to Greece for the special purpose of -verifying the story. - -When the monks flew to Abbot Adam with the story of Brother Peter’s -latest outbreak, Adam saw in it an opportunity of terrifying the -rebel into submission, if not of effectually silencing him. He called -a chapter of the brethren. One’s pen almost tires of describing -the cruel scenes to which those harsh days lent themselves. The -vindictive abbot perched on his high chair, prior and elder brethren -sitting beside him; the hundreds of black-robed, shaven monks lining -the room; on his knees in the centre the pale, nervous figure of the -Socrates of Gaul. With a mock solemnity, Abbot Adam delivers himself -of the sentence. Brother Peter has crowned his misdeeds, in his pride -of mind, with an attack, not merely on the abbey that sheltered -him, but on the honour and the safety of France. The matter is too -serious to be punished by even the most severe methods at the command -of the abbey. Brother Peter is to be handed over to the king, as a -traitor to the honour of the country. The poor monk, now thoroughly -alarmed, abjectly implores the abbot to deal with him in the usual -way. Let him be scourged—anything to escape the uncertain temper of -King Louis. No, the abbey must be rid of him. He is taken away into -confinement, with an injunction that he be carefully watched until it -is convenient to send him to Paris. - -There were, however, some of the monks who were disgusted at the -savage proceeding. A few days afterwards he was assisted to escape -from the monastic dungeon during the night, and, ‘in utter despair,’ -he fled from the abbey, with a few of his former pupils. It was, in -truth, a desperate move. As a deserter from the abbey, the canons -required that two stalwart brothers should be sent in pursuit of him, -and that he be reimprisoned. As a fugitive from the king’s justice, -to which he had been publicly destined, he was exposed to even -harsher treatment. However, he made his way into Champagne once more, -and threw himself on the mercy of his friends. - -One of the friends whom he had attached to himself during his stay at -Maisoncelle was prior of St. Ayoul, near the gates of Provins. It was -a priory belonging to the monks of Troyes, and both Hatton, Bishop of -Troyes, and Theobald, Count of Champagne, were in sympathy with the -fugitive. The prior, therefore, received Abélard into his convent, -to afford at least time for reflection. His condition, however, was -wholly uncanonical, and the prior, as well as the abbot of St. Peter -of Troyes, urged him to secure some regularity for his absence from -St. Denis, so that they might lawfully shelter him at St. Ayoul. -Abélard summoned what diplomatic faculty he had, and wrote to St. -Denis. - -‘Peter, monk by profession and sinner by his deeds, to his -dearly beloved father, Adam, and to his most dear brethren and -fellow-monks,’ was the inscription of the epistle. Brother Peter, it -must be remembered, was fighting almost for life; and he was not of -the heroic stuff of his friend and pupil, Arnold of Brescia. There -are critics who think he descended lower than this concession to -might, that he deliberately denied his conviction for the purpose -of conciliating Adam. Others, such as Poole, Deutsch, and Hausrath, -think the letter does not support so grave a censure. The point of -the letter is certainly to convey the impression that Bede had erred, -and that Abélard had no wish to urge his authority against the belief -of the monks. In point of fact, Bede is at variance with Eusebius -and Jerome, and it is not impossible that Abélard came sincerely to -modify the first impression he had received from Bede’s words; in the -circumstances, and in the then state of the question, this would not -be unreasonable. At the same time a careful perusal of the letter -gives one the impression that it is artistic and diplomatic; that -Abélard has learned tact, rather than unlearned history. It reads -like an effort to say something conciliatory about St. Denis, without -doing serious violence to the writer’s conscience. Perhaps the abbot -of St. Peter’s could have thrown some light on its composition. - -Shortly afterwards Abbot Adam came to visit Count Theobald, and -Abélard’s friends made a direct effort to conciliate him. The prior -of St. Ayoul and Abélard hurried to the count’s castle, and begged -him to prevail upon his guest to release Abélard from his obedience. -The count tried to persuade Adam to do so, but without success. -Adam seemed determined, not so much to rid his happy convent of a -malcontent, as to crush Abélard. He found plenty of pious garbs to -cover his vindictiveness with. At first he deprecated the idea that -it was a matter for his personal decision. Then, after a consultation -with the monks who accompanied him, he gravely declared that it was -inconsistent with the honour of the abbey to release Abélard; ‘the -brethren had said that, whereas Abélard’s choice of their abbey had -greatly redounded to its glory, his flight from it had covered them -with shame.’ He threatened both Abélard and the prior of St. Ayoul -with the usual canonical penalties, unless the deserter returned -forthwith to obedience. - -Adam’s departure, after this fulmination, left Abélard and his -friends sadly perplexed. The abbot had the full force of canon law -on his side, and he was evidently determined to exact his pound of -flesh. However, whilst they were busy framing desperate resolves, -they received information of the sudden death of Abbot Adam. He died -a few days after leaving Champagne, on the 19th of February 1122. The -event brought relief from the immediate pressure. Some time would -elapse before it would be necessary to resume the matter with Adam’s -successor, and there was room for hope that the new abbot would not -feel the same personal vindictiveness. - -The monk who was chosen by the Benedictines of St. Denis to succeed -Adam was one of the most remarkable characters of that curious age. -Scholar, soldier, and politician, he had an enormous influence on -the life of France during the early decades of the twelfth century. -Nature intended him for a minister and a great soldier: chance made -him a monk; worldly brothers made him an abbot, and St. Bernard -completed the anomaly by ‘converting’ him in 1127. At the time we -are speaking of he was the more active and prominent of two men whom -Bernard called ‘the two calamities of the Church of France.’ He was -born of poor parents, near one of the priories or dependencies of -St. Denis. His talent was noticed by the monks, and his ‘vocation’ -followed as a matter of course. He was studying in the monastic -school when King Philip brought his son Louis to St. Denis, and the -abbot sent for him, and made him companion to the royal pupil. He -thus obtained a strong influence over the less gifted prince, and -when Louis came to the throne in 1108, Suger became the first royal -councillor. Being only a deacon in orders, there was nothing to -prevent him heading the troops, directing a campaign, or giving his -whole time to the affairs of the kingdom. He had proved so useful -a minister that, when some of the monks of St. Denis came in great -trepidation to tell the king they had chosen him for abbot, they -were angrily thrust into prison. Suger himself was in Rome at the -time, discharging a mission from the king, and he tells us, in his -autobiography, of the perplexity the dilemma caused him. However, -before he reached France, the king had concluded that an abbot could -be as useful as a prior in an accommodating age. In the sequel, St. -Denis became more royal, and less abbatial than ever—until 1127. St. -Bernard complained that it seemed to have become the ‘war office’ -and the ‘ministry of justice’ of the kingdom. - -Abélard now seems to have been taken in hand by a more astute -admirer, Burchard, Bishop of Meaux. They went to Paris together, and -apparently did a little successful diplomacy before the arrival and -consecration of Suger. The newly created abbot (he had been ordained -priest the day before his consecration) refused to undo the sentence -of his predecessor. He was bound by the decision of the abbey, he -said; in other words, there was still a strong vindictive feeling -against Abélard in the abbey, which it was not politic to ignore. It -is quite impossible that Suger himself took the matter seriously. - -But before Suger’s arrival Abélard and his companions had made -friends at court. Whether through his pupils, many of whom were -nobles, or through his family, is unknown, but Abélard for the -second time found influence at court when ecclesiastical favour was -denied. One of the leading councillors was Étienne de Garlande, -the royal seneschal, and means were found to interest him in the -case of the unfortunate monk. We have already seen that Stephen -had ecclesiastical ambition in his earlier years, and had become -a deacon and a canon of Étampes. But when his patron, King Philip, -submitted to the Church and to a better ideal of life, Stephen -concluded that the path to ecclesiastical dignities would be less -smooth and easy for the ‘illiterate and unchaste,’ and he turned to -secular ambition. At the time of the events we are reviewing he and -Suger were the virtual rulers of France; from the ecclesiastical -point of view he was the man whom St. Bernard associated with Suger -as ‘a calamity of the Church.’ - -‘Through the mediation of certain friends’ Abélard had enlisted the -interest of this powerful personage, and the court was soon known -to favour his suit. There are many speculations as to the motive of -the king and his councillors in intervening in the monastic quarrel. -Recent German historians see in the incident an illustration of a -profound policy on the part of the royal council. They think the king -was then endeavouring to strengthen his authority by patronising -the common people in opposition to the tyrannical and troublesome -nobility. Following out a parallel policy with regard to the Church, -whose nobles were equally tyrannical and troublesome, Stephen and -Suger would naturally befriend the lower clergy in opposition to -the prelates. Hence the royal intervention on behalf of the monk of -St. Denis is associated with the intervention on the side of the -peasantry a few years before. - -The theory is ingenious, but hardly necessary. Abélard says that the -court interfered because it did not desire any change in the free -life of the royal abbey, and consequently preferred to keep him out -of it. That is also ingenious, and complimentary to Abélard. But -it is not a little doubtful whether anybody credited him with the -smallest influence at St. Denis. We shall probably not be far from -the truth if we suppose a court intrigue on the monk’s behalf which -his friends did not think it necessary to communicate fully to him. -Geoffrey of Chartres and other friends of his were French nobles. -Many of his pupils had that golden key which would at any time give -access to Étienne de Garlande. - -In any case Stephen and Suger had a private discussion of the matter, -and the two politicians soon found a way out of the difficulty. -Abélard received an order to appear before the king and his council. -The comedy—though it was no comedy for Abélard—probably took place -at St. Denis. Louis the Fat presided, in robes of solemn purple, -with ermine border. Étienne de Garlande and the other councillors -glittered at his side. Abbot Suger and his council were there to -defend the ‘honour’ of the abbey; and Brother Peter, worn with -anxiety and suffering, came to make a plea for liberty. Louis bids -the abbot declare what solution of the difficulty his chapter has -discovered. Suger gravely explains that the honour of their abbey -does not permit them to allow the fugitive monk to join any other -monastery. So much to save the face of the abbey. Yet there is a -middle course possible, the abbot graciously continues: Brother Peter -may be permitted to live a regular life in the character of a hermit. -Brother Peter expresses his satisfaction at the decision—it was -precisely the arrangement he desired—and departs from the abbey with -his friends, a free man once more, never again, he thinks, to fall -into the power of monk or prelate. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BACK TO CHAMPAGNE - - -The scene of the next act in Abélard’s dramatic career is a bright, -restful valley in the heart of Champagne. It is the summer of 1122, -and the limpid Arduzon rolls through enchantingly in its course -towards the Seine. In the meadow beside it are two huts and a small -oratory, rudely fashioned from the branches of trees and reeds from -the river, and daubed over with mud. No other sign of human presence -can be seen. Abélard and one companion are the only human beings to -be found for miles. And even all thought of the cities of men and the -sordid passions they shelter is arrested by the great forests of oak -and beech which hem in the narrow horizon and guard the restfulness -of the valley. - -By the terms of Suger’s decision Abélard could neither lodge with -secular friends nor enter any cell, priory, or abbey. Probably this -coercion into leading an eremitical life was unnecessary. The -experience of the last three years had made a hermitage of his heart; -nothing would be more welcome to him than this quiet valley. It was a -spot he had noticed in earlier years. In his ancient chronicle Robert -of Auxerre says that Abélard had lived there before; Mr. Poole thinks -it was to the same part of Champagne that he resorted on the three -occasions of his going to the province of Count Theobald. That would -at least have to be understood in a very loose sense. On the two -former occasions he had found a home prepared, a cell and a priory, -respectively; he had now to build a hut with his own hands. It was a -deserted spot he had chosen, he tells us; and Heloise adds, in one of -her letters, that before Abélard’s coming it had been the haunt of -robbers and the home of foxes and wild boars, like the neighbouring -forest of Fontainebleau. - -Abélard must have seen this quiet side-valley in passing along the -Seine on the road to Paris. It was some twelve miles from Troyes, -where he had a number of friends; and when he expressed a desire to -retire to it with his companion, they obtained for him the gift of -the meadow through which the Arduzon ran. Bishop Hatton gave them -permission to build an oratory, and they put together a kind of mud -hut—‘in honour of the Blessed Trinity’! Here the heavy heart began -once more to dream of peace. Men had tortured him with a caricature -of the divine justice when his aim and purpose had been of the -purest. He had left their ignorant meddlesomeness and their ugly -passions far away beyond the forests. Alone with God and with nature -in her fairest mood, he seemed to have escaped securely from an age -that could not, or would not, understand his high ideal. - -So for some time no sound was heard in the valley but the song of the -birds and the grave talk of the two hermits and the frequent chant in -the frail temple of the Trinity. But Abélard’s evil genius was never -far from him; it almost seems as if it only retired just frequently -enough and long enough to let his heart regain its full power of -suffering. The unpractical scholar had overlooked a material point, -the question of sustenance. Beech-nuts and beech-leaves and roots and -the water of the river become monotonous. Abélard began to cast about -for some source of revenue. ‘To dig I was not able, to beg I was -ashamed,’ he says, in the familiar words. There was only one thing he -could do—teach. - -Probably he began by giving quiet lessons to the sons of his -neighbours. He had only to let his intention be known in Troyes, and -he would have as many pupils as he desired. But he soon found that, -as was inevitable, he had released a torrent. The words in which he -describes this third confluence of his streams of ‘barbarians’ do -not give us the impression that he struggled against his fate. With -all his genius he remained a Breton—short of memory and light of -heart. The gladdening climate of mid-France and the brightness and -beauty of the valley of the Seine quickened his old hopes and powers. -The word ran through the kingdoms of Gaul, and across the sea and -over the southern hills, that Abélard was lecturing once more. And -many hundreds, probably thousands, of youths gathered their scant -treasures, and turned their faces towards the distant solitude of -Nogent-sur-Seine. - -Then was witnessed a scene that is quite unique in the annals of -education. Many centuries before, the deserts of Egypt had seen a -vast crowd of men pour out from the cities, and rush eagerly into -their thankless solitude. That was under the fresh-born influence of -a new religious story, the only force thought competent to inspire -so great an abdication. The twelfth century saw another great stream -of men pouring eagerly into a solitude where there was no luxury but -the rude beauty of nature. Week by week the paths that led into the -valley by the Arduzon discharged their hundreds of pilgrims. The -rough justice of nature offered no advantage to wealth. Rich and -poor, noble and peasant, young and old, they raised their mud-cabins -or their moss-covered earth-works, each with his own hand. Hundreds -of these rude dwellings dotted the meadow and sheltered in the wood. -A bundle of straw was the only bed to be found in them. Their tables -were primitive mounds of fresh turf; the only food a kind of coarse -peasant-bread, with roots and herbs and a draught of sweet water from -the river. The meats and wines and pretty maids and soft beds of the -cities were left far away over the hills. For the great magician had -extended his wand once more, and the fascination of his lectures was -as irresistible as ever. - -They had built a new oratory, in wood and stone, for the loved -master; and each morning, as the full blaze of the sun fell upon the -strangely scarred face of the valley, they arose from the hay and -straw, splashed or dipped in the running river, and trooped to the -spot where Abélard fished for their souls with the charming bait of -his philosophy. Then when the master tired of reading Scripture, -and of his pathetic task of finding analogies of the infinite in -the finite, they relaxed to such games and merriment as youth never -leaves behind. - -Discipline, however, was strict. There is a song, composed at the -time by one of the pupils, which affords an instructive glimpse of -the life of the strange colony. Some one seems to have informed -Abélard of a group of students who were addicted to the familiar -vice. He at once banished them from the colony, threatening to -abandon the lectures unless they retired to Quincey. The poet of the -group was an English youth, named Hilary, who had come to France a -little before. Amongst his _Versus et ludi_, edited by Champollion, -we find his poetic complaint of the falseness of the charge and -the cruelty of their expulsion. It is a simple, vigorous, rhymed -verse in Latin, with a French refrain. It is obviously intended to -be sung in chorus, and it thus indirectly illustrates one of the -probable recreations of the youths who were thus thrown upon their -own resources. Many another of Hilary’s rough songs must have rung -through the valley at nightfall. Perhaps Abélard recovered his old -gift, and contributed to the harmless gaiety of the colony. Seared -and scarred as he was, there was nothing sombre or sour about his -piety, save in the moments of actual persecution. With all his keen -and living faith and his sense of remorse, he remains a Breton, a -child of the sun-light, sensitive to the gladdening force of the -world. Not until his last year did he accept the ascetic view of -pleasures which were non-ethical. Watchful over the faith and morals -of the colony, he would make no effort to moderate the loud song with -which they responded to the warm breath of nature. - -The happiness of his little world surged in the heart of the master -for a time, but nature gave him a capacity for, and a taste of, -manifold happiness, only that he might suffer the more. ‘I had one -enemy—echo,’ he says in his autobiography. He was soon made uneasily -conscious that the echo of his teaching and the echo of the glad life -of the colony had reached Clairvaux. - -The first definite complaint that reached his ears referred to the -dedication of his oratory. Though formally dedicated to the Trinity, -it was especially devoted to the Holy Spirit, in the character of -Paraclete (Comforter); indeed both it and the later nunnery were -known familiarly as ‘the Paraclete.’ Some captious critics had, it -appears, raised a question whether it was lawful to dedicate a chapel -to one isolated member of the Trinity. The question was absurd, for -the Church frequently offers worship to the Holy Spirit, without -mentioning the Father and the Son. The cautious Abélard, however, -defends his dedication at great length. A second attack was made -under the pretext of questioning the propriety of an image of the -Trinity which was found in the oratory. Some sculptor in the colony -had endeavoured to give an ingenious representation of the Trinity -in stone. He had carved three equal figures from one block of stone, -and had cut on them inscriptions appropriate to each Person of the -Trinity.[20] Such devices were common in the Church, common in -all Trinitarian religions, in fact. But Abélard was credited with -intentions and interpretations in everything he did. Neither of -these incidents proved serious, however. It was not until Abélard -heard that Alberic and Lotulphe were inciting ‘the new apostles’ to -assail him that he became seriously alarmed. The new apostles were -Bernard of Clairvaux and Norbert of Prémontré. - - [20] The statue was preserved in a neighbouring church until the - eighteenth century. It was destroyed at the Revolution. - -Not many leagues from the merry valley on the Arduzon was another -vale that had been peopled by men from the cities. It was a dark, -depressing valley, into which the sun rarely struggled. The Valley of -Wormwood men called it, for it was in the heart of a wild, sombre, -chilly forest. The men who buried themselves in it were fugitives, -not merely from the hot breath of the cities and the ugly deeds of -their fellows, but even from the gentler inspiration of nature, even -from its purest thrills. They had had a vision of a golden city, and -believed it was to be entered by the path of self-torture. The narrow -windows of their monastery let in but little of the scanty light of -the valley. With coarse bread and herbs, and a few hours’ sleep on -boxes of dried leaves, they made a grudging concession to the law of -living. But a joke was a sacrilege in the Valley of Wormwood, and a -song a piece of supreme folly. The only sound that told the ravens -and the owls of the presence of man was the weird, minor chant for -hours together, that did not even seem to break the silence of the -sombre spot. By day, the white-robed, solemn shades went about their -work in silence. The Great Father had made the pilgrimage to heaven -so arduous a task that they dare not talk by the wayside. - -Foremost among them was a frail, tense, absorbed, dominant little -man. The face was white and worn with suffering, the form enfeebled -with disease and exacting nervous exaltation; but there was a light -of supreme strength and of joy in the penetrating eyes. He was a man -who saw the golden city with so near, so living a vision, that he was -wholly impatient of the trivial pleasures of earth: a man formed in -the mould of world-conquerors and world-politicians, in whose mind -accident had substituted a supernatural for a natural ideal: a man of -such intensity and absorption of thought that he was almost incapable -of admitting a doubt as to the correctness of his own judgment and -purpose and the folly of all that was opposed to it: a man in whom -an altruistic ethic might transform, or disguise, but could never -suppress, the demand of the entire nature for self-assertion. This -was Bernard of Clairvaux, who had founded the monastery in the -deepest poverty ten years before. He was soon to be the most powerful -man in Christendom. And he held that, if the instinct of reasoning -and the impulse of love did indeed come from God and not from the -devil, they were of those whimsical gifts, such as the deity of the -Middle Ages often gave, which were given with a trust they would be -rejected. - -The other new apostle was St. Norbert, the founder of the -Premonstratensian canons. He had fruitlessly endeavoured to reform -the existing order of canons, and had then withdrawn to form a kind -of monastery of canons at Prémontré, not far from Laon, where he -occasionally visited Anselm. His disciples entered zealously into -the task of policeing the country. No disorder in faith or morals -escaped their notice; and although Norbert was far behind Bernard -in political ability, the man who incurred his pious wrath was in -an unenviable position. He had influence with the prelates of the -Church, on account of his reforms and the sanctity of his life; he -had a profound influence over the common people, not only through -his stirring sermons, but also through the miracles he wrought. -Abélard frequently bases his rationalistic work on the fact, which -he always assumes to be uncontroverted, that the age of miracles -is over. Norbert, on the contrary, let it be distinctly understood -that he was a thaumaturgus of large practice. Abélard ridiculed his -pretensions, and the stories told of him. Even in his later sermons -we find him scornfully ‘exposing’ the miracles of Norbert and his -companions. They used to slip medicaments unobserved into the food of -the sick, he says, and accept the glory of the miracle if the fever -was cured. They even attempted to raise the dead to life; and when -the corpse retained its hideous rigidity after they had lain long -hours in prayer in the sanctuary, they would turn round on the simple -folk in the church and upbraid them for the littleness of their -faith. This poor trickery was the chief source of the power of the -Premonstratensian canons over the people. Abélard could not repose -and ridicule it with impunity. - -These were the new apostles—‘pseudo-apostles’ Heloise calls them—whom -Alberic and Lotulphe now incited to take up the task which they -themselves dared pursue no longer. And so, says Abélard, ‘they heaped -shameless calumnies on me at every opportunity, and for some time -brought much discredit upon me in the eyes of certain ecclesiastical -as well as secular dignitaries.’ We shall find that, when Abélard -stands before the ecclesiastical tribunal a second time, many of -his earlier friends have deserted him, and have fallen under the -wide-reaching influence of St. Bernard. - -But it is strenuously denied by prejudiced admirers of St. Bernard -that he had anything to do with Abélard at this period. Father -Hefele, for instance, thinks that Abélard is guilty of some -chronological confusion in the passage quoted above; looking back on -the events of his life, he has unconsciously transferred the later -activity of Bernard to the earlier date, not clearly separating it -in time from the work of Alberic and Norbert. Unfortunately, the -‘Story of my Calamities’ was written _before_ Bernard commenced his -open campaign against Abélard. We shall see later that this is beyond -dispute. There is, then, no question of confusion. - -Mr. Cotter Morison says it is ‘not far short of impossible’ that -Bernard showed any active hostility to Abélard at that time, and he -thinks the charge springs merely from an over-excited imagination. -Mr. Morison is scarcely happier here than in his earlier passage. -It must be understood that this reluctance to admit the correctness -of Abélard’s complaint is inspired by a passage in one of Bernard’s -letters. In writing to William of St. Thierry (ep. cccxxvii. in -_Migne_), fifteen years afterwards, he excuses his inaction with -regard to Abélard (whose heresies William has put before him) on the -ground that he ‘was ignorant of most, indeed nearly all, of these -things.’ This is interpreted to mean that he knew little or nothing -about Abélard until 1141, and the Abélardists generally give a more -or less polite intimation that it is—what Mr. Poole explicitly calls -another statement of Bernard’s—a lie. Cotter Morison, however, -interprets ‘these things’ to mean ‘the special details of Abélard’s -heresy,’ and it is therefore the more strange that he should join -the Bernardists in straining the historical evidence. Yet he is -probably nearer to the truth than the others in his interpretation of -Bernard’s words. Even modern writers are too apt at times to follow -the practice of the Church, in judging a statement or an action, and -put it into one or other of their rigid objective categories. In -such cases as this we need a very careful psychological analysis, -and are prone to be misled by the Church’s objective moral boxes -or classifications. Most probably Bernard wrote in that convenient -vagueness of mind which sometimes helps even a saint out of a -difficulty, especially where the honour of the Church is involved, -and which is accompanied by just a suspicion of ethical discomfort. - -In reality, we may, with all sobriety, reverse Mr. Morison’s -statement, and say it is ‘not far short of impossible’ that Bernard -was ignorant of, or indifferent to, Abélard’s activity at that time. -Ten years previously, when Bernard led his little band of white-robed -monks to their wretched barn in the Vale of Bitterness, he went to -Châlons to be consecrated by William of Champeaux. William conceived -a very strong affection for the young abbot, and he shortly after -nursed him through a long and severe illness. So great was their -intimacy and so frequent their intercourse that people said Châlons -and Clairvaux had changed places. This began only twelve months -after William had been driven from Paris, in intense anger, by the -heretical upstart, Peter Abélard. Again, Alberic was another of -Bernard’s intimate friends. A year or two before Abélard founded -the Paraclete—that is to say, about the time of the Council of -Soissons—we find Bernard ‘imploring’ (so even Duchesne puts it) -the Pope to appoint Alberic to the vacant see of Châlons after the -death of William. He failed to obtain it, but afterwards secured for -him the archbishopric of Bourges. Anselm of Laon was also a friend -of Bernard’s. Moreover, Clairvaux was only about forty miles from -Troyes, where Abélard’s latest feat was the supreme topic. - -It is thus quite impossible for any but a prejudiced apologist to -question Bernard’s interest in the life of the Paraclete and its -founder. Even were he not the heresy-hunter and universal reformer -that he notoriously was, we should be compelled to think that he -had heard all the worst charges against Abélard over and over -again before 1124. To conceive Bernard as entombed in his abbey, -indifferent to everything in this world except the grave, is the -reverse of the truth. Bernard had a very profound belief in what -some theologians call ‘the law of secondary causes’—God does not -do directly what he may accomplish by means of human instruments. -Prayer was necessary; but so were vigilance, diplomacy, much running -to and fro, and a vast correspondence. He watched the Church of God -with the fiery zeal of a St. Paul. He knew everything and everybody: -smote archbishops and kings as freely as his own monks: hunted down -every heretic that appeared in France in his day: played even a large -part in the politics of Rome. And we are to suppose that such a man -was ignorant of the presence of the gay, rationalistic colony a few -leagues away from his abbey, and of the unique character and profound -importance to the Church of that vast concourse of youths; or that -he refrained from examining the teaching of this man who had an -unprecedented influence over the youth of France, or from using the -fulness of his power against him when he found that his teaching was -the reverse of all he held sacred and salutary. - -We may take Abélard’s statement literally. Bernard and Norbert were -doing the work of his rivals, and were doing it effectively. They -who had supported him at Soissons or afterwards were being poisoned -against him. Count Theobald and Geoffrey of Chartres are probably -two whom he had in mind. He feels that the net is being drawn close -about him through the calumnies of these ubiquitous monks and canons. -The peace of the valley is broken; he becomes morbidly sensitive -and timorous. Whenever he hears that some synod or conventicle has -been summoned he trembles with anxiety and expectation of another -Soissons. The awful torture of that hour before the council comes -back to him, and mingles with the thought of the power of his new -enemies. He must fly from France. - -Away to the south, over the Pyrenees, was a land where the poor monk -would have found peace, justice, and honour. Spain was just then -affording ‘glory to God in heaven, and peace to men of good-will on -earth’: it had been snatched from the dominion of Christianity for a -century or two. So tolerant and beneficent was the reign of the Moors -that even the Jews, crushed, as they were, by seven centuries of -persecution, developed their finest powers under it. They were found -in the front rank of every art and science; in every field where, not -cunning and astuteness, but talent of the highest order and industry, -were needed to command success. The Moors had happily degenerated -from the fierce proselytism of their religious prophet—whilst the -Christians had proportionately enlarged on that of theirs—and their -human character was asserting the high natural ideal which it always -does when it breaks away from the confining bonds of a narrow dogma. - -It was towards this land that Abélard turned his thoughts. It seemed -useless for him to exchange one Christian land for another. A few -years before, a small group of French monks had created a centre of -education in a humble barn on the banks of the Cam; but was England -more tolerant than France? He remembered Roscelin’s experience. There -were famous schools in Italy; but some of his most brilliant pupils -at the Paraclete, such as Arnold of Brescia, had little good to say -of Italy. The evil lay in Christianity itself—in that intolerance -which its high claim naturally engendered. - -One does not like to accept too easily this romantic proposal to find -refuge under the protection of the crescent, yet Abélard’s words -compel us to do so. ‘God knows,’ he says, ‘that at times I fell -into so deep a despair that I proposed to go forth from Christendom -and betake me to the heathens ... to live a Christian life amid the -enemies of Christ.’ Possibly he would have done so, if he had had a -better knowledge of Spain at that time. The Arabs of Spain were no -enemies of Christ. Only a most perverse idea of their state could -make an able thinker and teacher thus regard a life amongst them as -a matter of ultimate and desperate resort. Had they but conquered -Europe, materially or morally, half the problems that still harass -it—or ought to do—would have been solved long ago. It is pathetic -to find Abélard speculating whether the hatred of the Christians -for him will not make his path easier to the favour of the Arabs, -by producing in them an impression that he had been unfaithful -to Christian dogma. The caliphs could keep a watchful eye on the -thoughts of professed Mohammedan philosophers, but they cared little -about the theories of others. Abélard, with his pronounced tendency -to concentrate on natural-religious and ethical truths, would have -found an honoured place in Spain; and he would quickly have buried -his dogmas there. - -Abélard was spared the trial of so desperate and dreadful a -secession. Far away on the coast of Brittany an abbot died in 1125, -and Abélard’s evil genius put it into the hearts of the monks to -offer the vacant dignity to the famous teacher. They sent some of -their number to see him at the Paraclete. It seemed a providential -outlet from his intolerable position. There were abbeys and abbeys, -it was true, but his Breton optimism and trust in fate closed that -avenue of speculation. Conon, Duke of Brittany, had agreed to his -installation. Suger made no opposition; he probably saw the net that -was being drawn about him in France. Abélard turned sadly away from -the vale of the Paraclete and the devoted colony, and faced the mists -of the west and of the future. ‘I came not to bring peace into the -world but the sword.’ - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE TRIALS OF AN ABBOT - - -Abélard had, of course, committed another serious blunder in -accepting the proffered ‘dignity.’ There was an error on both -sides, as there had been in his first fatal assumption of the cowl; -though on this occasion the pressure behind him was greater, the -alternative less clear, and the prospect at least uncertain. It will -be remembered that Abélard probably studied at Locmenach in his -early years. This was a branch monastery of the ancient abbey of St. -Gildas at Rhuys, on the coast; and it is not impossible that some -recollection of the monks of Locmenach entered into his decision to -become abbot of St. Gildas. There were probably few abbeys in France -at the time which were sufficiently moral and earnest in their life -to offer a congenial home to this man who is held up to the blushes -of the ages as a sinner, and of whom the Church only speaks in the -low and solemn tone that befits a great scandal. If Abélard’s first -and chief misfortune is that he was a Christian, his second is that -he was a monk. - -The abbey of St. Gildas had reached the last stage of monastic -decay. The monks did not accept presents of pretty maid-servants, -nor receive fine lady visitors in their abbey, like the monks of St. -Denis; nor were they eager to have a nunnery of sisters in religion -close at hand, like the cloistered canons. Theirs was not a case for -the application of the words of Erasmus: ‘Vocantur “patres”—et saepe -sunt.’ Each monk had a respectable wife and family on the monastic -estate. The outlying farms and cottages were colonised with the women -and the little monklings; there was no cemetery of infant bones at -or near St. Gildas. Their monasticism consisted in the discharge of -their formal religious exercises in church and choir—the chant of the -Mass and of the breviary. And when the monk had done his day’s work -of seven or eight hours’ chanting, he would retire, like every other -Christian, to the bosom of his family. The half-civilised Celtic -population of the district were quite content with this version of -their duty, and did not refuse them the customary sustenance. - -Abélard’s horror on discovering this state of things was equalled by -the surprise of the monks when they discovered his Quixotic ideas of -monastic life. They only knew Abélard as the amorous troubadour, the -teacher who attracted crowds of gay and wealthy scholars wherever he -went, the object of the bitter hostility of the monastic reformers -whom they detested. It was the Bernardist or Norbertian Abélard whom -they had chosen for their abbot. Surprise quickly turned to disgust -when the new abbot lectured them in chapter—as a sexless ascetic -could so well do—on the beauty of continence and the Rule of St. -Benedict. They were rough, ignorant, violent men, and they soon made -it clear that reform was hopelessly out of the question. - -The very locality proved an affliction. He had exchanged the gentle -beauty and the mild climate of the valley of the Seine for a wild, -bleak, storm-swept sea-shore. The abbey was built on a small -promontory that ran out into the Bay of Biscay, a few leagues to the -south of Vannes. It was perched on the edge of the steep granite -cliffs, and Abélard’s very pen seems to shudder as he writes of the -constant roar of the waves at the foot of the rocks and the sweep of -the ocean winds. Behind them stretched a long series of sand-hills. -They occupied a scarcely gracious interval between desolation and -desolation. For Abélard was not of the temperament to appreciate the -grandeur of an ever-restless ocean or to assimilate the strength that -is borne on its winds. He was sadly troubled. Here he had fled, he -says, to the very end of the earth, the storm-tossed ocean barring -his further retreat, yet he finds the world no less repulsive and -cruel. - -In the character of abbot, Abélard was at liberty to seek what -consolation he could outside his abbey. He soon found that there -was none to be had in the vicinity of Rhuys. ‘The whole barbarous -population of the land was similarly lawless and undisciplined,’ -he says; that seems to include such other monks and priests as the -locality contained. Even their language was unintelligible to him, -he complains; for, although he was a Breton, his ear would only -be accustomed to Latin and to Romance French, which would differ -considerably from the Celtic Bas-Breton. Whether the lord of the -district was equally wild—as seems most probable—or no, the way to -his château was barred by another difficulty. He was considered the -bitter enemy of the abbey, for he had ‘annexed’ the lands that -belonged by right to the monks. Moreover he exacted a heavy tribute -from them. They were frequently without food, and wandered about -stealing all they could lay their hands on for the support of their -wives and families. They violently urged Abélard to fight for their -rights and find food for them, instead of giving them his ethereal -discourses. And the abbot succeeded just far enough to embitter the -usurper against him, without obtaining much for his lawless monks. He -found himself in a new dilemma. If he remained in the abbey he was -assailed all day by the hungry clamour and the brutal violence of his -‘subjects’; if he went abroad the tyrannical lord threatened to have -him done to death by his armed retainers. - -For three or four years Abélard sustained this miserable existence -almost without alleviation. In 1129, however, an event occurred -which, evil as it looked at the moment, proved a source of -considerable happiness to him for some years. - -Abbot Suger, the cowled warrior and statesman, had become monastic -reformer after his conversion. The circumstance proved more lucrative -to St. Denis than would be thought. In his _De rebus a se gestis_, -Suger writes at great length of the additional possessions he -secured for the abbey, and amongst these is enumerated the nunnery -of St. Mary at Argenteuil. He was not only a rigid disciplinarian, -but he had an unusual acquaintance with ancient records. Many of -his early years at St. Denis had been spent in the _archivium_, in -diligent scrutiny of deeds and documents relating to the earlier -history of the abbey. One day when he was absorbed in this study -he hit upon a document from which it seemed possible to prove that -the convent of the Benedictine nuns at Argenteuil, two or three -miles away, belonged to the monks of St. Denis. It was a complicated -question, the nuns dating their possession from the time of -Charlemagne. But when Suger became abbot of St. Denis himself, and -eager to employ his political ability and influence in the service of -the abbey, he recollected, along with others, the document relating -to the nunnery. When, moreover, he had been converted, he was able -to see the licentiousness of the nuns of Argenteuil, and make it a -pretext for asserting the rights of his abbey. - -In 1127, he states in his Life, he obtained from Honorius II. a bull -which was supposed to legalise his seizure of the convent: ‘both in -justice to ourselves and on account of the enormity of life of the -nuns who were established there, he restored the place to us with its -dependencies, so that the religious life might be re-instituted in -it.’ In his _Vita Ludovici Grossi_ he also lays stress on the ‘foul -enormity’ of life in the nunnery. - -How far we may accept the strong language of the enterprising abbot -it would be difficult to say. Honorius, who would be flattered by the -request to pronounce on the domestics difficulties of the Church of -France, would certainly not be over-exacting in the matter of proof. -Still, he sent a legate, the Bishop of Albano, and directed him to -hold an inquiry into the affair, together with the Archbishop of -Rheims and the Bishops of Paris, Chartres, and Soissons. The name of -Geoffrey of Chartres is a guarantee that the inquiry was more than a -mere cloak to cover the sanctioning of a questionable act. Although, -we must remember, Suger does not quote their words in the above -passage, they must have decided that his charge was substantially -founded. The nuns were turned out of their convent a few months -afterwards. - -The asserted corruption of the nunnery is quite in accord with what -we know of the period from other sources. We have already quoted -Jacques de Vitry’s observation that none of the convents of the time, -except those of the Cistercians (his own order), were fit places for -an honest woman; and he describes the ‘thousand tricks and wicked -artifices’ by which respectable dames were sometimes induced to enter -them. The same Vandyke-like painter of the morals of the twelfth -century elsewhere passes a comprehensive sentence on the convents of -canonesses. Nor was this the first Parisian nunnery to be suppressed -in the twelfth century. There was until 1107 a convent of Benedictine -nuns on the island, on the site of the present Rue Calende. It was -close to the royal palace; and the relations of the nuns to the -nobles of the court had become so notorious that Bishop Galo had -to intervene and put the good sisters on the street. One has only -to read Abélard’s sermon on ‘Susannah’ (delivered to an exemplary -community of nuns) to realise the condition of the average nunnery at -that time. - -Heloise was prioress of the convent of Argenteuil. This is, indeed, -the only circumstance that need make us hesitate to accept Suger’s -words at their literal value. The Heloise of those writers who have -but touched the love-romance of the famous couple, without entering -into a deeper study of their characters, is pitifully inadequate. She -had all the passion that poetic or decadent admirer has ever given -her; she had that freer, because narrower, view of the love-relation, -which only regarded her own particular and exceptional case, and did -not extend to the thousand cases on which the broad law of matrimony -is based; and she retained her ardent love and her particularist -view throughout long years of conventual life. We may examine this -more directly in the next chapter. For the moment it reveals, when -it is taken in conjunction with that integrity and altitude of life -which none can hesitate to assign her, a strength and elevation of -character which are frequently obscured by the mere admirers of her -passion. We know nothing whatever of the eight or nine miserable -years of her life at Argenteuil; but as soon as she does emerge into -the light of history (in 1130) she is found to be of an elevated and -commanding character. She was prior, not abbess, at Argenteuil. When -she became abbess, her community became a centre of light in France. - -Still, Heloise shared the fate of her sisters, if she had not shared -their sin; in fact, we may see a protest against their life in her -refusal to follow them to a new home. Suger had been directed to find -a nunnery which would receive the evicted sisters, and most of them -had gone to St. Mary of Footel. Heloise had not accompanied them, -and she was still without a canonical home in 1129, when the news of -these events reached the distant abbey of St. Gildas. - -The finest and supreme test of love is to purge it of the last subtle -admixture of sexual feeling and then measure its strength. As a rule -this is wholly impracticable—Mr. W. Platt has a remarkable paper on -the subject in his _Women, Love, and Life_—but in the case of Abélard -the test was applied in supreme rigour, and with a satisfactory -issue. There was indeed another consideration impelling Abélard, -when he sought out his nun-wife. The desertion of the Paraclete had -cost him many a heavy thought. The little estate was still his legal -property, but it was insufficient to support a priest and companion -at the oratory. He would assuage both anxieties by installing Heloise -and such companions as she chose in his old home. But the course -of the story will reveal more clearly the deep affection he had -for Heloise. It was faithfulness to the views he held since his -conversion, faithfulness to the ideal of the best men of the time, -as well as a dread of the ever ready tongue of the calumniator, that -separated him so long and so sternly from her. - -In 1129, therefore, the year in which the plague ravaged Paris, -Abélard revisited the quiet valley of the Arduzon. Thither he invited -Heloise and some of her companions, to whom he made over the legal -possession of the estate. Poor Heloise must have been disappointed. -The ardour which she reveals in her letters was evidently met by a -great restraint and formality on his side. He was severely correct -in the necessary intercourse with his ‘sisters in religion.’ Later -events showed that, ridiculous as it may well seem, he had good -reason for this deference to detractors. However, Heloise soon won -universal regard and affection in Champagne. ‘The bishops came to -love her as a daughter,’ says Abélard, ‘the abbots as a sister, -and the laity as a mother.’ They lived in deep poverty and some -anxiety at first, but nobles and prelates soon added generously -to the resources of the new foundation. Noble dames, too, brought -rich dowries with them in coming to ask for the veil in Heloise’s -respected community. The priory grew rapidly in importance and good -repute. - -In 1131 Abélard sought a further favour for the new foundation, in -having Heloise raised to the dignity of abbess. Innocent II. was -making a journey through France, and lavishing favours (when they -cost him nothing) generously and gratuitously on all sides, behaving -in a manner that departed widely from papal traditions. It was -the second year of the great papal schism, and, Anacletus having -bought or otherwise secured Rome, through his family, the Pierleoni, -Innocent was making a successful bid for France, where exception -was taken to Pierleone’s Jewish strain. Passing from Chartres to -Liége, on his way to meet Lothair of Saxony, Innocent spent a day or -two at the Benedictine abbey of Morigni. Abélard joined the crowd -of prelates who assembled there to do homage to the pope, and he -obtained the promise of a bull (which was duly sent), conferring the -dignity of abbess on Heloise, and securing to her and her successors -the full canonical rights of their abbey. Abélard seems to have -been received with distinction by the papal court. The chronicle of -Morigni mentions the presence of the Abbot of St. Gildas, and adds: -‘the most distinguished teacher and master in the schools, to whom -lovers of learning flocked from almost the whole of Christendom.’ -Later, too, Abélard boasts (so says Bernard) of his friends amongst -the Roman cardinals; it must have been during the stay of the papal -court at Morigni that he met them. Another noteworthy personage whom -Abélard met there was St. Bernard. We have no details about this -first meeting of the two great antagonists, but their names occur -side by side in the chronicle as those of the most eminent teacher -and the most distinguished preacher in France. - -In the increasing bitterness of life at St. Gildas Abélard now -naturally sought consolation in the new abbey of the Paraclete. His -relation to Heloise personally remained marked by a reserve which -hurt her, but his visits to the abbey became more frequent and -prolonged. It appears that this loosened the tongues of some foolish -people, and Abélard took up the accusation, or insinuation, with -his usual gravity. His apology is often described as ‘ridiculous’ -and ‘painful’; and one certainly cannot take very seriously his -dissertation on Origen’s misdeed and the Oriental custom of -eunuch-guardians. More interesting is the second part, in which he -urges many precedents of the familiarity of saintly men with women. -His favourite saint, Jerome, afforded a conspicuous illustration; -and others were not wanting. It is too early in the history of -theology to find the example of Christ adduced. A modern apologist -could greatly extend the list, beginning with Francis of Assisi (and -Clare) and ending with Francis de Sales (and Madame de Chantal). -Perhaps Abélard’s own case is the clearest proof that even masked -sexual feeling may be entirely absent from such attachments. Those -who care to analyse them will probably find the greater refinement, -gentleness, sympathy, and admiration of women to be quite adequate to -explain such saintly intimacies, without any subtle research into the -psychology of sex. However, the complaint seems to have moderated the -abbot’s fervour for a time; and indeed events soon became absorbingly -interesting at St. Gildas. - -The frequent journeys to Champagne increased the bitterness of his -monks. Then he had a serious accident, nearly breaking his neck in -a fall from his horse. When he recovered, he found that his monks -had entered upon a most dangerous stage of conspiracy. The accident -seems to have suggested an idea to them, and they determined to rid -themselves of an abbot who was worse than useless. They even put -poison in the wine which he was to use in the Mass one morning, -but he discovered the fact in time. On another occasion he had -an adventure which may have suggested an important incident in -M. Zola’s _Rome_. He had gone to Nantes to visit the count in an -illness, and was staying with his brother Dagobert, who was a canon -in the cathedral. When the time came for the abbot and his monastic -companion to sup, Abélard had, providentially, lost his appetite—or -suspected something. The monk supped—and died. As Abélard’s servant -disappeared after the meal, it was natural to suppose that he had -been paid by the ferocious monks to poison their abbot. ‘How many -times did they try to do away with me by poison!’ he exclaimed. But -he lived apart from them, and succeeded in frustrating the attempt. -Then they hired robbers to apply their professional skill to the -task. Whenever the monks heard that he was going anywhere, they -planted a few cut-throats on the route. - -Abélard had no great love for this Dionysiac existence, and he -resolved to make a bold effort at reform. He summoned the monks in -solemn chapter, and hurled the sentence of excommunication at the -leaders of the revolt. It sat more lightly on their shoulders than -the abbot anticipated, and he proceeded to call in the help of a -papal legate. The Duke of Brittany and several neighbouring bishops -were invited to the function, and the sentence of excommunication -and expulsion from the abbey was repeated with impressive ceremony. -The chief rebels were thus restricted to following the abbot’s -movements without—in company, apparently, of the hired assassins -of the monks and the equally dangerous servants of the lord of the -manor—and Abélard devoted his attention to reforming the remainder of -the community. But the old abbey was past redemption. ‘The remaining -monks began to talk, not of poison, but of cutting my throat,’ he -says. The circle of knives was drawing closer upon him, within and -without, and he saw that it would be impossible to guard his life -much longer. He gave up the struggle, and fled from the abbey. There -is a local tradition which tells of a secret flight by night through -a subterranean passage leading down to the sea. Abélard at least -intimates there was little dignity in his retirement, when he says: -‘under the guidance of a certain noble of the district I succeeded, -with great difficulty, in escaping from the abbey.’ - -Where Abélard found refuge from his murderous ‘sons,’ and where -he spent the next three or four years, it is difficult to say. He -probably moved from place to place, generally remaining in the -neighbourhood of Rhuys, but occasionally journeying to Champagne -or accepting an invitation to preach at some special festival. The -‘certain noble’—an uncertain one, as the phrase usually implies—would -be likely to give him immediate hospitality; and the Count of Nantes -was friendly, and would find Abélard a graceful addition at his -board. Then there was the family château at Pallet, and the house -of his brother Dagobert at Nantes. We seem to find Abélard’s boy, -Astrolabe, under the care of this brother later on. Abélard would at -all events see much of him, and assist in educating him, either at -Pallet or Nantes. The son had, apparently, not inherited the gifts of -his parents. An obscure mention of his death in a later _necrologium_ -merely indicates the close of a correct but ordinary ecclesiastical -career. - -But though Abélard lacked neither wealth, nor honour, nor home, he -speaks of his condition as a very pitiable one. Deutsch has hazarded -the conjecture that the monks of St. Gildas really desired an abbot -who would be generally absent. It seems rather that they wanted -an abbot who would share their comfortable theory of life and at -the same time have influence to enrich the abbey, discontinue the -paying of tribute, and induce a higher authority to restrain their -tyrannical neighbours. They were therefore naturally inflamed when -Abélard deserted the immediate concerns of the abbey, yet remained -near enough to secure his revenue out of its income. He retained his -title (we find no successor appointed until after his death), and as -he speaks of wealth, we must suppose that he somehow continued to -obtain his income. The Count of Nantes would probably support his -cause as long as he remained in Brittany. But, at the same time, -this detained him in the constant danger of assassination. Wherever -he went, he apprehended bribery and corruption, poison and poniards. -‘My misery grew with my wealth,’ he says, and ‘I find no place where -I may rest or live.’ His classical reading promptly suggests the -parallel of Damocles. - -It was in these circumstances that Abélard wrote the famous letter -which he entitled the ‘Story of my Calamities.’ The passage I have -just quoted occurs in its closing paragraph. It is an invaluable -document for the purpose of the great master’s biography. Without -it, the life of Abélard would occupy only a score of pages. His -contemporaries had numbers of monastic followers and admirers who -were eager to write their deeds in letters of gold. The little band -of friends who stood around Abélard in his final struggle were -scattered, cowed, or murdered, by triumphant Bernardism. At the -mention of Bernard’s name Christendom crossed itself and raised its -eyes to the clouds: at the mention of the ‘Peripatetic of Pallet’ it -closed its pious lips, forgetful, or ignorant, of the twenty years -of profound sorrow for the one grave delinquency of his life. If -the sins of youth are to leave an indelible stain, one is forced to -recall that Augustine had been a greater sinner, and that the Canon -of the Church contains the names of converted prostitutes, such as -Mary of Magdala and Mary Magdalene of Pazzi. It may be thought by -some Catholics that, in the uncertainty of human judgment, there is -a providential criterion given in the working of miracles; but, once -more, even the fifth century only credited St. Augustine with two -miracles. And if intention to serve the Church be all-important, -Abélard has won high merit; or if effective service to the Church, -then is his merit the greater, for the thirteenth century, in its -construction of that theology and philosophy which the Church even -now deems sufficient for the needs of the world, utterly rejected -Bernardism, and borrowed its foundation from Pierre Abélard. - -As a piece of literature the ‘Story’ lies under the disadvantage of -being written in degenerate Latin. With all his classical reading, -Abélard has not escaped the use of forms which gravely offend the -classical taste. Perhaps John of Salisbury is superior to him in -this respect; there have certainly been later theologians, such -as Petavius, who have far surpassed him. But, apart from this -limitation in form, it is as high above the many biographies and -autobiographies of his contemporaries as he himself was above most -of their writers. Abbot Suger’s autobiography is a piece of vulgar -and crude self-advertisement beside it. It has not the mere chance -immortality which honours such works as that of Suger, and which is -wholly due to the zeal of the modern collector of ancient documents; -it has the germ of immortality within it—the same soul that lives in -the _Confessions_ of Augustine: those who understand that soul will -not add the _Confession_ of Rousseau. And the confession of Abélard -has this singular feature: it is written by a man to whom the former -sinful self is dead in a way which was impossible to Augustine. That -feature implies both advantages and disadvantages, but it at least -gives a unique value and interest to the document. - -We have throughout relied on and quoted this autobiography, so that -an analysis of its contents would be superfluous. There remains, -however, the interesting question of Abélard’s motive for writing -it. It is ostensibly written as a letter, addressed to a friend who -is in trouble, and merely intended to give him some consolation by a -comparison of the sorrows of Abélard. No one will seriously question -that this is only a rhetorical artifice. Probably it reached such -a friend, but it was obviously written for ‘publication.’ In its -sincere acknowledgment of whatever fault lay on his conscience, only -striving to excuse where the intention was clearly good, that is, in -the matter of his theological opinions, the letter must be regarded -as a conciliatory document. Not only its elaborate construction, but -its care in explaining how guiltless he was in the making of most -of his enemies—Anselm, Alberic, Norbert, Bernard, and the monks of -St. Denis and St. Gildas—impel us to think that it was intended for -circulation in France. In a few years we shall find him in Paris once -more. Deutsch believes that the ‘Story’ was written and circulated to -prepare the way for his return, and this seems very probable. From -‘the ends of the earth’ his thoughts and hopes were being redirected -towards Paris; it had availed him nothing to fly from it. But there -were calumnious versions abroad of every step in his eventful life, -and even Bernard sneered at his experience at St. Gildas. He would -make an effort to regain the affection of some of his old friends, or -to create new admirers. - -Whatever may have been the aim of Abélard in writing his ‘Story,’ -it had one immediate consequence of the first literary importance. -Great of itself, it evoked a correspondence which is unique in the -literature of the world. It fell into the hands of Abbess Heloise, -and led to the writing of her famous _Letters_. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE LETTERS OF ABÉLARD AND HELOISE - - -The true interest of the correspondence between the abbot husband -and the abbess wife, which resulted from the publication of the -‘Story of my Calamities,’ needs to be pointed out afresh at the -beginning of the twentieth century. It has been obscured through -the eagerness of historians to indicate parallels and the tendency -of poets and romancers to isolate features which appeal to them. -During the eighteenth century the famous letters were made familiar -to English readers by a number of translations from the French or -from the original Latin. Even then there was a tendency to read -them apart from the lives of the writers, or at least without an -adequate preliminary study of their characters and their fortunes. -Those translations are read no longer. Apart from the limited number -of readers who have appreciated the excellent French versions of -Madame Guizot and M. Gréard, an idea is formed of the letters and -their writers from a few ardent fragments, which are misleading in -their isolation, and from the transference of the names ‘Abélard’ -and ‘Heloise’ to more recent characters of history or romance. The -letters must be read anew in the light of our augmented knowledge and -of the juster psychological analysis which it has made possible. - -There are those whose sole knowledge of Heloise is derived from the -reading of Pope’s well-known poem, which is taken to be a metrical -exposition of her first letter. With such an impression, and a few -broad outlines of the life of the lovers, one is well prepared to -accept the assertion of a parallel with the _Portuguese Letters_ -and other of the _lettres amoureuses_ which were so dear to the -eighteenth century. Probably few who compare Pope with the original, -or indeed read him without comparison, will agree with Hallam that -he has put ‘the sentiments of a coarse and abandoned woman into -her mouth.’ Johnson found ‘no crudeness of sense, no asperity of -language’ in Pope’s poem. Yet no one who has carefully read the -original will fail to perceive that Pope has given a greatly -distorted version of it. French versifiers found it ‘un amusement -littéraire et galant,’ as has been said of Bussy-Rabutin’s version, -to isolate the element of passion in the finer soul of Heloise, and -thus present her as a twelfth-century Marianne Alcoforado. Pope has -yielded somewhat to the same spirit. He does indeed introduce the -intellectual judgment and the complex ethical feeling of Heloise -in his poem, but he alters the proportions of the psychic elements -in her letter, and prepares the way for a false estimate. Pope’s -_Heloise_ is framed in the eighteenth century as naturally as the -real _Heloise_ is in the twelfth. Still, it must be remembered that -Pope did not write from the original Latin letters. He evidently used -some of the so-called ‘translations,’ but really paraphrases, of his -time.[21] - - [21] Mr. Leslie Stephen has kindly drawn my attention to Elwin’s - theory (Pope’s Works) that he followed the translation of J. - Hughes, author of the _Siege of Damascus_. Hughes’s ‘translation’ - was little more faithful than the current French versions; it is - largely a work of imagination. Careful comparison does seem to - show that Pope used this version, but he seems also to have used - some of the very misleading French paraphrases. Elwin himself - thinks Pope did not look at the original Latin. - -The charge must also be laid, though with less insistence, against -the parallels which some writers have discovered, or invented, for -Heloise. The most famous are the _Portuguese Letters_, a series of -singularly ardent love-letters from a Portuguese nun to a French -noble. The correspondents are said to have been Marianne Alcoforado -and M. de Chamilly—to look at whom, said St. Simon, you would never -have thought him the soul of the _Portuguese Letters_. He was -neither talented nor handsome, and his liaison with the nun seems to -have been no more than the usual temporary incident in a soldier’s -life. When he returned to France she wrote the letters which are so -frequently associated with those of Heloise. It is an unworthy and -a superficial comparison. There is a ground for comparison in the -condition of the writer and in the free and vivid expression of a -consuming love, but they are separated by profound differences. The -Portuguese nun has nothing but her love; her life is being consumed -in one flame of passion. Heloise is never so wholly lost in her -passion; she can regard it objectively. Even were Abélard other -than he was at the time, no one who knows Heloise could conceive -her, after her vows, to say, ‘if it were possible for me to get out -of this miserable cloister, I should not wait in Portugal for the -fulfilment of your promise,’ or imagine her, under any conditions, -to talk lightheartedly to her lover of ‘the languid pleasures your -French mistresses give you,’ and remind him that he only sought -in her ‘un plaisir grossier.’ There is not a word, in any of the -_Portuguese Letters_, of God, of religious vows, of any thought or -feeling above the plane of sense, of any appreciation of the literal -sacrilege of her position, of anything but a wilful abandonment to a -violent passion. - -There are the same defects, though they are less obtrusive, in the -parallel which Rousseau claimed in giving the title of the _Nouvelle -Heloïse_ to his Savoyard letters. The accidental resemblance of the -religious costume is wanting here, but, on the other hand, there is -a greater show of character. Rousseau has confused the Heloise of -1117 and the abbess of the letters. From another point of view, one -would like to know what Bussy-Rabutin or Colardeau would have thought -of the _Nouvelle Heloïse_ as the expression of an absorbing passion. -Rousseau, who held that the _Portuguese Letters_ had been written by -a man, was of the singular opinion that no woman could describe, or -even feel, love. The letters of his Julie are pale fires beside the -first and second letters of Heloise.[22] - - [22] I hardly like to speak of the feeble creation of Robert - Buchanan in such a company, but his ‘New Abélard’ is a further - illustration. His pitiful Mr. Bradley has no earthly resemblance - to Abélard, except in a most superficial sense. It is grotesque - to compare him to Abélard for his ‘heresy’; and to say that he - recalls Abélard in his weakness (to the extent of bigamously - marrying and blasting the life of a noble woman) is deeply - unjust. Abélard was not a cad. - -In direct opposition to the writers who find parallels for the -correspondence of abbess and abbot we have a few critics who deny or -doubt the authenticity of the letters. It is significant that the -recent and critical German biographers of Abélard do not even mention -these doubts. They have, in truth, the slenderest of foundations. -Lalanne, who has endeavoured to spread this heresy in faithful -France, can say little more than that he cannot reconcile the tone -of the letters with the age and condition of the writers; he also -says that Abélard would be hardly likely to preserve such letters -had he received them from his wife. Orelli has tried to sow similar -doubts in the apparently more promising soil of German culture, but -with no greater success. If it seems incredible that Heloise should -have penned the letters which bear her name, how shall we qualify -the supposition that there lived, some time within the following -century, a genius capable of creating them, yet utterly unknown to -his contemporaries? If they are the work of some admirer of Abélard, -as Orelli thinks, they reveal a higher literary competency than -Rousseau shows in his _Nouvelle Heloïse_. We are asked to reject -a wonder in the name of a greater wonder. Moreover, an admirer of -Abélard would not have written the letters which bear his name in a -style that has won for him anything but the admiration of posterity. -And it is quite impossible to admit one series of the letters without -the other. - -Setting apart the letters of Abélard, which it is idle to question -in themselves, it must be admitted that there are features in the -letters of Heloise which are startling to the modern mind. These are -the features on which her romantic admirers have concentrated; they -will appear in due course. But when one evades the pressure of modern -associations, and considers the correspondence in its twelfth-century -setting, there is no inherent improbability in it. Rather the -reverse. As to the publication of letters in which husband and wife -had written the most sacred confidences, we need not suppose, as M. -Gréard does, that Heloise ever intended such a result, or built -up her notes into letters for that purpose. Nothing compels us to -think that they were brought together until years after the writers -had been laid in a common tomb. There are obvious interpolations, -it is true, but we shall only increase the difficulty—nay, we shall -create a difficulty—if we look upon the most extraordinary passages -in the letters as coming from any other source than the heart of an -impassioned lover. - -As regards what a logician would call the external difficulty—that -we cannot trace the letters further back than the middle of the -thirteenth century—it need not discompose us. The conditions which -make a negative argument of that character valid are not present -here. Abélard had been condemned and his party scattered. There are -no writers to whom we should look for allusions to the letters before -Guillaume de Lorris and Jehan le Meung manifestly introduce them in -the _Roman de la Rose_. Indeed this circumstance, and the fact that -the oldest manuscript we have dates from one hundred years after the -death of Heloise, incline one to think that she wished the treasure -to be preserved in a reverent privacy. - -To give any large proportion of the letters here would be -impossible, yet we must give such extracts from them as may serve -in the task of reconstructing character. It was an age when the -practice, if not the art, of letter-writing greatly flourished. -St. Bernard’s letters form a portly and a remarkable volume. The -chroniclers of the time have preserved an immense number of the Latin -epistles which busy couriers bore over the land. One is prepared, -therefore, to find much formality, much attention to the rules and -the conventional graces of the epistolary art, even in the letters of -Heloise. The strong, impetuous spirit does at times break forth, in -splendid violence, from its self-imposed restraint, but we have, on -the whole, something very unlike the utter and unthinking outpouring -of an ebullient passion which is found in the letters of the -Portuguese nun. Arguments are rounded with quotations from classic -writers; dialectical forms are introduced here and there; a care for -literary manner and construction of the Latin periods is manifested. -Bayle says her Latin is ‘too frequently pedantic and subtile.’ It is, -at all events, much superior to the average Latinity of the time, -though, as in the case of Abélard, the characteristic defects of this -are not entirely avoided. - -Some day, then, after his ‘Story’ had gone forth on its peaceful -mission into France, Abélard received a folded parchment in the once -familiar hand. - -‘To her lord, yea father: to her spouse, yea brother: from his -servant, yea daughter—his wife, his sister: to Abélard from Heloise.’ - -So ran the superscription, a curious effort to breathe life into a -formality of the day. Chance has brought to their abbey, she says, -a copy of the letter he has recently sent forth. The story of his -saddened life and of the dangers that yet multiply about him has -affected them so deeply that they are filled with anxiety for him. -‘In hourly anguish do our trembling hearts and heaving breasts await -the dread rumour of thy death. By Him who still extends to thee an -uncertain protection we implore thee to inform us, His servants and -thine, by frequent letter, of the course of the storms in which -thou art still tossed; so that thou mayst let us at least, who have -remained true to thee, share thy sorrow or thy joy. And if the storm -shall have abated somewhat, so much the more speedily do thou send -us an epistle which will bring so much joy to us.’ She invokes the -authority of Seneca on the epistolary duties of friends, and she -has a holier claim than that of friend, a stronger one than that of -wife. ‘At thy command I would change, not merely my costume, but my -very soul, so entirely art thou the sole possessor of my body and -my spirit. Never, God is my witness, never have I sought anything -in thee but thyself: I have sought thee, not thy gifts. I have not -looked to the marriage bond or dowry: I have not even yearned to -satisfy my own will and pleasure, but thine, as thou well knowest. -The name of wife may be the holier and more approved, but the name -of friend—nay, mistress or concubine, if thou wilt suffer it—has -always been the sweeter to me. For in thus humbling myself for -thee, I should win greater favour from thee, and do less injury to -thy greatness. This thou hast thyself not wholly forgotten, in the -aforesaid letter thou hast written for the consolation of a friend. -Therein also thou hast related some of the arguments with which I -essayed to turn thee from the thought of our unhappy wedlock, though -thou hast omitted many in which I set forth the advantage of love -over matrimony, freedom over bondage. God is my witness that if -Augustus, the emperor of the whole world, were to honour me with the -thought of wedlock, and yield me the empire of the universe, I should -deem it more precious and more honourable to be thy mistress than to -be the queen of a Cæsar.’ - -She claims no merit for her devotion. Abélard’s greatness more than -justifies her seeming extravagance. ‘Who,’ she asks, going back to -his golden age, ‘who did not hasten forth to look as thou didst walk -abroad, or did not follow thee with outstretched neck and staring -eyes? What wife, what maid, did not yearn for thee? What queen or -noble dame was there who did not envy my fortune?’ - -Yet she would ask this measure of gratitude from him, that he write -to her at times. He had never known refusal from her. ‘It was not -religious fervour that drew me to the rigour of the conventual life, -but thy command. How fruitlessly have I obeyed, if this gives me no -title to thy gratitude!... When thou didst hasten to dedicate thyself -to God I followed thee—nay, I went before thee. For, as if mindful of -the looking back of Lot’s wife, thou didst devote me to God before -thyself, by the sacred habit and vows of the monastery. Indeed it was -in this sole circumstance that I had the sorrow and the shame of -noting thy lack of confidence in me. God knows that I should not have -hesitated a moment to go before or to follow thee to the very gates -of hell, hadst thou commanded it. My soul was not my own but thine.’ - -Let him, therefore, make this small return of a letter to relieve -her anxiety. ‘In earlier days, when thou didst seek worldly pleasure -with me, thy letters were frequent enough; thy songs put the name of -Heloise on every lip. Every street, every house in the city, echoed -with my name. How juster would it be to lead me now to God than thou -then didst to pleasure! Think then, I beseech thee, how much thou -owest me. With this brief conclusion I terminate my long letter. -Farewell, beloved.’ - -It is small wonder that the epistle placed Abélard in some -perplexity. True, the devoted Heloise had spoken throughout in the -past tense. But the ardour and the violence of her phrases betrayed -a present depth of emotion which he must regard with some dismay. -He had trusted that time and discipline would subdue the flame he -had enkindled, and here it was indirectly revealed to live still in -wondrous strength. He could not refuse to write, nor indeed would -such a neglect profit anything; but he would send her a long letter -of spiritual direction, and endeavour to divert her meditations. - -‘To Heloise, his sister in Christ, from Abélard, her brother in Him,’ -was the characteristic opening of his reply. If he has not written to -her since her conversion, he says, it is not from neglect nor want of -affection, but from the thought that she needed neither counsel nor -consolation. She had been prioress at Argenteuil, the consoler and -instructor of others. Yet, ‘if it seems otherwise to thy humility,’ -he will certainly write her on any point she may suggest. She has -spoken of prayer, and so he diverges into a long dissertation on the -excellence of prayer, which fills nearly the whole of his pages. On -one or two occasions only does he approach that colloquy of soul to -soul, for which Heloise yearned so ardently. ‘We ourselves are united -not only by the sanctity of our oath, but also by the identity of our -religious profession. I will pass over your holy community, in which -the prayers of so many virgins and widows ever mount up to God, and -speak of thee thyself, whose holiness hath much favour with God, I -doubt not, and remind thee what thou owest me, particularly in this -grievous peril of mine. Do thou remember, then, in thy prayers him -who is so specially thine own.’ And when at length he nears the end -of his edifying treatise, he once more bares the heart that still -beats within him. If, he says, they hear before long that he has -fallen a victim to the plots of his enemies, or has by some other -chance laid down his burden of sorrow, he trusts they will have his -body brought to rest in their home, his own dear Paraclete, ‘for -there is no safer and more blessed spot for the rest of a sorrowing -soul.’ - -The long letter is, on the whole, prudent and formal to a degree. Yet -it is not true that Abélard had nothing but coldness and prudence -to return to his wife’s devotion. It is quite obvious what Abélard -would conceive to be his duty in replying to Heloise. For her sake -and for his, for her happiness and his repute, he must moderate the -threatening fire. But that he had a true affection and sympathy for -her is made clear by the occasional failure of his pious resolution. -‘Sister, who wert once dear to me in the world and art now most dear -in Christ,’ he once exclaims parenthetically; and at other moments he -calls her ‘dearest sister,’ and even ‘beloved.’ When we remember the -gulf that now separated them, besides his obvious duty to guide her, -we shall accept the contrast of their letters without using harsh -words of the distracted abbot. But the pathos and the humanity of his -closing paragraph defeated his purpose, and the whole soul of the -abbess flames forth in her reply. - -It opens with a calm and somewhat artificial quarrel with the -superscription of his letter, but soon breaks out into strong -reproach for his talk of death. ‘How hast thou been able to frame -such thoughts, dearest?’ she asks; ‘how hast thou found words to -convey them?’ ‘Spare me, beloved,’ she says again: ‘talk not of death -until the dread angel comes near.’ Moreover, she and her nuns would -be too distracted with grief to pray over his corpse. Seneca and -Lucan are quoted to support her. Indeed she soon lapses into words -which the theologian would call blasphemous. She turns her face to -the heavens with that old, old cry, Where is Thy boasted justice? -They were untouched in the days of their sinful joy, but smitten with -a thousand sorrows as soon as their bed had the sacramental blessing. -‘Oh, if I dared but call God cruel to me! Oh, most wretched of all -creatures that I am!’ Women have ever been the ruin of men—Adam, -Solomon, Samson, Job—she runs through the long category of man’s -sneaking accusations. - -She wishes she could make satisfaction to God for her sin, but, ‘if -I must confess the true infirmity of my wretched soul, how can I -appease Him, when I am always accusing Him of the deepest cruelty -for this affliction?’ There is yet a further depth that she must -lay bare to her father confessor and her spouse. How can there be -question of penance ‘when the mind still retains the thought of -sinning, and is inflamed again with the old longing? So sweet did I -find the pleasures of our loving days, that I cannot bring myself to -reject them, nor banish them from my memory. Wheresoever I go they -thrust themselves upon my vision, and enkindle the old desire. Even -when I sleep they torment me with their fancied joy. Even during the -Mass, when our prayer should be purest, the dreadful vision of those -pleasures so haunts my soul that I am rather taken up with them than -with prayer. I ought to be lamenting what I have done; I am rather -lamenting what I miss. Not only our actions, but the places and the -times are so bound up with the thought of thee in my mind, that night -and day I am repeating all with thee in spirit. The movement of -body reveals my thoughts at times; they are betrayed in unguarded -speech. Oh, woe is me!... Not knowing my hypocrisy, people call me -“chaste.” They deem bodily integrity a virtue, whereas virtue resides -in the mind, not the body.’ Moreover, virtue should be practised out -of love for God, whereas ‘God knows that in every part of my life I -have more dread of offending thee than Him; I have a greater desire -to please thee than Him.’ Let him not deceive himself with trust in -_her_ prayers, but rather help her to overcome herself. And the poor -woman, the nobility of her soul hidden from her and crushed under the -appalling ethical ignorance and perverse ordering of her times, ends -with a plaintive hope that she may yet, in spite of all, find some -corner in heaven that will save her from the abyss. - -We have here the passages which have made Heloise an heroine in -erotic circles for so many centuries. On these words, isolated -from their context of religious horror and self-accusation, -have Bussy-Rabutin, and Pope, and the rest, erected their gaudy -structures; on them is grounded the parallel with Marianne -Alcoforado, and Rousseau’s Julie, and so many other women who have -meditated sin. Bayle has carried his Pyrrhonism so far as to doubt -that ‘bodily integrity’ which she claims for herself with so little -boasting; Chateaubriand, with broader and truer judgment, finds in -the letter the mirroring of the soul of a good woman. - -There can be little doubt that the optimism of Chateaubriand has -for once come nearer to the truth than the cynicism of Bayle. The -decadent admirers of Heloise forget three circumstances which should -have diminished their equivocal adoration: the letter is from a -wife to her husband, from a penitent to her spiritual guide—women -say such things every day in the confessional, even in this very -sensitive age—from a thoughtful woman to a man whom she knew to be -dead to every breath of sensual love. There is no parallel to such a -situation. - -Further, it is now obvious that the romancists have done injustice to -the soul of Heloise in their isolation of her impassioned phrases. -She objectifies her love: she is not wholly merged in it. She never -loses sight of its true position in her actual life. It is an evil, -a temptation, a torment—she would be free from it. Yet she is too -rational a thinker to turn to the easy theory of an outward tempter. -It is part of herself, a true outgrowth of the nature God has given -her; and between the voice of nature and the voice of conscience, -complicated by the influence of conventual tradition and written law, -her soul is rent with a terrific struggle. A modern confessor with a -knowledge of physiology—there are a few such—could have led her into -paths of peace without difficulty. There was no sin in her. - -It is impossible to say that Abélard sails faultlessly through these -troubled waters, but his answer to her on this point is true and -sound in substance. ‘God grant that it be so in thy soul as thou hast -written,’ he says in his next letter. It is true that he is chiefly -regarding her humility, and that he does not shed the kindly light of -human wisdom on her soul which an earlier Abélard would have done; -yet we can imagine what St. Bernard or Robert d’Arbrissel would -have answered to such an outpouring. However, apart from the happy -moderation of this reply, Abélard’s third letter only increases our -sympathy with this woman who wanders in the desert of the twelfth -century of the Christian era. The wild cry of the suffering heart has -startled him. He becomes painfully ingenious in defending Providence -and the monastic or Buddhistic view of life. As to his death, why -should she be moved so strongly? ‘If thou hadst any trust in the -divine mercy towards me, the more grievous the afflictions of this -life seem to thee the more wouldst thou desire to see me freed from -them! Thou knowest of a certainty that whoever will deliver me from -this life will deliver me from a heavy penalty. What I may incur -hereafter I know not, but there is no uncertainty as to that which I -escape.’ And again, when he comes to her accusations of Providence: -if she would follow him to ‘the home of Vulcan,’ why cannot she -follow him quietly to heaven? As to her saying that God spared them -in their guilt and smote them in their wedded innocence, he denies -the latter point. They were not innocent. Did they not have conjugal -relations in the holy nunnery of the Virgin at Argenteuil?[23] Did -he not profanely dress her in the habit of a nun when he took her -secretly to Pallet? Flushed with the success of his apology for -Providence, the unlucky abbot goes from bathos to bathos. There -was not merely justice but love in the divine ruling. They had -merited punishment, but had, ‘on the contrary,’ been rescued from -the ‘vile and obscene pleasures’ of matrimony, from the ‘mud and -mire,’ and so forth. His mutilation was a skilful operation on the -part of Providence ‘to remove the root of all vice and sordidness -from him, and make him fitter for the service of the altar.’ ‘I had -deserved death, and I have received life. Do thou, then, unite with -me in thanksgiving, my inseparable companion, who hast shared both -my sin and my reward.’ How fortunate it was that they married! ‘For -if thou hadst not been joined to me in matrimony, it might easily -have happened that thou wouldst have remained in the world’—the one -thing that would have saved her from utter desolation. ‘Oh, how dread -a loss, how lamentable an evil it had been, if in the seeking of -carnal pleasure thou hadst borne a few children in pain to the world, -whereas thou now bearest so great a progeny with joy to heaven.’ -Again the ‘mud and mire,’ and the thanksgiving. He even lends his -pen, in his spiritual ecstasy, to the writing of this fearful calumny -against himself: ‘Christ is thy true lover, not I; all that I sought -in thee was the satisfaction of my miserable pleasure.’ Her passions -are, like the artificially stimulated ones of the deacons in Gibbon -and of Robert d’Arbrissel, a means of martyrdom. He had been spared -all this, she had plaintively written; on the contrary, he urges, she -will win more merit and reward than he. - - [23] The one from which the nuns had been driven ‘on account of - the enormity of their life.’ - -I have given a full summary of the long epistle, because its -psychological interest is great. We have seen the gradual -transformation of Abélard—the steps in his ‘conversion’—from chapter -to chapter. This letter marks the deepest stage of his lapse into -Bernardism.[24] It offers an almost unprecedented contrast to -the Abélard of 1115. And this is the man, I may be pardoned for -repeating, who is held up by ecclesiastical writers (even such as -Newman) to the blushes of the ages. Perhaps the age is not far off -that will sincerely blush over him—not for his personal defects. - - [24] At a later date one of the censures passed by the doctors - of the Sorbonne on this classic sinner of the twelfth century is - that he finds a shade of sin in legitimate conjugal relations. - -Heloise was silenced. Whether the pious dissertation had really -influenced her, or the proud utterance of her plaint had relieved -her, or she closed in upon her heart after such a reply, it would be -difficult to say. Her next letter is calm, erudite, dialectical. ‘To -her lord as to species, her beloved in person’ is the quaint heading -of the epistle. She will try to keep her pen within due bounds in -future, but he knows the saying about ‘the fulness of the heart.’ -Nevertheless, ‘just as a nail is driven out by a new one, so it is -with thoughts.’ He must help her to dwell on other things. She and -her nuns beg him to write a new rule for them and a history of the -monastic life. There are points in the Rule of St. Benedict which are -peculiarly masculine; she discusses them in early mediæval style. She -would like her nuns to be permitted to eat meat and drink wine. There -is less danger in giving wine to women; and she naïvely quotes (from -Macrobius) Aristotle’s crude speculation on the subject. Then follows -a long dissertation on wine, temperance, and intemperance, bristling -with proofs and weighty authorities. Briefly, she quarrels with the -ascetic view of life. She happily avoids the hard sayings in which -Christ urges it on every page of the Gospels, and voices the eternal -compromise of human nature. Who may become Abélard’s successor as -their spiritual guide, she does not know. Let him appoint a rule of -life for them, which will guard them from unwise interference, and -let it concede a little in the way of soft clothing, meat, wine, and -other suspected commodities. - -Abélard complies willingly, quite entering into the spirit of -the nail theory. ‘I will make a brief and succinct reply to thy -affectionate request, dear sister,’ he begins, at the head of a -very long and very curious sketch of the history of monasticism. -It is a brilliant proof of Abélard’s erudition, relatively to his -opportunities, but at the same time an illustration of the power of -constructing most adequate ‘explanations’ without any reference to -the real agencies at work. - -In a later letter Abélard drew up the rule of life which had been -asked. It follows the usual principles and tendencies of such -documents. It offers, however, no little psychological interest in -connection with the modifications which the abbess has desired. -The dialectician feels a logical reluctance to compromise, and the -fervent monk cannot willingly write down half measures. Yet the human -element in him has a sneaking sympathy with the plea of the abbess, -and, with much explanation and a fond acceptance of Aristotelic -theories, the compromise is effected. To the manuscript of this -letter a later hand has added a smaller and more practical rule. -This is generally attributed to Heloise herself, and is certainly -the work of some early abbess of the Paraclete. It supplements -Abélard’s scheme of principles and general directions by a table of -regulations—as to beds, food, dress, visitors, scandals, etc.—of a -more detailed character. - -The closing letter of the famous series is one addressed by Abélard -to ‘the virgins of the Paraclete’ on the subject of ‘the study -of letters.’ It is from this epistle that we learn—as we do also -from a letter of Venerable Peter of Cluny—of Heloise’s linguistic -acquirements. The nuns are urged to undertake the study of the -Scriptural tongues, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and are reminded that -they have ‘a mother who is versed in these three languages.’ There -is reason to think that neither master nor pupil knew much Greek or -Hebrew. - -This is followed shortly by a number of hymns and sermons. Heloise -had asked him to write some hymns for liturgical use, so as to avoid -a wearisome repetition and to dispense with some inappropriate ones. -He sent ninety-three, but they are of little literary and poetic -value. The source of his old-time poetic faculty is dried up. A -sequence for the Feast of the Annunciation, which is attributed to -him, won praise from, of all people, Luther. But the number of hymns -and songs ‘attributed’ to Abélard is large. The sermons, of which -thirty-four are to be found in the collection of his works, are not -distinguished in their order. The abbot was not an eloquent preacher. -But they are carefully written, erudite compositions, which were -delivered at St. Gildas, or the Paraclete, or by special invitation. -Some of them have much intrinsic interest or value—those on Susannah -and John the Baptist, for instance, in connection with monastic -affairs, and that on St. Peter in connection with his rigid loyalty -to Rome. - -A more interesting appendix to the correspondence is found in the -forty-two ‘Problems of Heloise,’ with the replies of Abélard. Under -the pretext of following out his direction, but probably with a -greater anxiety to prolong the intercourse, Heloise sent to him a -list of difficulties she had encountered in reading Scripture. The -daughters of Charlemagne had responded to Alcuin’s exhortations with -a similar list. The little treatise is not unworthy of analysis from -the historico-theological point of view, but such a task cannot be -undertaken here. The problems are, on the whole, those which have -presented themselves to every thoughtful man and woman who has -approached the Bible with the strictly orthodox view; the answers -are, generally speaking, the theological artifices which served that -purpose down to the middle of the wayward nineteenth century. - -With this mild outbreak of rationalism Heloise passes out of the -pages of history, save for a brief reintroduction in Abélard’s -closing year. The interest and the force of her personality have -been undoubtedly exaggerated by some of the chief biographers of -Abélard, but she was assuredly an able, remarkable, and singularly -graceful and interesting woman. Cousin once suddenly asked in the -middle of a discourse: ‘Who is the woman whose love it would have -been sweetest to have shared?’ Many names were suggested, though -there must have been a strong anticipation that he would name Mme. de -Longueville, for he laboured at that very time under his posthumous -infatuation for the sister of Condé. But he answered, Heloise, -‘that noble creature who loved like a St. Theresa, wrote sometimes -like Seneca, and who must have been irresistibly charming, since -she charmed St. Bernard himself.’ It was a fine phrase to deliver -impromptu, but an uncritical estimate. It is a characteristic paradox -to say that she loved like a St. Theresa, and an exaggeration to say -that she ever wrote like Seneca. As to her charming St. Bernard—the -‘pseudo-apostle,’ as she ungraciously calls him,—they who read the -one brief letter he wrote her will have a new idea of a charmed man. -Yet with her remarkable ability, her forceful and exalted character -in the most devitalising circumstances, and her self-realisation, she -would probably have written her name in the annals of France without -the assistance of Abélard. It must be remembered that she had a very -singular reputation, for her age, before she met Abélard. She might -have been a St. Theresa to Peter of Cluny, or, as is more probable, a -Montmorency in the political chronicle of France. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A RETURN TO THE ARENA - - -The literary and personal activity described in the preceding -chapter, together with the elaboration of a new ‘theology,’ of which -we shall read presently, brings the story of Abélard’s life down to -1135 or 1136. His movements during the three or four years after his -flight from St. Gildas are very obscure. St. Bernard seems to speak -of his presence in Paris at one time, though the passages can, and -perhaps should, be explained away. Heloise speaks of his visits to -the Paraclete. On the whole he probably remained in Brittany, at -Nantes or Pallet, and devoted his time to literary work. But in 1136 -we find him in Paris once more. Whether the monks succeeded in making -Brittany too insecure for him, or the count failed to guarantee his -income, or a natural disgust with the situation and longing for the -intellectual arena impelled him to return, we cannot say. It is only -known that in 1136 he was once more quickening the scholastic life of -Europe from the familiar slope of St. Genevieve. - -So swift and eventful has been the career of the great teacher that -one realises with difficulty that he is now almost an old man, a -man in his fifty-seventh or fifty-eighth year. It is twenty years -since the grim termination of his early Parisian activity, and a new -generation fills the schools. The ideas with which he first startled -and conquered the intellectual world have been made familiar. The -vigour, the freshness, the charming pertinacity of youth have -departed. Yet there is no master in Christendom, young or old, that -can restrain the flood of ‘barbarians’ when ‘Li mestre’ reappears -at Paris. John of Salisbury was amongst the crowd. It is from his -_Metalogicus_ that we first learn of Abélard’s return to the arena, -and the renewal of his old triumph. St. Bernard fully confirms the -story, after his fashion. Indeed, in one sense Abélard’s triumph was -greater than ever, for he gathered a notable group of followers about -him on St. Genevieve. There was Arnold of Brescia, the scourge of the -Italian clergy, the ‘gad-fly’ of the hierarchy. There was Gilbert de -la Porée, a dreaded dialectician and rationalistic theologian. There -was Hyacinth, the young deacon and noble from Rome, afterwards a -power in the sacred college. There was Bérenger, the caustic critic, -who gave Bernard many an unpleasant quarter of an hour. There were -future bishops and theologians in remarkable numbers. - -However, we have no information of a definite character until five -years afterwards. In fact John of Salisbury complicates the situation -by stating that Abélard withdrew shortly after 1136. Deutsch thinks -that Abélard left Paris for a few years; Hausrath, on the contrary, -conjectures that he merely changed the locality of his school. John -of Salisbury would, in that case, have followed his lectures in the -cloistral school in 1136, and would have remained faithful to the -abbey, following Abélard’s successor, a Master Alberic, when Abélard -was, for some unknown reason, constrained to move his chair to the -chapel of St. Hilary, also on the slope of St. Genevieve. According -to the _Historia Pontificalis_ it was at St. Hilary that Bernard -visited him in 1141. It is an ingenious way of keeping Abélard -in Paris during the five years, as most historians would prefer -to do. Its weak point is the supposition that John of Salisbury -would continue to attend at the abbey of St. Genevieve with Abélard -teaching a few yards away. - -The difficulty may be gladly left to the chronologist. The first -great fact in Abélard’s career after his return to Paris is that St. -Bernard begins to take an active interest in his teaching in the -spring of 1141. Ten short weeks afterwards the prestige of the great -teacher was shattered beyond recall, and he set out upon his pathetic -journey to the tomb. It was a tense, a titanic struggle, on the side -of Bernard. - -According to the religious story-books the episode is very clear and -highly honourable to Bernard. Abbot Abélard had rewritten, with what -he thought to be emendations, the theological treatise which had been -burnt at Soissons. Under the title of the _Theologia Christiana_, -this rationalistic exposition and defence of the dogmas of the faith, -especially of the Trinity, had ‘crossed the seas and leaped over the -Alps,’ in Bernard’s vivid phraseology. With it travelled also an -_Introductio ad theologiam_, which was written soon after it, and his -_Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans_, of earlier date. The books -we have previously mentioned, the _Sic et Non_, and the _Ethics_ -or _Know Thyself_, had a more limited and secluded circulation. -The theological work which has the title of _Epitome Theologiae -Christianae_ or _Sententiae Petri Abaelardi_ is considered by most -experts to be a collection of his opinions drawn up by some other -masters for scholastic use.[25] - - [25] It is quite beside the writer’s purpose, and probably the - reader’s pleasure, to give an analysis of these works. I shall - presently treat the specific points that have relation to his - condemnation, and I add a supplementary chapter on his teaching - in general. Deutsch may be read by the curious, and Herr Hausrath - gives a useful shorter analysis. - -The story runs that these works chanced to intrude on the pious -meditations of a mystic theologian of the name of William of St. -Thierry. William was very nearly a saint, and the new theology -shocked him inexpressibly. He had been abbot of St. Thierry at -Rheims, but had been elevated from the Benedictine level to the -Cistercian under Bernard’s influence, and was peacefully composing a -commentary on the highly mystical ‘Song of Songs,’ in the Cistercian -monastery at Signy, when Abélard’s heresies reached him.[26] In his -horror he selected thirteen definite heretical statements from the -books, and sent them, with the treatises, to his pious and powerful -friend, Bernard of Clairvaux, with a pressing request to examine -them and take action. Bernard replied that a cursory perusal of the -books seemed to justify his follower’s zeal. He would put the matter -aside until after Holy Week, then talk it over with William. In the -meantime William must bear patiently with his inactivity, since -he ‘had hitherto known little or nothing of these things.’ Easter -over, and the conference having presumably taken place, Bernard was -convinced of Abélard’s errors. Faithful to Christ’s direction, he -went up to Paris, and personally reproved his erring brother, without -witnesses. Bernard’s biographer (and secretary-monk) assures that -Abélard promised to amend his ways. The amendment not taking place, -Bernard paid him a second brotherly visit, and, as he refused to -comply, Bernard followed out the evangelical direction of reproving -him before others. He attacked him in the presence of his students, -warning the latter that they must burn his heretical writings -forthwith. It is one of the scenes in Abélard’s career which it -would have been interesting to have witnessed. - - [26] A good idea of the man, and of the rapidly growing school he - belonged to, will be formed from the opening sentence of one of - his treatises: ‘Rotting in the lake of misery and in the mire of - filth, and stuck in the mud of the abyss that has no substance, - and from the depths of my grief, I cry out to Thee, O Lord.’ He - was in the midst of a similar Bernardesque composition when he - received Abélard’s works. - -However, we must defer for a moment the continuation of the -Bernardist version of the encounter, and examine the course of events -more critically. - -The theory that St. Bernard had not occupied himself with the errors -of Abélard until William of St. Thierry drew his attention to them -is a very poor and foolish composition. We could as well imagine -that Newman knew ‘little or nothing’ of Dr. Arnold’s views in the -early thirties. Bernard and Abélard had been for many years the -supreme representatives of the new ‘High’ and ‘Broad’ movements of -the twelfth century; and Bernard had a far more intense dread of -rationalism than Newman. Scarcely an event of moderate importance -occurred in Church, school, or state, in France at least, that -escaped the eye of the abbot of Clairvaux in those days. He -was ‘acting-Pope’ to the Church of Christ, and he felt all the -responsibility. And, amongst the multitudinous cares of his office, -none gave him greater concern than the purity of the faith and the -purification of the disquieting scholastic activity of the day. - -We have seen in a former chapter how largely antithetic his position -was to that of Abélard, and that he was a man who could not doubt -for a moment the truth of his own conception of religion. There was -the same marked antithesis at the very bases of their theological -conceptions, in the mental soil in which those conceptions took -root. Bernard was more authoritative than Anselm of Laon, more -mystic than Anselm of Canterbury. He had gone further than Anselm -on the theory that ‘faith precedes reason’; Abélard had gone beyond -Roscelin with the inverse proposition. Perhaps Bernard’s commentary -on the ‘Song of Songs’ furnishes the best illustration of his frame -of mind and his outlook. Towards the close of his life he devoted -himself to long and profound meditation on that beautiful piece of -Oriental literature. We must not forget, of course, that the Church -is largely responsible for his extravagance on this point. It has -indeed taken the civilisation of the West more than two thousand -years to discover that its glowing verses are inspired only by the -rounded limbs and sweet breath of a beautiful woman; and its most -erotic passages are still solemnly applied to the Mother of Christ on -her annual festivals. But Bernard revelled in its ‘mystic’ phrases. -Day by day, for more than a year, he gathered his monks about him in -the _auditorium_ at Clairvaux, and expounded to them the profound -spiritual meanings of the ‘Song.’ Eighty-three long sermons barely -exhausted the first two chapters. In the end he devoted three lengthy -discourses, on successive days, to the elucidation of the words: ‘In -my bed at night I have longed for him whom my soul loveth.’ - -This mystic and unreasoning attitude brought him into fundamental -antagonism with Abélard. To him faith was the soul’s first duty; -reason might think itself fortunate if there were crumbs of knowledge -in the accepted writings which it could digest. To reason, to ask -a question, was honestly incomprehensible and abhorrent to him. He -insisted that the rationalist told God he would not accept what he -could not understand; whereas the rationalist was prevented by his -own logic from questioning the veracity of the Infinite, and merely -insisted that, in a world of hallucination and false pretence, it -were well to make sure that the proposition in question really did -come from God. Bernard thought reasoning about the Trinity implied -irreverence or incredulity; Abélard felt it to be a high service to -divine truth, in preparing it for minds which were not blessed with -the mystic sense. Bernard believed Christ died purely and crudely -to make amends to the Father; Abélard thought this would impute -vindictiveness to God. And so on through a long list of dogmatic -points which were of unspeakable importance in the eyes of the -twelfth century. - -A conflict was inevitable. In Bernard’s thought Abélard was employing -an extraordinary ability to the grave prejudice of the honour of -God, the safety of the Church, and the supreme interest of humanity. -Bernard would have deserted his principles and his clear subjective -duty if he had remained silent. If he had ‘a quick ear’ to catch -‘the distant thunder roll of free inquiry,’ as Cotter Morison says, -and no one questions, he must have turned his zealous attention to -Abélard long ago, as we have already seen. But the rationalist had -been rendered powerless in Brittany for some years. Now that he was -teaching with great effectiveness at Paris once more, Bernard could -not but take action. - -However, it is a task of extreme difficulty for an impartial -student to trace with confidence the early stages of that memorable -conflict. We have seen the Bernardist version; the version of some -of the recent biographers of Abélard is very different. Deutsch -and Hausrath, able and critical scholars, believe that the letter -from William of St. Thierry had been written, wholly or in part, -by Bernard himself; that Bernard’s reply was part of a comedy of -intrigue; that a timid and treacherous conventicle of the Cistercian -monks, including Bernard, had deliberately drawn up in advance -this equivocal plan of campaign. Now, if the Catholic enthusiast -is incapable of dealing quite impartially with such a problem, -it is equally certain that the heretic has a similar disturbing -element in his natural predilection for picking holes in the coats -of the canonised. The evidence must be examined very carefully. -The presumption is that a man of the exalted idealism and stern -self-discipline of St. Bernard would not lend himself to such -manœuvres. Yet these things are not inconsistent with the dignity -of canonisation; moreover, the object was a great and holy one—and -Bernard had a mortal dread of the dialectician. - -In the first place, then, it is impossible to credit Bernard with the -whole of the letter which bears the name of William of St. Thierry. -Much of it is by no means Bernardesque in style and manner; and -there are passages which it is quite impossible, on moral grounds, -to conceive as having been written by Bernard himself. At the same -time much of it does certainly seem to have been written by Bernard. -There are few better judges of such a point than Deutsch. The -contention that William would not have dared to address such a demand -simultaneously to Bernard and Geoffrey without instructions is more -precarious. - -On the other hand, the letter seems in many respects to support the -idea of a diplomatic arrangement. It is addressed to Bernard and to -Geoffrey of Chartres, and opens as follows: ‘God knows that I am -filled with confusion, my lords and fathers, when I am constrained -to address you, insignificant as I am, on a matter of grave urgency, -since you and others whose duty it is to speak remain silent.’ After -a little of this strain he recounts how he ‘lately chanced to read a -certain work’ of the dreadful heretic he has named—the _Theology of -Peter Abélard_. From it he selects thirteen heretical propositions -(we shall meet them later), which he submits to their judgment. If -they also condemn, he calls for prompt and effective action. ‘God -knows that I too have loved him’ [Abélard], he says, ‘and would -remain in charity with him, but in such a cause as this I know no -friend or acquaintance.’ Finally, he says: ‘There are, I am told, -other works of his, the _Sic et Non_ and the _Scito te Ipsum_, and -others ... but I am told that they shun the light, and cannot be -found.’ - -Without straining an impressionist argument, it may be at once -pointed out that the letter betrays itself. Several of the -propositions in the list are not found in either of Abélard’s -theologies; they are taken from the works which William affirms he -has never seen. An intrigue is revealed; some other person, not at -Signy, has had an important share in the epistle, if not in the -actual writing of it. Again, as Neander says in his _Life of St. -Bernard_, the passage about his affection cannot be taken seriously; -he had been passionately devoted to Bernard for some years. The -letter is evidently written for use or publication, and reveals a -curious piece of acting. - -Bernard’s reply is also clearly ‘part of the comedy,’ as Hausrath -says. Bernard is much addicted to _tutoyer_ his friends, even his -lady friends.[27] His previous letters to William, written before -he was a ‘son of religion’ and a devoted follower, are written in -that familiar style. But in this brief note ‘thou’ and ‘thine’ become -‘you’ and ‘your.’ ‘I consider your action both just and necessary. -The book itself, betraying the mouth of those that speak iniquity, -proves that it was not idle.... But since I am not accustomed, as -you know well, to trust my own judgment, especially in matters of -such moment,’ it must wait a little. He will see William about it -after Easter. ‘In the meantime be not impatient of my silence and -forbearance in these matters; most of them, indeed nearly all of -them, were not known to me before (cum horum plurima et pene omnia -hucusque nescierim).’ - - [27] Witness his genial letter to our English Matilda. - -The letter is almost incomprehensible, coming from such a man. _He_ -take the first discovery of so influential a heretic so calmly; _he_ -not trust his own judgment in such matters! Save for the literary -form, which is unmistakable, the letter is wholly out of place in the -bulky volume of Bernard’s correspondence. It is part of the play; -and its brevity and vagueness seem to indicate an unwillingness or -ethical discomfort on the part of the writer. - -The closing sentence in it has given trouble even to Bernard’s -biographers, and must disconcert every admirer of the great -uplifter of the twelfth century. Cotter Morison says ‘he must refer -to the special details’ of Abélard’s teaching. It is impossible to -acquit the words of the charge of evasiveness and a half-conscious -inaccuracy, even if they be so interpreted. We have already given -the general considerations which compel us to think Bernard made -himself fully acquainted with Abélard’s opinions. We have already -discussed the probability of his share in the driving of Abélard into -Brittany. Other indications are not wanting. In 1132 Bernard was -sent on a papal mission into Burgundy; his companion was Joscelin, -Abélard’s early rival. Bernard attacks with some spirit the errors -of an unnamed master in his _Treatise on Baptism_; these errors are -the opinions of Abélard. On one occasion, indeed, they had a direct -controversy. Bernard had visited the Paraclete, and had criticised -the way in which the nuns, following Abélard’s direction, recited the -Lord’s Prayer. Abélard had inserted ‘supersubstantial’ for ‘daily.’ -Heloise duly reported the criticism, and Abélard flew to arms. The -letter was characteristic. A sweet and genial prelude, a crushing -argumentative onslaught, and an ironical inversion of the charge. -‘But let each do as he pleases,’ the rhetorician concluded; ‘I do -not wish to persuade any man to follow me in this. He may change the -words of Christ as he likes.’ - -However, we need not strain detailed indications. It is impossible -to think that Bernard was unacquainted with ‘novelties’ that the -echo of a great name had borne to the ends of the earth.[28] When -we have seen the whole story of Bernard’s share in the struggle, it -will be easier to understand this letter. It is puerile to think -that we detract anything from the moral and spiritual greatness of -St. Bernard in admitting an occasional approach to the common level -of humanity. And there was present in strength that delusive ideal -which has led so many good men into fields that were foreign to their -native grandeur—the good of the Church. - - [28] _Fas est et ab hoste doceri._ The Benedictine defenders of - Bernard (in _Migne_) say, in another connection: ‘Was there a - single cardinal or cleric in Rome who was unacquainted with his - dogmas?’ - -There is no record of a conference with William of St. Thierry -after Easter. The pupil has played his part, and he now vanishes -completely from the theatre. But from the subsequent report which -was sent to the pope, and from the _Life of St. Bernard_, written -by his admiring secretary, we learn that Bernard visited Abélard in -private, and admonished him of his errors. The scene is unfortunately -left to the imagination; though the report we have mentioned speaks -of a ‘friendly and familiar admonition.’ Bernard’s biographer would -have us believe that Abélard was quite subdued—the ‘rhinoceros’ was -tamed again—by Bernard’s brotherly address, and promised to retract -his errors. It is possible that Abélard put him off with amiable -generalities, but quite incredible that he made any such promise. We -need not speculate, with Hausrath, on the probability of interference -from his more ardent students. The episcopal report to the pope -does not mention any broken promise. It could have used such a -circumstance with great effect. - -Then followed Bernard’s second visit and warning. It would be -difficult to say which dreaded the other more in these curious -interviews, but Bernard had convinced himself of his duty to -crush Abélard, and he was following out a very correct and -excellently-devised scheme. The Gospel required a twofold personal -correction of an erring brother, before he was denounced to the -synagogue. The second one was to have witnesses. Bernard therefore -boldly admonished Abélard in the presence of his students, and bade -them burn the works of their master. It is a thousand pities we have -no Abélardist record of these proceedings. - -If Abélard said little during the conferences, he must have known -that he was rapidly approaching another, perhaps a supreme, crisis -in his life. He knew his Gospel, and he knew Bernard. The next step -was the denunciation to the synagogue. He had had an experience of -such denunciation, and he would certainly not expect a less insidious -attack from the abbot of Clairvaux, who had avoided his dialectical -skill so long. He determined to checkmate the Cistercians. Very -shortly afterwards Bernard was dismayed to receive a letter from the -Archbishop of Sens, in which he was invited to meet the redoubtable -dialectician at Sens in a few weeks’ time, and discuss the right -and wrong of their quarrel before the whole spiritual and temporal -nobility of France. - -It was now a question of dialectics and rhetoric versus diplomacy; -though indeed we must credit Abélard—or his ‘esquire,’ as Bernard -calls Arnold of Brescia—with a fine diplomatic move in claiming the -discussion. There are several reasons for thinking that the Bishop -of Paris was in Rome at the time, or the discussion should have -been sought at Notre Dame. The next _instantia_ was the Archbishop -of Sens, and Abélard continued to assail that prelate until he was -forced to accept the petition. Not improbably it appealed to the -sporting instinct of old ‘Henry the Boar,’ a man of noble extraction, -and of extremely worldly life before he fell under the influence of -the ubiquitous Bernard. The quarrel of the two great luminaries of -France was now notorious. He could not well refuse to open the lists -for a superb trial by combat. - -But Bernard had an entirely different theory of the condemnation of a -heretic. He trusted to his personal influence and immense epistolary -power. Abélard’s works were available, and were sufficient for the -grounding of a condemnation, he said. He was not merely impatient of -the implied doubt of the infallibility of his judgment; he shrank -nervously from the thought of such an encounter. He did not conceal -for a moment his dread of Abélard’s power. ‘I am a boy beside him,’ -he pleaded, ‘and he is a warrior from his youth.’ On the other hand, -if it became a question of a diplomatic struggle for a condemnation -of the books at Rome, the positions would be exactly reversed. He -refused to enter the lists with Abélard. - -In the meantime the day which the Archbishop of Sens had appointed -was rapidly approaching. It was the Octave of, or eighth day -after, Pentecost. On the Sunday after Whitsunday, now dedicated -to the Trinity, there was to be a brilliant religious function in -the cathedral at Sens. It was customary to expose the relics to -veneration on that day, and as Sens, the metropolitan church of -Paris[29] and other important towns, had a very valuable collection -of relics, the ceremony attracted a notable gathering of lords, -spiritual and temporal. Louis VII. was to be there, with the usual -escort of French nobles: the curiously compounded monarch had a -profound veneration for relics, and something like a passion for -the ceremonies that accompanied their translation, veneration, and -so forth. All the suffragans of the archbishop would be present, -with a number of other bishops, and abbots, clerics, and masters -innumerable. Quite apart from the duel between the greatest thinker -and the greatest orator in Europe, there would be a very important -and weighty gathering at the cathedral on that day. Abélard willingly -assented. Bernard is fond of repeating in his later letters that -Abélard set to work ‘to summon his friends and followers from all -parts.’ We shall see that the only noteworthy supporters of Abélard -at Sens were pupils or masters from Paris, which lay at a convenient -distance. Bernard was shortly to lose his serenity in a sea of -rhetoric. - - [29] The see of Paris was not elevated into an archbishopric - until a much later date. - -There is a minor quarrel as to whether Bernard reversed his decision, -and intimated his acceptance to the archbishop before the day -arrived. Father Hefele thinks he did so. It is, however, clear that, -in his letter to the pope afterwards, Bernard wishes to convey the -impression that he held out until the last moment, and only yielded -to the entreaties of his friends in actually presenting himself. - -We shall refer to this letter to Pope Innocent shortly, but it is -worth while to notice now the edifying picture he draws of his -own preparation in contrast with that of ‘the dragon.’ Abélard -is represented as feverishly whipping up his supporters, whilst -Bernard refuses to hear of such an encounter, not only on account -of Abélard’s world-famed skill in debate, but also because he thinks -it improper to discuss sacred things in this fashion. But friends -represent that the Church will suffer, and the enemies of Christ -triumph. Wearily and ‘without preparation’—trusting wholly in the -divine promise of inspiration—he presents himself on the appointed -day before ‘Goliath.’ - -In point of historical fact there is no reason for thinking that -Abélard made any effort to gather supporters. The few we read of -accompanied him from Paris. He had scarcely a single friend in the -ranks of his ‘judges.’ On the other hand we _do_ know that Bernard -himself sent out a strong and imperious ‘whip’ to his episcopal -supporters. There is a brief letter, contained in the _Migne_ -collection, which was despatched to all the French bishops on whom -Bernard could rely for sympathy and support. They have heard, he -says, of his summons to appear at Sens on the Octave of Pentecost. -‘If the cause were a personal one,’ he goes on, ‘the child of -your holiness could perhaps not undeservedly look to your support -[patrocinium]. But it is your cause, and more than yours; and so I -admonish you the more confidently and entreat you the more earnestly -to prove yourselves friends in this necessity—friends, I should say, -not of me, but of Christ.’ And he goes on to prejudge the case in -the mind of the official judges with his rhetorical denunciation of -Abélard’s heresies. ‘Be not surprised,’ he concludes, ‘that I summon -you so suddenly and with so brief a notice; this is another ruse -of our cunning adversary, so that he might meet us unprepared and -unarmed.’ - -The consequence of the sending of this whip will be apparent when we -come to examine the composition of the gathering at Sens. It marks -the beginning of a period of most remarkable intrigue. The idyllic -picture of the poor abbot making his way at the last moment to the -assembly with a sublime trust in Providence and the righteousness of -his cause must be regarded again at the close of the next chapter. - -Whether Bernard formally accepted the summons or not, therefore, -authentic information was conveyed to both sides that the debate -would take place. It will be readily imagined how profoundly stirred -the kingdom of France would be over such an expectation. The bare -qualities of the antagonists put the discussion leagues above any -remembered or contemporary event in the scholastic world; the object -of the debate—the validity of the new thought that was rapidly -infecting the schools—was a matter of most material concern. Deutsch -has a theory of the conflict which seems to be only notable as an -illustration of the profundity of the Teutonic mind. He opines -there may have been a political struggle underlying the academic -demonstration. Louis was just beginning his struggle with Rome over -the vexed question of investitures, and it is conceivable that the -Abélardists leaned to the side of the king, in opposition to Bernard -and the ‘ultramontanes.’ It is conceivable, but not at all probable. -Abélard’s sermon on St. Peter indicates a really ultramontane -sentiment; moreover, he has ever kept aloof from the political side -of life. His follower, Arnold of Brescia, would be likely enough -to fall in with any such regal design. Arnold was a young Luther, -of premature birth. Born in Italy at the beginning of the twelfth -century, he had travelled to France, and studied under Abélard, at an -early age. He returned to Italy, and assumed the monastic habit. An -enthusiastic idealist and a man of proportionate energy and audacity, -he soon entered upon a fiery crusade against the sins of the monks, -the clergy, and the hierarchy. He was driven from Italy in 1139, then -from Switzerland, and he had just taken refuge in Paris when Bernard -started his campaign. Since one of his most prominent theories was -that the higher clergy should be stripped of all temporal privileges -and possessions, his place is easily determined on the question -of investitures. However, it is most unlikely that he should have -dragged Abélard into these semi-political and dangerous questions. -And although Bernard most sedulously urges the association of the -hated Arnold with Abélard in his letters to Rome, he never mentions -a suspicion of such a coalition as Deutsch suggests; nor, in fine, -does the conduct of the secular arm give the least countenance to the -theory. - -The conflict was inevitable, without the concurrence of any political -intrigue. Abélard and Bernard were the natural representatives of -schools which could no longer lie down in peace in the fold of the -Church. Abélard foresaw disaster to the Church in the coming age -of restless inquiry unless its truths could be formulated in his -intellectual manner. Bernard was honestly convinced that Abélard was -‘preparing the way for Anti-Christ.’ And it followed as a further -consequence that Bernard should wish to avoid the discussion to which -Abélard looked for salvation from the menace of the mystical school. - -It will appear presently that Bernard was less concerned with the -details of Abélard’s teaching than with his spirit. He, however, -dwells on them for controversial purposes, and they are certainly -full of interest for the modern mind. The point will be more fully -developed in a supplementary chapter. For the moment a brief glance -at them will be instructive enough. They differ a little in Bernard’s -letter from the list given by William of St. Thierry, but one cannot -even glance at them without noticing how remarkably this thinker -of the twelfth century anticipated the judgment of the nineteenth -century. His theses, like the theses of the advanced theology of -these latter days, indicate two tendencies—an intellectual tendency -to the more rational presentment of dogma, and an ethical tendency to -the greater moralisation of ancient dogma. - -We have already seen a good illustration of this anticipation of -modern tendencies in Abélard’s treatment of the traditional doctrines -of heaven and hell respectively, and we shall see more later on. -Of the fourteen specific points (thirteen in William’s letter) -contained in the present indictment, we may pass over most of those -which refer to the Trinity as without interest. Abélard’s phrases -were new, but he cordially rejected the Arianism, Nestorianism, and -so forth, with which Bernard insisted on crediting him. In the ninth -proposition, that the species of bread and wine remain in the air -after transubstantiation, and that adventurous mice only eat the -species, not the Body of Christ, Abélard enunciated an opinion which -has been widely adopted by modern Catholic theologians. In his second -proposition, that the Holy Ghost was the Platonic _anima mundi_, -Abélard was merely trying to save Plato from the damnation of the -Bernardists. - -On the ethical side, Abélard’s theses (in their context in his works) -are truly remarkable. Thus the third, ‘That God can only do those -things which He actually does, and in the way and at the time that -He does them,’ and the seventh, ‘That God is not bound to prevent -evil,’ are obviously indications of an ethical attempt to save the -sanctity of the Infinite in view of the triumph of evil. ‘That Christ -did not become Man for the purpose of saving us from the yoke of -the devil’ is an early formulation of the familiar modern conception -of the Incarnation. ‘That God does not do more for the elect, before -they accept his grace, than for the damned,’ and ‘That we have -shared the punishment but not the guilt of Adam,’ are further clear -anticipations of the refined theology of modern times. ‘No man can -sin before he exists,’ said Abélard, to Bernard’s mighty indignation. -‘That God alone remits sin’ is heretical to the modern Catholic, but -the dogma was not completely born until the following century;[30] -‘that evil thoughts, and even pleasure, are not of themselves -sinful, but only the consent given to them,’ and ‘that the Jews who -crucified Christ in ignorance did not sin, that acts which are done -in ignorance cannot be sinful,’ express the universal opinion of even -modern Catholic theologians, in the sense in which Abélard held them. - - [30] And the thesis is rejected in Abélard’s _Apology_. - -And ‘these,’ wrote Bernard, with fine contempt, to his friend, Pope -Innocent, ‘are the chief errors of the theology, or rather the -stultilogy, of Peter Abélard.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE FINAL BLOW - - -On the 4th of June 1141, the cathedral at Sens was filled with one -of the strangest throngs that ever gathered within its venerable -walls. Church and state and the schools had brought their highest -representatives and their motley thousands to witness the thrilling -conflict of the two first thinkers and orators of France. On the -previous day the magnificent ceremony of the veneration of the -relics had taken place. At that ceremony the abbot of Clairvaux had -discoursed of the meaning and potency of their act. And when the -vast crowds of gentle and simple folk had quickened and sobbed and -enthused at his burning words, he had ventured to ask their prayers -for the conversion of an unbeliever, whom he did not name. - -Now, on the Monday morning, the great concourse had streamed into the -cathedral once more, an intense eagerness flashing from the eyes of -the majority. The red Mass of the Holy Spirit had been chanted by the -clerics, and the clouds of incense still clung about the columns and -the vaulted roof of the church. King Louis sat expectant, and stupid, -on the royal throne; the Count de Nevers and a brilliant group of -nobles and knights standing beside and behind him. Opposite them -another gaily apparelled group presented Henry, Archbishop of Sens, -with five of his suffragan bishops; beside him sat Samson, Archbishop -of Rheims, with three suffragans. Mitred abbots added to the -splendour with their flash of jewels. Shaven monks, with the white -wool of Cîteaux or the black tunic of St. Benedict, mingled with the -throng of canons, clerics, scholastics, wandering masters, ragged, -cosmopolitan students, and citizens of Sens and Paris in their gay -holiday attire. - -It was, at first sight, just such an assembly as Abélard had dreamed -of when he threw down the gauntlet to the Cistercian. But he must -have looked far from happy as he stood in the midst of his small -band of followers. As he passed into the cathedral, he had noticed -Gilbert de la Porée in the crowd, the brilliant master who was to be -Bernard’s next victim, and he whispered smilingly the line of Horace: - - ‘It is thy affair when thy neighbour’s house is on fire.’ - -With Abélard were the impetuous young master, Bérenger of Poitiers; -the stern, ascetic, scornful young Italian, Arnold of Brescia, -flashing into the eyes of the prelates the defiance that brought him -to the stake fourteen years afterwards; and the young Roman noble, -Hyacinth, who afterwards became cardinal. - -Beside these, and a host of admiring nonentities, Abélard almost -looked in vain for a friendly face amidst the pressing throng. The -truth was that, as Rémusat says, ‘if Bernard had not prepared for -debate, he had made every preparation for the verdict.’ The whole -cathedral was with him. After his discourse of the preceding day, -and the rumours that had preceded it, the priest-ridden citizens of -Sens were prepared to stone the heretic, as the people of Soissons -had threatened to do. The students would be divided, according to -their schools. The monks longed to see the downfall of their critic. -The king—the man who was to bear to his grave ‘the curse of Europe -and the blessing of St. Bernard’—was not likely to hesitate. The -Count de Nevers was a pious, credulous noble, who afterwards became -a Cistercian monk. Otto of Freising says Count Theobald of Champagne -was present, though the report does not mention him; in any case he -had fallen largely under Bernard’s influence since his sister had -gone down in the _White Ship_ in 1120. The clergy of Sens were with -Bernard; their motto was: ‘The church of Sens knows no novelties.’ Of -the judges proper, Geoffrey, Bishop of Chartres, was almost the only -one who could be termed neutral; and even he had now become greatly -amenable to Bernard’s influence. Archbishop Henry was completely in -the hands of Bernard, his converter, who scolded him at times as -if he were a boy. Archbishop Samson of Rheims owed his pallium to -Bernard, in the teeth of the king’s opposition; he was deprived of -it some years afterwards. Hugo of Mâcon, the aged Bishop of Auxerre, -was a relative of Bernard’s and a fellow-monk at Cîteaux. Joscelin of -Vieri, Bishop of Soissons, was the former teacher of Goswin, and the -associate of Bernard on a papal mission a few years before. Geoffrey, -Bishop of Châlons, Abélard’s former friend at St. Médard, had since -been helped to a bishopric by Bernard. Hatto, Bishop of Troyes, had -been won to Bernard. Alvise, Bishop of Arras, is said to have been a -brother of Abbot Suger and friend of Goswin. Of the only two other -bishops present, Helias of Orleans and Manasses of Meaux, we have no -information. - -In such an assembly the nerve of the boldest speaker might well fail. -Bernard had preached during the Mass on the importance of the true -faith. Then when the critical moment came, he mounted the pulpit -with a copy of the writings of Abélard, and the dense crowd, totally -ignorant, most probably, of previous events, which were known only -to the intimate friends of each combatant, held its breath for the -opening of the struggle. The frail, worn, nervous figure in the -flowing, white tunic began to read the indictment, but suddenly -Abélard stepped forth before the astonished judges, and, crying out: -‘I will not be judged thus like a criminal; I appeal to Rome,’ turned -his back on them and strode out of the cathedral. - -Chroniclers have left to our imagination the confusion that followed, -and we may leave it to that of the reader. Although the bishops -afterwards made a show of disputing it, the appeal was quite -canonical, and was admitted at Rome. But it was a course which had -not entered into the thoughts of the most astute of them, and which -completely upset their plans. They could not now touch the person -of Abélard. Bernard, indeed, did not deprive the great audience of -the discourse he had ‘not prepared,’ although it was now quite safe -from contradiction. We have it, some say, in his later letter to the -pope, a most vehement denunciation and often perversion of Abélard’s -teaching. He gained an easy victory, as far as Sens was concerned. -The next day the prelates met together, condemned Abélard’s teaching -as heretical, and forwarded a report, submitting his person and his -works, to Rome. - -The question why Abélard behaved in so extraordinary a manner has had -many answers. The answer of the godly, given by Bernard’s monkish -biographer, is of the transcendental order. Brother Geoffrey relates -that Abélard confessed to his intimate friends that he mysteriously -lost the use and control of his mind when Bernard began. Bishop -Otto of Freising says that he feared ‘a rising of the people.’ He -would be more likely to provoke one by thus affronting their great -cathedral and prelates. The true interpretation is that the assembly -was a play, covering an unworthy intrigue, and he had been secretly -informed of it. The bishops had drawn up their verdict, over their -cups, on the preceding day. - -Desperate efforts are made, of course, to destroy an interpretation -which does not leave the discredit on Abélard, but it has now been -based on incontrovertible evidence. In the first place the bishops -ingenuously confess it themselves in their eagerness to evade -a different accusation. In order to influence the judgment, or -rather the decision, of the pope, they told him that they had found -Abélard’s teaching to be heretical. How, then, were they to reconcile -this with the notice of Abélard’s appeal to Rome? ‘We had,’ they say -in their report, ‘already condemned him on the day before he appealed -to you.’ It matters little who wrote this report—whether Bernard[31] -or Henry’s secretary—because it was signed by the bishops. They -reveal their secret conclave of the Sunday evening. Henry was -particularly anxious to justify them, at all costs, on the charge of -disregarding the appeal, because he had been suspended by Innocent -for that offence a few years previously. - - [31] It is singular that Mr. Poole, who credits Bernard with - writing the report, should speak of the words as a deliberate - ‘lie of excuse,’ especially as he adopts the witness of Bérenger - to a previous condemnation. We are not only compelled by - independent evidence to take them as correct, but one imputes a - lesser sin to Bernard (from the Catholic point of view) in doing - so. - -Again, in the _Historia Pontificalis_, attributed to John of -Salisbury, there is an account of Bernard’s attempt to secure the -condemnation of that other brilliant dialectician, Gilbert de la -Porée, in 1148. It is expressly stated that Bernard called the chief -personages together the night before the synod, and was leading them -to pronounce on Gilbert’s ‘errors,’ when an archdeacon of Châlons -spoiled his strategy. Further, the writer goes on to say that the -cardinals—there were a number present for the synod—were greatly -incensed with Bernard, and ‘said that Abbot Bernard had beaten Master -Abélard by a similar stratagem.’ It is not unlikely that they learned -the story from Hyacinth, the young Roman. - -The classical witness to this over-night conclave is Abélard’s -pupil, Bérenger of Poitiers. Unfortunately, his narrative is marred -by obvious exaggerations and a careless, heated temper. It occurs -in an apology for Abélard, or an ‘open letter’ to Bernard, which -he wrote some months afterwards. After reminding Bernard of some -of the frivolities of his early youth, and much sarcastic comment -on his actual reputation, he gives what purports to be a detailed -description of the secret meeting. No one who reads it will take -it literally. Yet when, in later years, he was run down, like -Gilbert and Arnold, by the relentless sleuthhound, he made a partial -retractation. What he has written as to the person of ‘the man of -God’ must, he says, be taken as a joke. But a few lines previously -he has appealed to this very narrative in justification of his -abuse of Bernard: ‘Let the learned read my “Apology,” and they may -justly censure me if I have unduly blamed him [Bernard].’ It is -not impossible that Bérenger merely retracts such remarks as that -about Bernard’s juvenile ‘cantiunculas.’ In any case, we may justly -transcribe a portion of the narrative, after these qualifications. - -‘At length, when the dinner was over, Peter’s work was brought in, -and some one was directed to read it aloud. This fellow, animated -with a hatred of Peter, and well watered with the juice of the grape, -read in a much louder voice than he had been asked to do. After a -time you would have seen them knock their feet together, laugh, and -crack jokes; you would think they were honouring Bacchus rather than -Christ. And all the time the cups are going, the wine is being -praised, the episcopal throats are being moistened. The juice of the -lethal drink had already buried their hearts.... Then, when anything -unusually subtle and divine was read out, anything the episcopal ears -were not accustomed to, they hardened their hearts and ground their -teeth against Peter. “Shall we let this monster live?” they cried.... -The heat of the wine at length relaxed the eyes of all in slumber. -The reader continues amidst their snoring. One leans on his elbow in -order to sleep. Another gets a soft cushion. Another slumbers with -his head resting on his knees. So when the reader came to anything -particularly thorny in Peter, he shouted in the deaf ears of the -pontiffs: “Do you condemn?” And some of them just waking up at the -last syllable, would mutter: “We condemn.”’ - -It is not difficult to take off the due and considerable discount -from the youthful extravagance of Master Bérenger. Bernard’s -followers (in the _Histoire littéraire de la France_) say he had ‘too -noble a soul and too elevated a sentiment to stoop to the refutation -of such a work.’ He has never, at all events, essayed to rebut the -charge of procuring a verdict against Abélard on the day before the -synod. Even in our own days it is a familiar source of merriment -in ecclesiastical and monastic circles to see a group of prelates -fervently following the red Mass of the Holy Ghost as a preliminary -to a discussion of points which they have notoriously settled over -their cups the night before. Such a meeting of the bishops on the -Sunday would be inevitable. Bernard would inevitably be present, and -Abélard infallibly excluded. In any case, the evidence is too precise -and substantial to be rejected. Indeed, the story fully harmonises -with our knowledge of Bernard’s earlier and subsequent conduct. It -is not ours to inquire minutely how far Bernard was consistent with -himself and his lofty ideals in acting thus. - -Bernard was defeated for the moment by the unexpected appeal from -the verdict of the unjust judges. But he knew well that Abélard had -avoided Scylla only to plunge into Charybdis. Abélard’s knowledge -of the curia was restricted to a few days’ acquaintance with it in -a holiday mood at Morigni. Arnold of Brescia probably urged his -own acquaintance with it in vain. Moreover many years had elapsed -since his name was inscribed by the side of that of Bernard in the -chronicle of Morigni. Bernard, the secluded contemplative, knew the -curia well. He hastened home, told his secretary to prepare for a -journey across the Alps, and sat down to write a batch of extremely -clever epistles. The battle was fought and won before Abélard had -covered many leagues in the direction of Italy. - -The first document that Bernard seems to have written is the report -upon the synod which was sent to Innocent II. in the name of the -Archbishop of Rheims and his suffragans. Hausrath, who is the least -restrained by considerations of Bernard’s official sanctity of -all Abélard’s apologists, and others, hold that both the reports -of the proceedings, that of Samson and that of Henry (for the two -archbishops, with their respective suffragans, reported separately -to the pope), were written by Bernard. It is at least clear that the -Rheims report was drawn up by him. Mr. Poole says this is admitted -even by Father Hefele. Bernard’s style is indeed unmistakable. - -In this official document, therefore, the pope is informed, not so -much that a dispute about Abélard’s orthodoxy is referred to his -court, as that ‘Peter Abélard is endeavouring to destroy the merit -of faith, in that he professes himself able to comprehend by his -human reason the whole being of God.’ From this gross calumny[32] -the writer passes on to assure the pope that Abélard ‘is a great -man in his own eyes, ever disputing about the faith to its undoing, -walking in things that are far above him, a searcher into the divine -majesty, a framer of heresies.’ He goes on to recount that Abélard’s -book had been condemned and burnt once before, at Soissons, ‘because -of the iniquity that was found in it’; whereas every scholar in -France knew that it was condemned on the sole ground that it had -been issued without authorisation. ‘Cursed be he who has rebuilt the -walls of Jericho,’ fulminates the abbot of Clairvaux. Finally, he -represents Abélard as boasting of his influence at Rome. ‘This is -the boast of the man,’ he says, ‘that his book can find wherein to -rest its head in the Roman curia. This gives strength and assurance -to his frenzy.’ The sole object of his appeal is ‘to secure a longer -immunity for his iniquity. You must needs apply a swift remedy to -this source of contagion.’ And the monstrous epistle closes with a -trust that Innocent will do his part, and that swiftly, as they had -done theirs. Thus was the pope introduced, in a handwriting he had -so many reasons to respect, to Abélard’s appeal for consideration. - - [32] Abélard explicitly and very emphatically rebukes such - pretension in the very books which Bernard is supposed to have - read. - -The second report, which is signed by Archbishop Henry and his -suffragans, and which may not have been drawn up by Bernard, is -more free from diplomatic turnings, but also gravely unjust to the -appellant. It gives the pope a lengthy account of the order of events -since the receipt of the letter of William of St. Thierry. From it -we have quoted the words in which the bishops themselves confess -the secret conclave on the Sunday. The bishops were affronted, it -says, by Abélard’s appeal, which was ‘hardly canonical,’ but they -were content with an examination of his doctrines (consisting of -Bernard’s vehement harangue) and found them to be ‘most manifestly -heretical.’ They therefore ‘unanimously demand the condemnation of -Abélard.’ To put the point quite explicitly, the pope is clearly to -understand that the Church of France has already dealt with Abélard. -It is not quite so insidious as the report which Bernard wrote, and -to which—sad sign of the growing quality of the Church—even Geoffrey -of Chartres lent his venerable name. - -Bernard’s official task seemed to be at an end with the despatch of -the report. His profound and generous trust in the Holy Spirit would -lead one to expect a complete withdrawal from the quarrel into which -he had been so unwillingly forced. But Bernard’s conception of the -activity of the Holy Spirit, though equal in theoretical altitude, -was very different in practice from that of a Francis of Assisi. We -have amongst his works no less than three epistles that he wrote at -the time to Pope Innocent in his own name. One of them consists of -a few prefatory remarks to the list of Abélard’s errors. The two -others are of a much more personal and interesting character. It is -difficult to say whether, and if so, why, the two letters were sent -to the pope, but it is not necessary to determine this. Both were -certainly written by Bernard for the purpose. - -The first letter is addressed ‘to his most loving father and lord, -Innocent, Sovereign Pontiff by the grace of God, from Brother -Bernard, called the abbot of Clairvaux.’ From the first line he aims -at determining the case in the pope’s mind. ‘It is necessary that -there be scandals amongst us—necessary, but assuredly not welcome.’ -Hence have the saints ever longed to be taken from this troubled -world. Bernard is equally tired of life. He knows not whether it -be expedient that he die, yet ‘the scandals and troubles’ about him -are pressing his departure. ‘Fool that I was to promise myself rest -if ever the Leonine trouble[33] was quelled and peace was restored -to the Church. That trouble is over, yet I have not found peace. -I had forgotten that I still lingered in the vale of tears.’ His -sorrow and his tears have been renewed. ‘We have escaped the lion -[Pierleone], only to meet the dragon [Abélard], who, in his insidious -way, is perhaps not less dangerous than the lion roaring in high -places. Did I say insidious? Would indeed that his poisoned pages did -lurk in the library, and were not read openly in the streets. His -books fly in all directions; whereas they, in their iniquity, once -shunned the light, they now emerge into it, thinking the light to be -darkness.... A new gospel is being made for the nations, a new faith -is put before them.’ After Pierleone it is useful to remind Innocent -of his second great _bête noire_. ‘The Goliath [Abélard] stalks along -in his greatness, girt about with that noble panoply of his, and -preceded by his weapon-bearer, Arnold of Brescia. Scale is joined -to scale, so closely that not a breath can get between.[34] For the -French bee [Abeille-ard] has hummed its call to the Italian bee; and -they have conspired together against the Lord and his anointed.’ He -must even deny them the merit of their notoriously ascetic lives: -‘Bearing the semblance of piety in their food and clothing, but void -of its virtue, they deceive many by transforming themselves into -angels of light—whereas they are devils.’ The pope must not be misled -by rumours of Abélard’s present fervour of life; he is ‘outwardly a -Baptist, but inwardly a Herod,’ Bernard assures him. Then follows -a passage we have already quoted. He tells the pope the edifying -story of the archbishop’s summons, his refusal, the entreaties of -his friends, the gathering of Abélard’s supporters, and his final -resolve to go: ‘Yielding to the counsel of my friends, I presented -myself at the appointed time and place, unprepared and unequipped, -save that I had in mind the monition: “Take ye no thought what and -how ye shall speak.”’ Then ‘when his books had begun to be read [he -does not say by whom], he would not listen, but went out, appealing -from the judges he had chosen. These things I tell thee in my own -defence, lest thou mayst think I have been too impetuous or bold in -the matter. But thou, O successor of Peter, thou shalt decide whether -he who has assailed the faith of Peter should find refuge in the see -of Peter.’ In other words, do not allow Abélard to come to Rome, but -condemn him unheard, on my word. He ends with a final diplomatic -_argumentum ad invidiam_. ‘Hyacinth has done me much injury, but I -have thought well to suffer it, seeing that he did not spare you -and your court when he was at Rome, as my friend, and indeed yours, -Nicholas, will explain more fully by word of mouth.’ - - [33] The reference is to the anti-pope, a Pierleone. It is a - subtle reminder of what Pope Innocent owes to Bernard. - - [34] Recalling some of the zoology of the Old Testament. - -The second letter runs so largely on the same lines that it is -thought by some to have been sent to the pope instead of the -preceding, in which the reference to Hyacinth and the curia may have -been impolitic. ‘Weeping has the spouse of Christ wept in the night,’ -it begins, ‘and tears are upon her cheeks; there is none to console -her out of all her friends. And in the delaying of the spouse, to -thee, my lord, is committed the care of the Shunammite in this land -of her pilgrimage.’ Abélard is a ‘domestic enemy,’ an Absalom, a -Judas. There is the same play upon the lion and the dragon, and upon -the scaly monster formed of Abélard and Arnold. ‘They have become -corrupt and abominable in their aims, and from the ferment of their -corruptions they pervert the faith of the simple, disturb the order -of morals, and defile the chastity of the Church.’ Moreover Abélard -‘boasts that he has opened the founts of knowledge to the cardinals -and priests of the Roman curia, and that he has lodged his books and -his opinions in the hands and hearts of the Romans; and he adduces -as patrons of his error those who should judge and condemn him.’ He -concludes with an apostrophe to Abélard, which was well calculated to -expel the last lingering doubt from the mind of the pope. ‘With what -thoughts, what conscience, canst thou have recourse to the defender -of the faith—thou, its persecutor? With what eyes, what brow, wilt -thou meet the gaze of the friend of the Spouse—thou, the violator -of His bride? Oh, if the care of the brethren did not detain me! If -bodily infirmity did not prevent it! How I should love to see the -friend of the Spouse defending the bride in His absence!’ - -The third letter, a kind of preface to Bernard’s list of errors -and commentary thereon, is of the same unworthy temper, tortuous, -diplomatic, misleading, and vituperative. It is not apparent on what -ground Hausrath says this commentary represents Bernard’s speech at -Sens; if it does so, we have another curious commentary on Bernard’s -affirmation that he went to the synod unprepared. However that may -be, the letter is a singular composition, when we remember that it -accompanied an appeal to a higher court, to which the case had been -reserved. It opens with a declaration that ‘the see of Peter’ is the -due and natural tribunal to which to refer ‘all scandals that arise -in the Kingdom of God’; a declaration which is hardly consistent with -the assurance, when it is necessary to defend their condemnation of -Abélard, that his appeal ‘seems to us wonderful.’ Then follows the -familiar caricature. ‘We have here in France an old master who has -just turned theologian, who has played with the art of rhetoric from -his earliest years and now raves about the Holy Scriptures [Abélard -had been teaching Scripture and theology for the last twenty-six -years]. He is endeavouring to resuscitate doctrines that were -condemned and buried long ago, and to these he adds new errors of his -own. A man who, in his inquiries into all there is in heaven above or -earth below, is ignorant of nothing save the word “I do not know.” -He lifts his eyes to the heavens, and peers into the hidden things -of God, then returns to us with discourse of things that man is not -permitted to discuss.’ This last sentence, considered as a charge by -Bernard of Clairvaux against others, is amusing. Bernard spent half -his time in searching the hidden things of God, and the other half in -discoursing of them. But Abélard conceived them otherwise than he. - -Thus was the supreme judge instructed in his part, whilst the foolish -Abélard lingered idly in Paris, not improbably, as Bernard says, -boasting of his friends at the curia. It was very possible that he -had friends at Rome. Deutsch suspects the existence of a faction in -the sacred college, which was opposed to Innocent and the Chancellor -Haymerick, and would be favourable to Abélard. Bernard was not the -man to leave a single risk unchallenged—or to the care of the Holy -Ghost. - -In the first place, therefore, he wrote a circular letter ‘to all my -lords and fathers, the venerable bishops and cardinals of the curia, -from the child of their holiness.’ His secretary was to deliver a -copy to each. ‘None will doubt,’ he says, ‘that it is your especial -duty to remove all scandals from the kingdom of God.’ The Roman -Church is the tribunal of the world: ‘to it we do well to refer, -not questions, but attacks on the faith and dishonour of Christ: -contumely and contempt of the fathers: present scandals and future -dangers. The faith of the simple is derided, the hidden things of God -are dragged forth, questions of the most sublime mysteries are rashly -debated, insults are offered to the fathers.’ They will see this by -the report. ‘And if you think there is just ground for my agitation, -be ye also moved’—and moved to take action. ‘Let him who has raised -himself to the heavens be crushed down to hell; he has sinned in -public, let him be punished in public.’ It is the fulmination of the -prophet of the age on the duty of the curia. - -Then came eight private letters to cardinals of his acquaintance, an -interesting study in ecclesiastical diplomacy. To the chancellor of -the curia, Haymerick, he speaks chiefly of Abélard’s boast of friends -at court. He transcribes the passage from his letter to Innocent; -and he adds the earlier allusion to the Roman deacon, Hyacinth, who -was evidently a thorn in the side of the officials of the curia. To -Guido of Castello, afterwards Celestine II., who was known to be a -friend of Abélard, he writes in an entirely new strain. ‘I should -do you wrong,’ he begins, ‘if I thought you so loved any man as to -embrace his errors also in your affection.’ Such a love would be -animal, earthly, diabolical. Others may say what they like of Guido, -but Bernard is a man who ‘never judges anybody without proof,’ and -he will not believe it. He passes to a mild complaint that ‘Master -Peter introduces profane novelties in his books’; still ‘it is not -I that accuse him before the Father, but his own book.’ But he -cannot refrain from putting just a little _venenum in cauda_: ‘It is -expedient for you and for the Church that silence be imposed on him -whose mouth is full of curses and bitterness and guile.’ - -Cardinal Ivo, on the other hand, belongs to the loyal group. ‘Master -Peter Abélard,’ he is told, ‘a prelate without dependency, observes -no order and is restrained by no order.... He is a Herod in his soul, -a Baptist in outward appearance.’ However, that is not my business, -says the diplomatist, ‘every man shall bear his own burden.’ Bernard -is concerned about his heresies, and his boast that he will be -protected by a certain faction in the curia. Ivo must do his duty -‘in freeing the Church from the lips of the wicked.’ A young unnamed -cardinal is appealed to for support. ‘Let no man despise thy youth,’ -begins the man who calls Abélard a ‘slippery serpent’; ‘not grey hair -but a sober mind is what God looks to.’ Another cardinal, who had -a custom of rising when any person entered his room, is playfully -approached with a reminder of this: ‘If thou art indeed a son of the -Church,’ the note ends, ‘defend the womb that has borne thee and the -breasts that have suckled thee.’ Guido of Pisa receives a similar -appeal: ‘If thou art a son of the Church, if thou knowest the breast -of thy mother, desert her not in her peril.’ The letter to another -Cardinal Guido is particularly vicious and unworthy. ‘I cannot but -write you,’ it begins, ‘of the dishonour to Christ, the trials -and sorrows of the Church, the misery of the helpless, and groans -of the poor.’ What is the matter? This: ‘We have here in France a -monk who observes no rule, a prelate without care, an abbot without -discipline, one Peter Abélard, who disputes with boys and busies -himself with women.’ There is a nasty ambiguity in the last phrase. -Again, ‘We have escaped the roar of the lion [Pierleone] only to hear -the hissing of the dragon Peter.... If the mouth of the wicked be -not closed, may He who alone regards our works consider and condemn.’ -A similar letter is addressed to Cardinal Stephen of Praeneste. ‘I -freely write to you, whom I know to be a friend of the spouse, of the -trials and sorrows of the spouse of Christ.’ Abélard is ‘an enemy -of Christ,’ as is proved, not only by his works, but by ‘his life -and actions.’ He has ‘sallied forth from his den like a slippery -serpent’; he is ‘a hydra,’ growing seven new heads where one has been -cut off. He ‘misleads the simple,’ and finally ‘boasts that he has -inoculated the Roman curia with the poison of his novelty.’ - -A ninth letter is addressed to an abbot who was in Rome at the time, -and who is drawn into the intrigue with many holy threats. ‘If any -man is for the Lord let him take his place. The truth is in danger. -Peter Abélard has gone forth to prepare the way for Anti-Christ.... -May God consider and condemn, if the mouth of the wicked be not -closed forthwith.’ - -These letters were handed over, for personal delivery, to Bernard’s -monk-secretary, Nicholas; in many of them it is expressly stated -that the bearer will enlarge upon the text more freely by word of -mouth. We know enough about this monk to be assured of the more than -fidelity with which he accomplished his task. Enjoying the full -confidence of Bernard at that time, a very able and well-informed -monk, Nicholas de Montier-Ramey was a thorough scoundrel, as Bernard -learned to his cost a few years afterwards. He had to be convicted -of forging Bernard’s seal and hand for felonious purposes before the -keen scent of the abbot discovered his utter unscrupulousness. - -With Abélard lingering at Paris in his light-hearted way, the -violence and energy of Bernard swept away whatever support he might -have counted on at Rome. Throughout the curia Bernard had scattered -his caricature of Abélard: a lawless monk, an abbot who neglected his -abbey, a man of immoral life, an associate of the recognised enemies -of the papacy, already condemned for heresy, a reviver of Arius and -Nestorius and Pelagius, a teacher without reverence, a disturber of -the faith of the simple. The pope did not hesitate a moment; the -letters sent to him are masterpieces of diplomatic correspondence. -The waverers in the curia were most skilfully worked. In mere secular -matters such an attempt to corrupt the judges would be fiercely -resented. Bernard lived in a transcendental region, that Hegelian -land in which contradictions disappear. - -It was on the 4th of June that Abélard appealed to Rome. There -were no Alpine tunnels in those days, and the journey from Paris -to Rome was a most formidable one. Yet Bernard’s nervous energy -had infused such spirit into the work, and he had chosen so able a -messenger, that the whole case was ended in less than seven weeks. -There cannot have been a moment’s hesitation at Rome. On the 16th -of July the faithful of Rome gathered about the door of St. Peter’s -for the solemn reading of the decree of excommunication. The pope -was there, surrounded by his cardinals, and it was announced, with -the usual impressive flourishes, that Abélard’s works were condemned -to the flames and his person to be imprisoned by the ecclesiastical -authorities. Rome has not been a model of the humane use of power, -but she has rarely condemned a man unheard. On the sole authority -of Bernard the decree recognised in Abélard’s ‘pernicious doctrine’ -the already condemned errors of the early heresiarchs. Arnold of -Brescia, who had not been officially indicted, was included in the -condemnation. It was Bernard’s skilful use of his association -with Abélard which chiefly impelled the pope. Innocent replies -to Bernard’s appeal by sending back to him the decree of the -condemnation of his antagonist, with a private note to the effect -that it must not be published until after it has been read at an -approaching synod. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -CONSUMMATUM EST - - -It was well for Bernard’s cause that he succeeded in obtaining the -decree without delay. He had carefully represented that the whole -of France supported him in his demand. It does seem as if some of -Abélard’s friends were puzzled for a time by his appeal, but before -long there came a reaction in his favour, just as had happened -after his condemnation at Soissons. Bernard himself may have been -perfectly self-justified in his determined effort to prevent Abélard -from having a fair chance of defending himself, but there are two -ways of regarding his conduct.[35] Abélard’s followers naturally -adopted the view which was less flattering to Bernard’s reputation, -and they seem to have had some success in enforcing it. In a letter -of Bernard’s to a certain cardinal we find him defending himself -against the charge of ‘having obtained the decree by improper means -[_subripere_] from the pope.’ - - [35] I abstain from commenting on St. Bernard’s conduct, or - making the ethical and psychological analysis of it, which is so - imperfectly done by his biographers at this period, because they - do not fully state the facts, or not in their natural order. It - would be a fascinating task, but one beside the purpose of the - present work and not discreet for the present writer. I have let - Bernard speak for himself. - -One of the chief instruments in the agitation on the Abélardist -side was the apology of Bérenger of Poitiers, which we have quoted -previously. Violent and coarse as it was, it was known to have a -foundation of fact; and, in the growing unpopularity of Bernard, it -had a wide circulation. It was not answered, as the Benedictines -say; yet we may gather from Bérenger’s qualified withdrawal of it, -when he is hard pressed, that it gave Bernard and the Cistercians a -good deal of annoyance. Arnold of Brescia was, meanwhile, repeating -his fulminations at Paris against the whole hierarchical system. -He had taken Abélard’s late chair in the chapel of St. Hilary on -the slope of St. Genevieve, and was sustaining the school until the -master should return from Rome in triumph. But Arnold had no hope of -any good being done at Rome, and rather preached rebellion against -the whole of the bejewelled prelates. Sternly ascetic in his life -and ideals—St. Bernard scoffingly applies to him the evangelical -description of the Baptist: ‘He ate not, neither did he drink’—he was -ever contrasting the luxurious life of the pastors of the Church with -the simple ideal of early Christianity. He had not such success in -France as elsewhere, and Bernard secured his expulsion a few years -later. But the same stern denunciation was on his noble lips when the -savage flames sealed them for ever, under the shadow of St. Peter’s, -in 1155. - -Abélard himself seems to have taken matters with a fatal coolness, -whilst his adversary was moving heaven and earth to destroy him. He -allowed a month or two to elapse before he turned in the direction -of Rome.[36] Secure in the consciousness of the integrity of his -cause and his own power of pleading, and presuming too much of Rome’s -proud boast that it ‘condemned no man unheard,’ he saw no occasion -for hurry. Late in the summer he set out upon his long journey. It -was his purpose to travel through Burgundy and Lyons, and to cross -the Alps by the pass which was soon to bear the name of his energetic -enemy. After the fashion of all travellers of the time he rested at -night in the monastery nearest to the spot where he was overtaken. -Thus it came to pass that, when he arrived in the neighbourhood of -Mâcon, he sought hospitality of the great and venerable Benedictine -abbey at Cluny. - - [36] He did, however, write an ‘apology’ or defence, but only a - few fragments of it survive. - -Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, was the second monk in France at -that time. A few degrees lower in the scale of neural intensity than -his canonised rival, he far surpassed him in the less exalted virtues -of kindliness, humanity, and moderation. ‘The rule of St. Benedict,’ -he once wrote to Bernard, ‘is dependent on the sublime general law -of charity’; that was not the route to the honour of canonisation. -He belonged by birth to the illustrious family of the Montboissiers -of Auvergne, and was a man of culture, fine and equable temper, high -principle, gentle and humane feeling, and much practical wisdom. He -had had more than one controversy with the abbot of Clairvaux, and -his influence was understood to counterbalance that of Bernard at -times in the affairs of the Church and the kingdom. - -It was, therefore, one of the few fortunate accidents of his career -that brought Abélard to Cluny at that time. Abbot Peter knew that -Bernard had actually in his possession the papal decree which -ordered the imprisonment of Abélard and the burning of his books. -He had a deep sympathy for the ageing master who was seeking a new -triumph in Rome under such peculiarly sad circumstances. Peter knew -well how little the question of heresy really counted for in the -matter. It was a question of Church politics; and he decided to use -his influence for the purpose of securing a tranquil close for the -embittered and calumniated life. Abélard was beginning to feel the -exactions of his journey, and remained some days at the abbey. The -abbot, as he afterwards informs the pope, spoke with him about his -purpose, and at length informed him that the blow had already fallen. -It was the last and decisive blow. The proud head never again raised -itself in defiance of the potent ignorance, the crafty passion, and -the hypocrisy that made up the world about him. He was too much -enfeebled, too much dispirited, even to repeat the blasphemy of his -earlier experience: ‘Good Jesus, where art thou?’ For the first and -last time he bowed to the mystery of the triumph of evil. - -Abbot Peter then undertook the task of averting the consequence -of Bernard’s triumph, and found little difficulty in directing -the fallen man. It was imperative, in the first place, to effect -some form of reconciliation between the great antagonists, so as -to disarm the hostility of Bernard. We shortly find Raynard, the -abbot of Cîteaux, at Cluny, and Abélard accompanies him back to -his abbey. Peter has obtained from him a formal promise to correct -anything in his works that may be ‘offensive to pious ears,’ and -on this basis Bernard is invited to a reconciliation at Cîteaux. A -few days afterwards Abélard returns to Cluny with the laconic reply -that they ‘had had a peaceful encounter,’ as the abbot informs the -pope, to whom he immediately writes for permission to receive Abélard -into their community at Cluny, adding, with a calm contempt of the -accusation of heresy, that ‘Brother Peter’s knowledge’ will be useful -to the brethren. The abbot of Cluny had claims upon the pope’s -consideration. Although the anti-pope, Anacletus, had been a monk -of Cluny, Peter had been the first to meet Innocent when he came to -France for support. In pointed terms he begged that Abélard ‘might -not be driven away or troubled by the importunity of any persons.’ -His request was granted; and thus the broken spirit was spared that -‘public humiliation’ in France that Bernard had demanded. - -The basis of reconciliation with Bernard was probably a second and -shorter apology which Abélard wrote at Cluny. It was convenient to -regard this at the time as a retractation. In reality it is for the -most part a sharp rejection of Bernard’s formulation of his theses -and a new enunciation of them in more orthodox phraseology. His frame -of mind appears in the introductory note. - -‘There is a familiar proverb that “Nothing is said so well that it -cannot be perverted,” and, as St. Jerome says, “He who writes many -books invites many judges.” I also have written a few things—though -little in comparison with others—and have not succeeded in escaping -censure; albeit in those things for which I am so gravely charged I -am conscious of no fault, nor should I obstinately defend it, if I -were. It may be that I have erred in my writings, but I call God to -witness and to judge in my soul that I have written nothing through -wickedness or pride of those things for which I am chiefly blamed.’ - -Then, warmly denying Bernard’s charge that he has ever taught a -secret doctrine, he passes to a detailed profession of faith on -the lines of Bernard’s list of errors. With regard to the Trinity -he denies all the heresies ascribed to him; this he could do with -perfect justice. On the other points he makes distinctions, adds -explanations and qualifications, and even sometimes accepts Bernard’s -thesis without remark, though one can generally see a reserve in the -background. Thus, on the question of sin committed in ignorance, he -makes the familiar modern distinction between culpable and inculpable -ignorance: he admits that we have inherited Adam’s sin, but adds -‘because his sin is the source and cause of all our sins.’ On the -question of the prevention of evil by God, he merely says, ‘Yes, He -often does’; and so forth. The only sentence which looks like a real -retractation is that in which he grants ‘the power of the keys’ to -all the clergy. In this he clearly dissociates himself from Arnold -of Brescia, and perplexes his friends. But his earlier teaching on -the point is by no means so clear and categorical as that of Arnold. -There is nothing either very commendable or very condemnable about -the document. It probably represents a grudging concession to the -abbot of Cluny’s friendly pressure and counsel to withdraw from -what was really only a heated quarrel with as little friction as -possible. That Abélard was not in the penitent mood some writers -discover in the letter is clear from the peroration. ‘My friend [!] -has concluded his list of errors with the remark: “They are found -partly in Master Peter’s book of theology, partly in his _Sentences_, -and partly in his _Scito te Ipsum_.” But I have never written a book -of _Sentences_, and therefore the remark is due to the same malice or -ignorance as the errors themselves.’ - -However, the document had a sufficient air of retractation about it -to allow Bernard to withdraw. In substance and spirit it was, as its -name indicated, an apology, not a retractation. In fact Bernard’s -zealous secretary and an unknown abbot attacked the apology, but -Abélard made no reply, and the discussion slowly died away. Bernard -had won a political triumph, and he showed a becoming willingness -to rest content with empty assurances. Abélard’s personal force was -dead; little eagerness was shown to pursue the seminal truths he had -left behind, and which were once thought so abhorrent and pernicious. -Later Benedictines virtually admit the justice of this. Mabillon -says: ‘We do not regard Abélard as a heretic; it is sufficient for -the defence of Bernard to admit that he erred in certain things.’ -And the historian Noël Alexandre also says, ‘He must not be regarded -as a heretic.’ Indeed, Bernard was strongly condemned at the time -by English and German writers. Otto of Freising reproves his action -in the cases of both Abélard and Gilbert, and attributes it to -defects of character. John of Salisbury severely criticises him in -the _Historia Pontificalis_; and Walter Map, another English writer, -voices the same widespread feeling. - -Another document that Abélard sent out from Cluny forms the last -page of his intercourse with Heloise. If he had wearily turned away -from the strange drama of life, his affection for her survives the -disillusion in all its force. There is a welcome tenderness in -his thought of her amidst the crushing desolation that has fallen -upon him. _She_ shall not be hurt by any unwilling impression of -persistent calumny. He writes to her a most affectionate letter, -and in the sanctuary of their love makes a solemn profession of the -purity of his faith. - -‘My sister Heloise, once dear to me in the world, and now most dear -in Christ, logic has brought the enmity of men upon me. For there -are certain perverse calumniators, whose wisdom leads to perdition, -that say I take pre-eminence in logic but fail egregiously in the -interpretation of Paul; commending my ability, they would deny me the -purity of Christian faith.... I would not rank as a philosopher if it -implied any error in faith; I would not be an Aristotle if it kept me -away from Christ. For no other name is given to me under heaven in -which I may find salvation. I adore Christ, sitting at the right hand -of the Father.’ Then follows a brief confession of faith on the chief -points of Christian belief—the Trinity, the Incarnation, baptism, -penance, and the resurrection. ‘And that all anxiety and doubt may be -excluded from thy heart,’ he concludes, ‘do thou hold this concerning -me, I have grounded my conscience on that rock on which Christ has -built His Church.’ - -It was Abélard’s farewell to her who had shared so much of the joy -and the bitterness of his life. But what a different man it recalls -through the mists of time from the ‘dragon’ of Bernard’s letters! One -contrast at least we cannot fail to note between the saint and the -sinner. We have seen Bernard’s treatment of Abélard; in this private -letter, evidently intended for no eye but that of his wife, we have -the sole recorded utterance of Abélard on the man who, for so little -reason, shattered the triumph and the peace of his closing years. - -For if there is a seeming peace about the few months of life that -still remained to the great teacher, it is the peace of the grave—the -heavy peace that shrouds a dead ambition and a broken spirit, not the -glad peace that adorns requited labour and successful love. Abélard -enters upon a third stage of his existence, and the shadow of the -tomb is on it. He becomes a monk; he centres all his thought on the -religious exercises that, like the turns of the prayer wheel, write -the long catalogue of merit in heaven. - -In the abbey of Cluny, under the administration of Peter the -Venerable, he found all that his soul desired in its final stage. -The vast monastery had a community of four hundred and sixty monks. -Older than its rival, Cîteaux, possessed of great wealth and one of -the finest churches in France, it was eagerly sought by monastic -aspirants. When Innocent II. came to France for support, Cluny sent -sixty horses and mules to meet him, and entertained him and all his -followers for eleven days. At an earlier date it had lodged pope, -king, and emperor, with all their followers, without displacing -a single monk. Yet with all its wealth and magnitude the abbey -maintained a strict observance of the rule of St. Benedict. Peter -was too cultured and humanistic[37] for the Cistercians, who often -criticised the half-heartedness of his community. In point of fact a -strict order and discipline were maintained in the abbey, and Abélard -entered fervently into its life. From their beds of straw the monks -would rise at midnight and proceed to the church, where they would -chant their long, dirge-like matins, and remain in meditation until -dawn. Work, study, and prayer filled up the long hours; and at night -they would cast themselves down, just as they were, on the bags of -straw, to rise again on the morrow for the same task. Such monks—they -are rare now, though far from extinct—must be men of one idea—heaven. -To that stage had Abélard sunk. - - [37] Amongst other humane modifications we may note that he - raised the age of admission to the abbey to twenty-one. - -Years afterwards the brothers used to point out to visitors—for -Abélard had left a repute for sanctity behind him—a great lime-tree -under which he used to sit and read between exercises. Peter had -gone so far as to make him prior of the studies of the brethren, -so lightly did he hold the charge of heresy. The abbot has given -us, in a later letter to Heloise, an enthusiastic picture, drawn -from the purely Buddhist point of view, of Abélard’s closing days. -With a vague allusion to this letter certain ecclesiastical writers -represent Abélard as a sinner up to the time of the Council of Sens, -and a convert and penitent in the brief subsequent period. In point -of fact there was little change in the soul of the fallen man, beyond -a weary resignation of his hope of cleansing the Church, involving, -as this did, a more constant preoccupation with the world to come. -The abbot says, in support of his declaration, that Abélard had -cast a radiance on their abbey, that ‘not a moment passed but he -was either praying or reading or writing or composing’; and again: -‘If I mistake not I never saw his equal in lowliness of habit and -conduct, so much so that Germain did not seem more humble nor Martin -poorer than he to those who were of good discernment.’ The ‘good -discernment’ reminds us that we must not take at too literal a value -this letter of comfort to the widowed abbess. Abélard had been an -ascetic and a devout man since his frightful experience at Paris -twenty-five years previously. With the fading of his interest in the -things of earth, and in his sure consciousness of approaching death, -his prayers would assuredly be longer and his indifference to comfort -and honour more pronounced. - -But we have a clear indication that there was no change in his -thoughts, even in that last year, with regard to the great work of -his life and the temper of his opponents. During the quiet months of -teaching at Cluny, a certain ‘Dagobert and his nephew’ asked him for -a copy of his dialectical treatise, one of his earliest writings. It -is impossible to say whether this Dagobert was his brother at Nantes -(where Astrolabe also seems to have lived) or a monastic ‘Brother -Dagobert.’ Most probably it was the former, because he speaks of the -effort it costs him, ill and weary of writing as he is, to respond -to their ‘affection.’ He does not copy, but rewrites his dialectics, -so that we have in the work his last attitude on his studies and his -struggles. It is entirely unchanged. Jealousy, hatred, and ignorance -are the sole sources of the hostility to his work. They say he -should have confined himself to dialectics (as Otto von Freising said -later); but he points out that his enemies quarrelled even with his -exclusive attention to dialectics, firstly because it had no direct -relation to faith, and secondly because it was indirectly destructive -of faith. He has still the old enthusiasm for reason and for the -deepening and widening of our natural knowledge. Both knowledge and -faith come from God, and cannot contradict each other. It was the -last gleam of the dying light, but it was wholly unchanged in its -purity. - -With the approach of spring the abbot sent the doomed man to a more -friendly and familiar climate. Cluny had a priory outside the town -of Chalon-sur-Saône, not far from the bank of the river. It was one -of the most pleasant situations in Burgundy, in the mild valley of -the Seine, which Abélard had learned to love. But the last struggle -had exhausted his strength, and the disease, variously described as a -fever and a disease of the skin, met with little resistance. He died -on the 21st of April 1142, in the sixty-third year of his age. - -How deeply he had impressed the monks of St. Marcellus during his -brief stay with them becomes apparent in the later history, which -recalls the last chapter in the lives of some of the most popular -saints. It will be remembered that Abélard had, in one of his letters -to Heloise, asked that his body might be buried at the Paraclete, -‘for he knew no place that was safer or more salutary for a sorrowing -soul.’ Heloise informed the abbot of Cluny of the request, and he -promised to see it fulfilled. But he found that the monks of St. -Marcellus were violently opposed to the idea of robbing them of the -poor body that had been hunted from end to end of France whilst the -great mind yet dwelt in it. There have often been such quarrels, -sometimes leading to bloodshed, over the bodies of the saints. -However, the abbot found a means to steal the body from the monastery -chapel in the month of November, and had it conveyed secretly, under -his personal conduct, to the Paraclete. - -We have a letter which was written by the abbot about this time to -Heloise. I have already quoted the portion in which he consoles her -with a picture of the edifying life and death of her husband. The -first part of the letter is even more interesting in its testimony to -the gifts and character of the abbess herself. Peter the Venerable -was, it will be remembered, a noble of high origin, an abbot of great -and honourable repute, a man of culture and sober judgment. - -‘For in truth,’ he says, after an allusion to some gifts—probably -altar-work—that she had sent him, ‘my affection for thee is not of -recent growth, but of long standing. I had hardly passed the bounds -of youth, hardly come to man’s estate, when the repute, if not yet -of thy religious fervour, at least of thy becoming and praiseworthy -studies, reached my ears. I remember hearing at that time of a -woman who, though still involved in the toils of the world, devoted -herself to letters and to the pursuit of wisdom, which is a rare -occurrence.... In that pursuit thou hast not only excelled amongst -women, but there are few men whom thou hast not surpassed.’ He passes -to the consideration of her religious ‘vocation,’ in which, of -course, he discovers a rich blessing. ‘These things, dearest sister -in the Lord,’ he concludes, ‘I say by way of exhortation, not of -flattery.’ Then, after much theological and spiritual discussion, he -says: ‘It would be grateful to me to hold long converse with thee -on these matters, because I not only take pleasure in thy renowned -erudition, but I am even more attracted by that piety of which so -many speak to me. Would that thou didst dwell at Cluny!’ - -This is the one woman (and wife, to boot) to whom Bernard could have -referred in justification of his equivocal remark to a stranger -that Abélard ‘busied himself with women.’ We have, however, little -further record of the life of the unfortunate Heloise. Shortly -after the body of her husband has been buried in the crypt of their -convent-chapel, we find her applying to Peter of Cluny for a written -copy of the absolution of Abélard. The abbot sent it; and for long -years the ashes of the great master were guarded from profanation by -this pitiful certificate of his orthodoxy. In the same letter Heloise -thanks the abbot for a promise that the abbey of Cluny will chant -the most solemn rites of the Church when her own death is announced -to them; she also asks Peter’s favourable influence on behalf of -Astrolabe, her son, who has entered the service of the Church. - -Heloise survived her husband by twenty-one years. There is a pretty -legend in the Chronicle of the Church of Tours that the tomb of -Abélard was opened at her death and her remains laid in it, and that -the arms of the dead man opened wide to receive her whose embrace the -hard world had denied him in life. It seems to have been at a later -date that their ashes were really commingled. At the Revolution the -Paraclete was secularised, and the remains of husband and wife began -a series of removals in their great sarcophagus. In 1817 they found a -fitting rest in Père Lachaise. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE INFLUENCE OF ABÉLARD - - -If the inquirer into the influence of the famous dialectician could -content himself with merely turning from the study of Abélard’s -opinions to the towering structure of modern Catholic theology, he -would be tempted to exclaim, in the words of a familiar epitaph, -‘Si monumentum quaeris, circumspice.’ Abélard’s most characteristic -principles are now amongst the accepted foundations of dogmatic -theology; most, or, at all events, a large number, of the conclusions -that brought such wrath about him in the twelfth century are now -calmly taught in the schools of Rome and Louvain and Freiburg. -Bernardism has been almost banished from the courts of the temple. -The modern theologian could not face the modern world with the -thoughts of the saint whose bones are treasured in a thousand -jewelled reliquaries; he must speak the thoughts of the heretic, who -lies by the side of his beloved, amidst the soldiers and statesmen, -the actresses and courtesans, of Paris. The great political -organisation that once found it expedient to patronise Bernardism has -now taken the spirit of Abélard into the very heart of its official -teaching. - -There are few in England who will read such an assertion without -a feeling of perplexity, if not incredulity. Far and wide over -the realm of theology has the spirit of Abélard breathed; and -ever-widening spheres of Evangelicalism, Deism, Pantheism, and -Agnosticism mark its growth. But it is understood that Rome has -resisted the spirit of rationalism, and to-day, as ever, bids human -reason bow in submission before the veiled mysteries of ‘the deposit -of revelation.’ - -Yet the assertion involves no strain or ingenuity of interpretation -of Catholic theology. The notion that Rome rebukes the imperious -claims of reason is one of a number of strangely-enduring fallacies -concerning that Church. The truth of our thesis can be swiftly and -clearly established. The one essential source of the antagonism of -St. Bernard and Abélard was the question of the relations of faith -and reason. ‘Faith precedes intellect,’ said the Cistercian; ‘Reason -precedes faith,’ said the Benedictine. All other quarrels were -secondary and were cognate to their profound and irreconcilable -opposition on this point. M. Guizot adds a second fundamental -opposition on the ethical side. This, however, was certainly of a -secondary importance. Few historians hesitate to regard the famous -struggle as being in the main a dispute over the rights and duties of -reason. - -Turn then from the pontificate of Innocent II. to that of Pius IX. -and of Leo XIII. Towards the close of the last century, Huet, Bishop -of Avranches, began to meet rationalistic attacks with a belittlement -of human reason. The idea found favour with a class of apologists. -De Bonald, Bonetty, Bautain, and others in France, and the Louvain -theologians in Belgium, came entirely to repudiate the interference -of reason with regard to higher truths, saying that their acceptance -was solely a matter of faith and tradition. Well, the Church of Rome -(to which all belonged) descended upon the new sect with a remarkable -severity. Phrases that were purely Bernardist in form and substance -were rigorously condemned. The French ‘Traditionalists’ were -forced to subscribe to (amongst others) the following significant -proposition: ‘The use of reason precedes faith, and leads up to -it, with the aid of revelation and grace.’ It was the principle -which Abélard’s whole life was spent in vindicating. The Louvain -men wriggled for many months under the heel of Rome. They were not -suffered to rest until they had cast away the last diluted element of -their theory. - -The episode offers a very striking exhibition of the entire change of -front of Rome with regard to ‘the rights of reason.’ There are many -other official utterances in the same sense. An important provincial -council, held at Cologne in 1860, and fully authorised, discussed the -question at length. ‘We have no faith,’ it enacted, ‘until we have -seen with our reason that God is worthy of credence and that He has -spoken to us’; and again, ‘The firmness of faith ... requires that -he who believes must have a preliminary _rational certitude_ of the -existence of God and the fact of a revelation having come from Him, -and he must have no prudent doubt on the matter.’ In the Encyclical -of 1846 even Pius IX. insisted on the same principle: ‘Human reason, -to avoid the danger of deception and error, must diligently search -out the fact of a divine revelation, and must attain a _certainty_ -that the message comes from God, so that, as the Apostle most wisely -ordains, it may offer Him a “reasonable service.”’ The Vatican -Council of 1870 was equally explicit. The modern Catholic theologian, -in his treatise on faith, invariably defines it as an intellectual -act, an acceptance of truths after a satisfactory rational inquiry -into the authority that urges them. It is official Catholic teaching -that faith is impossible without a previous rational certitude. -Moreover, the theologian admits that every part and particle of the -dogmatic system must meet the criticism of reason. In the positive -sense it is indispensable that reason prove the existence of God, -the authority of God, and the divinity of the Scriptures. In the -negative sense, no single dogma must contain an assertion which is -clearly opposed to a proved fact or to a clear pronouncement of human -reason or the human conscience. These are not the speculations of -advanced theologians, but the current teaching in the Roman schools -and manuals[38] of dogmatic theology. - - [38] One of the most widely-used of these manuals at present - is that of the learned Jesuit, Father Hurter. On p. 472 of the - first volume one finds the Bernardist notions of faith sternly - rejected, and variously attributed to ‘Protestants,’ ‘Pietists,’ - and ‘Kantists.’ - -Thus has history vindicated the heretic. The multiplication of -churches has made the Bernardist notion of faith wholly untenable -and unserviceable to Rome. Reason precedes faith; reason must lead -men to faith, and make faith acceptable to men. That is the gospel -that now falls on the dead ear of the great master. - -And when we pass from this fundamental principle or attitude to a -consideration of special points of dogma we again meet with many -a triumph. We have already seen how Abélard’s ‘novelties’ may be -traced to a twofold criticism—ethical and intellectual—of the form in -which Christian dogmas were accepted in his day. Without explicitly -formulating it, Abélard proceeded on the principle which is now -complacently laid down by the Catholic theologian, and was accepted -by the Christian world at large a century or half a century ago: -the principle that what is offered to us as revealed truth must be -tested by the declarations of the mind and of the conscience. The -intellectual criticism led him to alter the terms of the dogmas of -the Trinity, the Incarnation, the Eucharist, and others; the ethical -criticism led him to modify the current theories of original sin, the -atonement, penance, and so forth. - -Now, even if we confine our attention to Roman theology, we find -a large adoption of Abélard’s singularly prophetic conclusions. -As to the Trinity, it is now a universal and accepted practice to -illustrate it by analogies derived from purely natural phenomena, -which are always heretical if taken literally. One of the proudest -achievements of St. Thomas and the schoolmen was the construction -of an elaborate analogical conception of the Trinity. On the -equally important question of Scripture Abélard’s innovation proved -prophetic. In that age of the doctrine of verbal inspiration he -drew attention to the human element in the Bible. Even the Catholic -Bible is no longer a monochrome. Abélard’s speculation about the -‘accidents’ in the Eucharist—that they are based on the substance of -the air—is now widely and freely accepted by theologians. His moral -principles relating to sins done in ignorance and to ‘suggestion, -delectation, and consent’—both of which were condemned, at Bernard’s -demand—are recognised to be absolutely sound by the modern casuist. -His notion of heaven is the current esoteric doctrine in Rome to-day; -his theory of hell is widely held, in spite of a recent official -censure; his pleading for Plato and his fellow-heathens would be -seconded by the average Catholic theologian of to-day. - -It is hardly necessary to point out how entirely the non-Roman -theology of the nineteenth century has accepted Abélard’s spirit -and conclusions. The broadest feature of the history of theology -during the century has been the resumption and the development of the -modifying process which was started by Abélard eight centuries ago. -The world at large has taken up his speculations on the Incarnation, -the atonement, original sin, responsibility, inspiration, confession, -hell and heaven, and so many other points, and given them that -development from which the dutiful son of the Church inconsistently -shrank.[39] A curious and striking proof of this may be taken from -Tholuck’s dissertation on ‘Abélard and Aquinas as interpreters of -Scripture.’ The distinguished German theologian, who is the author -of a well-known commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, says that -when he read Abélard’s commentary on that Epistle, in preparing his -own work, he seriously hesitated whether it would not suffice to -republish the forgotten work of Abélard instead of writing a new one. -When one recollects what an epitome of theology such a commentary -must be, one can appreciate not only the great homage it involves to -the genius of the man whom Bernard scornfully calls a ‘dabbler in -theology,’ but the extent to which Abélard anticipated the mature -judgment of theological science. - - [39] A typical illustration of the perplexity and inconsistency - which resulted from the conflict of Abélard’s critical moral - sense with apparently fixed dogmas is seen in his treatment of - original sin in the _Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans_. - He finds two meanings for the word sin—guilt and punishment; and - he strains his conscience to the point of admitting that we may - inherit Adam’s sin in the latter sense. Then comes the question - of unbaptized children—whom Bernard calmly consigned to Hades—and - he has to produce the extraordinary theory that the Divine Will - is the standard of morality, and so cannot act unjustly. But - his conscience asserts itself, and he goes on to say that their - punishment will only be a negative one—the denial of the sight - of God—and will only be inflicted on those children who, in the - divine prescience, would have been wicked had they lived! - -It seems, however, a superfluous task to point out the acceptance of -Abélard’s spirit, method, and results by theology in general. The -more interesting and important question is the acceptance of his -ideas by the Church of Rome. That we have abundantly established, and -we may now proceed to inquire whether, and to what extent, Abélard -had a direct influence in the abandonment of the mystic attitude and -the adoption of one which may be fairly entitled ‘rationalistic.’ - -Here we have a much more difficult problem to deal with. It may at -once be frankly avowed that there is little evidence of a direct -transition of Abélard’s ideas into the accepted scheme of theology. -Some of the most careful and patient biographers of Abélard, as a -theologian, say that we cannot claim for him any direct influence on -the course of theological development. Deutsch points out that his -works must have become rare, and the few copies secretly preserved, -after their condemnation by the pope; certainly few manuscripts of -them have survived. He had formed no theological school (as distinct -from philosophical), or the beginning of one must have been crushed -at Sens. His Roman pupils and admirers were probably not men who -would cultivate loyalty under unfavourable circumstances. The -schoolmen of the following century only know Abélard from passages in -Hugh of St. Victor and others of his enemies. The first to reproduce -what Deutsch takes to be the characteristic spirit or method of -Abélard is Roger Bacon; it is extremely doubtful if he had any -acquaintance whatever with Abélard. The world was prepared to receive -the ideas of Abélard with some respect in the thirteenth century, but -it had then a task which was too absorbing to allow a search for the -manuscripts of ‘a certain Abélard,’ as one later theologian put it. -The Arabians and Jews had reintroduced Aristotle into Europe. He had -come to stay; and the schoolmen were engrossed in the work of fitting -him with garments of Christian theology. - -On the other hand there are historians, such as Reuter, who grant -Abélard a large measure of direct influence on the development of -theology. It is pointed out that a very large proportion of the -masters of the next generation had studied under Abélard. Reuter -instances Bernard Sylvester of Chartres and William of Conches, as -well as Gilbert de la Porée. Clearer instances of direct influence -are found in the case of Master Roland of Bologna (afterwards to -ascend the papal throne under the name of Alexander III.) and Master -Omnebene of the same city. It is, in any case, quite clear that -Abélard was pre-eminently a teacher of teachers. On the other hand -it would be incorrect to lay too much stress on the condemnation by -Pope Innocent. All the world knew that Bernard had prudently kept -the unexecuted Bull in his pocket, and that Abélard was teaching -theology at Cluny, with the pope’s approval, a few months after the -condemnation. - -It is best to distinguish once more between the spirit or method of -Abélard and his particular critical conclusions. His conclusions, -his suggestions for the reconstruction of certain dogmas, were -lost to theological science. The cruder notions of the earlier -age and of Bernard continued to be regarded as _the_ truth for -many centuries. Even the masters, such as Roland of Bologna, who -did found their theology more conspicuously on that of Abélard, -prudently deviated from his opinions where they were ‘offensive to -pious ears.’ His treatment of the Trinity is, perhaps, an exception. -Not that Abélard’s favourite analogies—that of the seal and its -impression, and so forth—were retained, but he had set an example -in the rationalistic or naturalistic illustration of the mystery -which persisted in the schools. All the great schoolmen of the -following century accepted the Abélardist notion of a rationalistic -illustration and defence of the Trinity. They constructed an -elaborately meaningless analogy of it, and invented a ‘virtual’ -distinction—a mental distinction which might be taken to be objective -for apologetic purposes—between the essence and the personalities. -But Abélard’s penetrating and reconstructive criticisms of the -current dogmas of original sin, the Incarnation, responsibility, -reward and punishment, inspiration, omnipotence, etc., degenerated -into, at the most, obscure heresies—sank back into the well of truth -until long after a rebellious monk had broken the bonds which held -the intellect of Europe. - -It was far otherwise with the spirit of Abélard, the fundamental -principle or maxim on which all else depended. The thirteenth -century cordially accepted that principle, and applied itself to the -rationalisation of theology. It wholly abandoned the mysticism of -Bernard and the school of St. Victor. The Cistercian had summed up -Abélard’s misdeeds thus in his letter to the pope: ‘He peers into -the heavens and searches the hidden things of God, then, returning -to us, he holds discourse on ineffable things of which a man may -not speak.’ In the very sense in which this was said of Abélard, it -may be urged as a chief characteristic of the saintly schoolmen of -the thirteenth century. Even St. Bonaventure was no mystic in the -anti-rational sense of Bernard; simply, he applied to theology the -reason of Plato instead of the reason of Aristotle. Archbishop Roger -Vaughan, in his _Life of St. Thomas_, says that the schoolmen owed -the ‘_probatur ratione_’ in their _loci theologici_ to Abélard. That -is already a most striking vindication of Abélard’s characteristic -teaching as to the function of reason, for we know how important -the ‘proofs from reason’ were in the scheme of Aquinas and Scotus. -But they really owe far more than this to Abélard. If they have -deserted the dreamy, rambling, fruitless, and fantastic speculation -of the mystic school for a methodical and syllogistic inquiry -concerning each point of faith, it is largely due to the example of -Abélard. The schoolmen notoriously followed Peter the Lombard. From -the _Sentences_ of Peter the Lombard to the _Sic et Non_ of Peter -Abélard—through such works as the _Sentences_ of Roland and Omnebene -of Bologna and the so-called _Sentences of Peter Abélard_—is a short -and easy journey. No doubt we must not lose sight of that other -event which so powerfully influenced the theology of the thirteenth -century: the invasion of the Arab and Jew philosophers. Theirs is the -only influence of which the schoolmen show any consciousness in their -elaborate fortification of dogma to meet the criticism of reason and -conscience—except for the avowed influence of the Lombard; and along -that line we may trace the direct influence of Abélard. - -In the circumstances it makes little difference to the prestige -of Abélard whether we succeed in proving a direct influence or no. -There are few who will think less of him because he was beaten by -St. Bernard in diplomatic manipulation of the political force of the -Church. The times were not ripe for the acceptance of his particular -criticisms, and the mystic school was the natural expression of this -conservatism. We may even doubt if Deutsch is correct in saying that -the thirteenth century was prepared to receive them, but that its -attention was diverted to Spain. Renan has said that they who study -the thirteenth century closely are astonished that Protestantism did -not arise three hundred years earlier. That is the point of view of -a logician. The Reformation was not in reality, though it seems such -in theory to the student of the history of ideas, an intellectual -development. No doubt it could not have succeeded without this -development to appeal to, but it was a moral and political revolt. -How little the world was prepared for such a revolt at the end of -the thirteenth century may be gathered from a study of the life of -that other rebellious monk, William Occam. This success the Anselms -and Bernards achieved: they spread, with a moral renovation, a -spirit of docility and loyalty to the Church. The subtlety and -intellectual activity they could not arrest came to be used up in an -effort to restate the older dogmas in terms which should be at once -conservative and acceptable to the new rational demand. - -It is equally difficult and more interesting to determine how far -Abélard himself was created by predecessors. Nowadays no thought is -revolutionary; but some notions are more rapid in their evolution -than others. To what extent Abélard’s ideas were thus borrowed -from previous thinkers it is not easy to determine with precision. -He was far from being the first rationalist of the Middle Ages. -Scotus Erigena and Bérenger (of anti-sacramental fame) were well -remembered in his day. He himself studied under a rationalistic -master—Jean Roscelin, canon of Compiègne,—in his early years. We do -not know with certainty at what age he studied under Roscelin, and -cannot, therefore, determine how great an influence the older master -exercised over him. But there can be little doubt that Abélard must -be credited with a very large force of original genius. At the most, -the attitude of his mind towards dogma was determined by outward -influences, concurring with his own temperament and character -of mind. It is more than probable that this attitude would have -been adopted by him even had there been no predisposing influence -whatever. His rationalism flows spontaneously and irresistibly from -his type of mind and character. In the development of the rationalist -principle we see the exclusive action of his own intelligence. -To most of us in this generation such dogmatic reconstruction as -Abélard urged seems obvious enough; yet one needs little imagination -to appreciate the mental power or, rather, penetration, which was -necessary to realise its necessity in the twelfth century. - -One is tempted at times to speculate on the probable development of -Abélard’s thoughts if that great shadow had not fallen on his life -at so early a period. There are two Abélards. The older theologian, -who is ever watchful to arrest his thoughts when they approach -clear, fundamental dogmas, is not the natural development of the -freethinking author of the _Sic et Non_. With the conversion to the -ascetic ideal had come a greater awe in approaching truths which -were implicitly accepted as divine. Yet we may well doubt if Abélard -would ever have advanced much beyond his actual limits. Starting -from the world of ideas in which he lived, he would have needed an -exceptional strength to proceed to any very defiant and revolutionary -conclusions. He was not of the stuff of martyrs, of Scotus Erigena, -or Arnold of Brescia. He had no particle of the political ability of -Luther. But such as he is, gifted with a penetrating mind, and led by -a humanist ideal that touched few of his contemporaries, pathetically -irresolute and failing because the fates had made him the hero of -a great drama and ironically denied him the hero’s strength, he -deserves at least to be drawn forth from the too deep shadow of a -crude and unsympathetic tradition. - - - - -INDEX - - - Abélard, origin of name, 11. - - Aboilar, 11. - - Adam, Abbot of St. Denis, 126, 129, 134, 154, 168, 170, 174, 175. - - Adam of the Little Bridge, 38. - - Alberic of Rheims, 62, 137, 150, 153, 154, 156, 157, 159, 167, - 189, 195. - - Alvise, Bishop of Arras, 285. - - _Anima mundi_ and the Holy Ghost, 279. - - Anselm Beessus, Canon of Laon, 56. - - —— of Laon, 55, 57, 58, 137, 196. - - —— St., 13, 27, 55. - - Antagonism of Abélard and St. Bernard, 260, 261, 277, 330. - - Anti-pope, the, 213, 314. - - Apology of Abélard, 315. - - Appeal to Rome, 285-87. - - Arabic, study of, 15. - - Argenteuil, nunnery of, 100, 105, 115, 207. - - Aristotle, 25, 65, 73, 76. - - Arnold of Brescia, 199, 254, 270, 276, 283, 291, 296, 307, 310, - 316. - - Asceticism, Heloise on, 247. - - Astrolabe, son of Abélard, 114, 218, 323, 327. - - Attempts on Abélard’s life, 216, 217. - - Aventinus, 8. - - - Bacon, Roger, and Abélard, 338. - - Bajolard, 11. - - Baldwin, monk, 15. - - Bayle on Heloise, 232, 242. - - Bec, 13. - - Bede, Venerable, on St. Denis, 169, 173. - - Benedictines, the, 13. - - Bérenger, father of Abélard, 5, 52. - - —— of Poitiers, 54, 344. - - —— pupil of Abélard, 132, 255, 283, 288-90, 310. - - Bernard of Chartres, 14. - - —— of Clairvaux, St., 16, 30, 37, 49, 51, 53, 62, 73, 126, 151, - 176, 189, 190, 193, 195-96, 214, 257, 259-78, 281, 283-310, - 314-18, 320. - - —— of Cluny (quoted), 133. - - Bible, Abélard’s opinion concerning, 335. - - Boetius, 25, 76. - - Breviary, Roman, the, 169. - - Brittany, people of, 205. - - Buchanan’s (Robert) _New Abailard_, 229. - - Burchard, Bishop of Meaux, 177. - - Burglary, a mediæval, 57. - - Burning of Abélard’s works, 158, 307. - - Bussy-Rabutin on Heloise, 228. - - - Calixtus, Pope, 164. - - Calumniation of Abélard, 85, 116, 292-305. - - Cambridge, founding of University of, 199. - - Canonesses, 43. - - Canons, regular, 35. - - —— secular, 43. - - Cathedral of Paris, 20, 22. - - Celibacy, law of, 89, 108. - - Cells, 128, 135. - - Cemetery of Père Lachaise, 96, 328. - - Century of iron, the, 1. - - Challenge of Bernard, 270. - - Charlemagne, 13. - - Chartres, 14, 15. - - Chateaubriand on Heloise, 242. - - Church, service to, of Abélard, 221. - - Cistercians, the, 35, 209, 263, 321. - - Clairvaux, abbey of, 189, 196. - - Cluny, abbey of, 13, 312, 320. - - Colardeau on Heloise, 228. - - Cologne, Council of, on reason, 332. - - _Commentary on Epistle to the Romans_, Abélard’s, 256, 336. - - Compayré (quoted), 30. - - Conceptualism, 29. - - Condemnation of Abélard, first, 157. - - —— —— second, 286. - - —— —— at Rome, 307. - - Confession, Abélard’s opinion concerning, 280, 316. - - —— Champeaux’s opinion concerning, 53. - - —— of Abélard, 81. - - —— —— Augustine, and Rousseau compared, 222. - - Conon, Bishop of Praeneste, 150, 152-60, 167. - - —— Duke of Brittany, 201, 217. - - Conversion of Abélard, 120. - - Corbeil, 31. - - Corruption of monasteries, 93, 125, 203, 216. - - —— of nunneries, 208, 209. - - —— of the clergy, 34, 89, 90, 92. - - Cotter Morison on Abélard, 85, 101, 109, 116, 193, 267. - - Cousin (quoted), 24, 76. - - —— on Heloise, 251. - - Crevier (quoted), 67, 94. - - Crusades, the, 2. - - - Dagobert, brother of Abélard, 216, 218, 323. - - Dark Ages, the, 6. - - Death of Abélard, 324. - - Denis, St., controversy about, 169, 173. - - Denyse, sister of Abélard, 114. - - Deutsch (quoted), 8, 37, 109, 131, 143, 146, 173, 223, 255, 263, - 276, 338. - - Development of Abélard’s ideas, 345. - - _Dialectics_ of Abélard, 323. - - —— study of, 12, 14, 16, 24, 31. - - _Dialogue_, the, of Abélard, 140. - - Dubois on the corruption of the clergy, 90. - - Duboulai (quoted), 133. - - - End of the world, 1. - - Episcopal Schools, 14. - - Eremetical life of Abélard, 181. - - Ethical opinions of Abélard, 279. - - _Ethics_, the, of Abélard, 257. - - Étienne de Garlande, 92, 133, 177, 179, 180. - - Eucharist, opinion of Abélard concerning, 279, 335. - - Eudes of Orleans, 14. - - Evil, Abélard’s opinion concerning, 279, 316. - - Expulsion of canons, 44. - - —— of monks, 217. - - —— of nuns, 208, 209. - - Ezechiel, Abélard’s lectures on, 62. - - - Faith, Abélard’s opinions on, 144, 261, 330. - - Feast of Fools, 94. - - Flight from St. Denis, 172. - - —— from St. Gildas, 217. - - Fontevraud, abbey of, 50. - - Fulbert, Canon, 97, 98, 100, 102, 107, 110, 114, 119, 129. - - Fulques, Prior, 69, 72, 86, 117, 119, 130. - - - Galo, Bishop of Paris, 44, 50, 209. - - Galton, Mr. (quoted), 28. - - Games of Students, 70. - - Gaufridus Vindoniencensis, 51, 53. - - Genera and species, question of, 25. - - Geoffrey, Bishop of Chartres, 154, 156, 158, 167, 179, 197, 208, - 264, 284, 294. - - —— of the Stag’s Neck, 161, 164, 167, 284. - - Gervaise, Dom. (quoted), 34, 161. - - Gilbert de la Porée, 254, 282, 288. - - Gilbert, Bishop of Paris, 129, 146. - - Goswin, St., 45, 164, 167. - - Grammar, study of, 14, 15. - - Gréard’s translation of the _Letters_, 225, 230. - - Great Bridge, the, 18. - - Greek, Abélard’s knowledge of, 75. - - —— Heloise’s knowledge of, 101, 249. - - —— thought, influence on mediæval, 64. - - Guido of Castello, 302. - - Guizot, Mme. (quoted), 8, 225. - - - Hallam (quoted), 225. - - Hatton, Bishop of Troyes, 172, 183, 285. - - Hausrath (quoted), 55, 71, 98, 131, 163, 173, 255, 263, 265. - - Haymerick, Roman Chancellor, 301, 302. - - Hebrew, Abélard’s knowledge of, 76. - - —— Heloise’s knowledge of, 101, 249. - - —— study of, 15. - - Hefele, Father (quoted), 193, 273. - - Helias, Bishop of Orleans, 285. - - Heloise, 71, 75, 77, 84, 87, 96-116, 121-23, 209-13, 221, 224-52, - 267, 318, 325-28. - - —— home of, 104. - - Henry the Boar, Archbishop of Sens, 270, 282, 284, 292. - - Hilary, pupil of Abélard, 186. - - Hoel, Duke of Brittany, 5. - - Honorius, Pope, 207. - - Hugo, Bishop of Auxerre, 284. - - Hyacinth, pupil of Abélard, 255, 283, 288, 298, 302. - - Hymns of Abélard, 249. - - - Incarnation, Abélard’s opinion concerning, 279. - - Influence of Abélard, 329. - - Innocent II., Pope, 43, 77, 213, 292-301, 307, 320. - - Intolerance of Christian nations, 199. - - _Introductio ad theologiam_, the, of Abélard, 256. - - Investitures, question of, 276. - - Ivo, Bishop of Chartres, 14. - - —— Cardinal, 303. - - - Jacques de Vitry, Cardinal, 43, 66, 90, 91, 93, 209. - - Jews, the, 6, 21, 42, 65, 68, 77, 342. - - John of Salisbury, 14, 26, 45, 55, 72, 254, 318. - - Johnson (quoted), 225. - - Joscelin the Red, 41, 45, 46, 48, 154, 267, 284. - - - _Know Thyself_, Abélard’s, 257. - - - Lalanne on the _Letters_, 229. - - Lanfranc, 13. - - Laon, 56. - - Latin Quarter, the, 42, 45. - - Latinity of Abélard, 74, 221. - - —— of Heloise, 101, 232. - - Learning of Abélard, 74. - - —— of Heloise, 100, 104. - - —— of women in twelfth century, 100. - - Letter of Abélard to Abbot Adam, 172. - - —— —— to St. Bernard, 267. - - —— —— to Roscelin, 147. - - —— of St. Bernard to French bishops, 274. - - —— —— to St. Thierry, 194, 266. - - —— of Peter the Venerable to Heloise, 322, 325. - - —— of Roscelin to Abélard, 148. - - —— of St. Thierry to Bernard, 258, 263-65. - - Letters of Abélard and Heloise, 224-49, 318. - - —— —— —— authenticity of, 229. - - —— of St. Bernard to the Pope, 292-99. - - —— —— to the Roman cardinals, 301-305. - - Letter-writing in the twelfth century, 232. - - Lex talionis, 94, 129. - - Liaison of Abélard and Heloise, 84, 102-19. - - Licence to teach, when necessary, 30, 39. - - Licentiousness of Abélard, alleged, 85, 116, 131. - - Lisiard de Crespy, 154. - - Little Bridge, the, 19. - - Locmenach, 9, 202. - - Lotulphe of Novare, 62, 137, 150, 154, 167, 189. - - Louis, King, 21, 43, 171, 176, 180, 272, 276, 282. - - Lucan (quoted), 123. - - Lucia, Abélard’s mother, 5, 49, 52. - - - Mabillon on Abélard’s orthodoxy, 318. - - Maisoncelle, 136. - - Manasses, Bishop of Meaux, 285. - - Manegold of Alsace, 21. - - Map, Walter, on St. Bernard, 318. - - Marianne Alcoforado and Heloise, 227, 241. - - Marriage of Abélard and Heloise, 111, 114. - - Married priests, 91, 203. - - Mathematics, not studied by Abélard, 12, 16. - - Melun, 30, 39. - - Metellus, Hugo, 11. - - Miracles exposed by Abélard, 192. - - Monasteries, 2, 93, 125, 203, 216. - - Monastic festivals, 127. - - —— life, history of, by Abélard, 248. - - —— rule, by Abélard and Heloise, 246. - - —— spirit, the, 49. - - Moors, the, 198. - - Moral classification, 195. - - —— codes, divergence of, 87. - - Morals of the twelfth century, 89. - - Moriacum, 9. - - Morigni, abbey of, 213. - - Muratori (quoted), 22. - - Music, Abélard’s knowledge of, 15. - - Mutilation of Abélard, 120. - - - Nations at Paris, 67, 69, 70, 130. - - Neander (quoted), 265. - - Nevers, Count de, 282, 284. - - Newman, Cardinal, on Abélard, 88, 246. - - Nicholas de Montier-Ramey, St. Bernard’s Secretary, 305, 317. - - Nobles of France and the King, 178. - - Noël Alexandre on Abélard, 318. - - Nogent-sur-Seine, 181. - - Nominalism, 27. - - Norbert, St., 43, 189, 191. - - Notre Dame, cathedral of, 20, 22. - - —— —— cloistral school of, 22, 36, 38, 41, 53, 64, 66. - - Number of Abélard’s pupils, 67, 136, 184. - - Nunneries, 50, 51, 208. - - - Occam, William, 343. - - Omnebene of Bologna, 339. - - Ordeal, the, 57, 95. - - Orelli on the _Letters_, 229. - - Original sin, Abélard’s view of, 280, 316. - - Otto von Freising (quoted), 8, 72, 136, 155, 286, 318. - - - Palace school, the, 13. - - Pallet, 4. - - Papal court in France, 213. - - —— schism, 213, 296. - - Paraclete, the, 183, 188, 211, 214, 267, 328. - - Parentage of Abélard, 5. - - —— of Heloise, 97. - - Paris, 18, 65, 68. - - Paschal, Pope, 92, 132. - - Peter the Eater, 38. - - —— the Lombard, 342. - - —— the Venerable, 97, 99, 312, 321, 325, 326. - - Philip, King, death of, 38. - - —— —— palace of, 20. - - Philippe Auguste, 68, 77. - - Pius IX. on reason, 332. - - Plato, 65, 73, 76, 80. - - Poetry of Abélard, 102, 106, 187. - - Poison, attempts on life of Abélard by, 216. - - Poole, Mr. (quoted), 10, 12, 102, 173, 182, 194, 287. - - Pope’s _Heloise_, 225, 226, 241. - - Porphyry, 24, 25. - - _Portuguese Letters_, the, 225, 227, 228. - - Pré-aux-clercs, the, 45, 70. - - Predecessors of Abélard, 344. - - Predestination, Abélard’s opinion on, 280. - - Prémontré, 191. - - Premonstratensians, the, 191, 192. - - Priest, Abélard as a, 107. - - Priories, 128, 135. - - Priscian, mediæval study of, 15, 41. - - _Problems of Heloise_, the, 250. - - Profession, religious, of Heloise, 122. - - Pupils of Abélard, 78, 254. - - - Quadrivium, the, 14. - - Quarrel over Abélard’s body, 325. - - - Ralph of Laon, 55. - - —— the Green, 138, 150, 154. - - Rashdall (quoted), 13, 67, 94. - - Rationalism of Abélard, 140, 144, 259, 261, 324, 330, 334, 341, - 344. - - Raynard, Abbot of Cîteaux, 314. - - Realism, 27, 29. - - Reason and faith, 140, 144, 261, 324, 330. - - Reconciliation of Abélard and St. Bernard, 314. - - Reformation, the, 341, 343. - - Rémusat (quoted), 32, 77, 97. - - Reuter on Abélard, 339. - - Rhetoric, study of, 14, 36. - - Rhuys, 204. - - Robert of Arbrissel, 37, 49, 50, 51. - - —— of Melun, 38. - - Roland of Bologna, 339, 342. - - _Roman de la Rose_, the, 231. - - Rome, Abélard’s respect for, 276. - - —— avarice and corruption of, 131. - - Rome and reason, 330-33. - - Roscelin, Jean, 7, 9, 27, 32, 41, 50, 117, 147, 344. - - Rousseau and Abélard, 222. - - Rousseau’s _Nouvelle Heloïse_, 228, 230, 241. - - Rousselot, 23, 26. - - - Sabellianism, charge of, 155. - - Samson, Archbishop of Rheims, 282, 284, 292. - - Saracens, the, in Spain, 65, 198, 342. - - Scholastic philosophy, the, 25. - - Scholasticus, 22. - - School life, 69. - - Schoolmen and Abélard, the, 338, 340, 341, 342. - - Schools of France, the, 13. - - —— Paris, the, 21, 65, 68. - - Scotus Erigena, 344, 346. - - —— J. Duns, 342. - - Sens, 270, 272, 283. - - —— Council of, 155, 166, 270, 272, 281-86. - - _Sententiae Abaelardi_, the, 108, 257, 317, 342. - - Sermons of Abélard, 250. - - Sexual ideas in twelfth century, 88. - - _Sic et Non_, the, 143, 342. - - Simony, prevalence of, 92. - - Sins committed in ignorance, Abélard’s opinion on, 280, 316, 335. - - Soissons, 151. - - —— Council of, 153, 166. - - _Song of Songs_ in Middle Ages, 257, 260. - - St. Denis, abbey of, 13, 15, 21, 124-29, 133, 167, 168. - - —— Genevieve, abbey of, 18, 21, 42, 43. - - —— Germain of Auxerre, abbey of, 21. - - —— Germain of the Meadow, abbey of, 21. - - —— Gildas, abbey of, 9, 202-6. - - —— Martin in the Fields, abbey of, 21. - - —— Médard, abbey of, 161, 163. - - —— Hilary, church of, 255. - - —— Genevieve, hill of, 18, 41, 254. - - —— Landry, port of, 19. - - —— Ayoul, priory of, 172. - - —— Marcellus, priory of, 324. - - St. Victor, priory of, 21, 33. - - —— —— school of, 36, 48, 53, 67, 341. - - Stephen of Praeneste, Card., 305. - - _Story of my calamities_, the, 81, 193, 220. - - Students’ life, 69, 90, 94, 185. - - Suger, Abbot, 21, 44, 132, 175, 177, 180, 201, 206. - - - Teaching of Abélard, 71. - - Theobald of Champagne, Count, 135, 172, 174, 197, 284. - - _Theologia Christiana_, the, 256. - - Theological opinions of Abélard, 278-80, 329, 336. - - Theology, teaching of, 55, 61, 139. - - Tholuck on Abélard as theologian, 336. - - Thomas of Aquin, St., 74, 335, 342. - - Tirricus, Master, 10, 12, 14, 32, 159. - - Tournai, 14. - - Traditionalism, 331. - - Travelling in the twelfth century, 6. - - _Treatise on Baptism_, the, of St. Bernard, 267. - - Trinity, Abélard’s works on the, 144, 279, 340. - - —— statue of, at the Paraclete, 188. - - Tri-theism, charge of, 152, 155, 188, 316. - - Trivium, the, 14. - - Turlot (quoted), 98. - - - Universals, problem of, 25, 38. - - University of Paris, 64, 65. - - - Vatican Council, the, on reason, 333. - - Vaughan, Roger, on Abélard, 26, 341. - - Violence of the twelfth century, 93, 110. - - Vitalis the Norman, 51. - - - Weakness of Abélard, 109. - - William of Canterbury, 55. - - —— of Champeaux, 22, 23, 27, 33, 36, 48, 52, 55, 137, 195. - - —— of Dijon, 14. - - —— of St. Thierry, 194, 257. - - Women and saints, 215. - - —— disguised as monks, 51. - - —— school for, 21, 42, 100. - - Works of Abélard, 140, 256, 264. - - - - - Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty - at the Edinburgh University Press - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - * Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected. - - * Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made - consistent when a predominant usage was found. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER ABéLARD*** - - -******* This file should be named 51862-0.txt or 51862-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/8/6/51862 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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} - .pagenum { display: none; } - .footnotes { margin: 3em 0; border: none; } - .footnote { margin: 1em 0; } - } - - h1.pg { font-size: 190%; - font-weight: bold; } - h2.pg { font-weight: bold; - margin: 1em 0 1em 0; - font-size: 135%; - line-height: 100%; } - hr.pg { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Peter Abélard, by Joseph McCabe</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: Peter Abélard</p> -<p>Author: Joseph McCabe</p> -<p>Release Date: April 25, 2016 [eBook #51862]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER ABéLARD***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="centra">E-text prepared by Clarity, Ramon Pajares Box,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org/details/americana">https://archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/peterabelard00mccaiala"> - https://archive.org/details/peterabelard00mccaiala</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<div class="body"> -<div class="front"> - <p><a href="#tnote">Transcriber's note</a></p> - <p><a href="#ToC">Table of Contents</a></p> - <p><a href="#Index">Index</a></p> -</div></div> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pg" /> -<div class="body"> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="screenonly"> - <div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" - alt="Book cover" /> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="aftit"> - <hr class="chap" /> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[p. i]</span></p> - <h1 class="g2">PETER ABÉLARD</h1> - <hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="aftit"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[p. ii]</span></p> - <p class="small"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> - <p class="small"><i>Copyrighted in America</i></p> -</div> - -<div class="tit"> - <hr class="chap" /> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[p. iii]</span></p> - - <p class="xxl"><big>PETER ABÉLARD</big></p> - <p class="small mt2">BY</p> - <p class="xl g1 mt1">JOSEPH M<sup>c</sup>CABE</p> - - <p class="small mt1">AUTHOR OF</p> - <p class="small mt1">‘TWELVE YEARS IN A MONASTERY,’ ETC.</p> - - <div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/logo.jpg" - alt="Publisher logotype" /> - </div> - - <p class="large g1">LONDON<br /> - <i>DUCKWORTH and CO.</i><br /> - 3 <small>HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.</small><br /> - 1901</p> - - <hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="aftit"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[p. iv]</span></p> - <p class="small">Edinburgh: <span class="smcap">T.</span> and <span class="smcap">A. Constable</span>, (late) Printers to Her Majesty</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[p. v]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak g2">PREFACE</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> author does not -think it necessary to offer any apology for having written a life -of Abélard. The intense dramatic interest of his life is known from -a number of brief notices and sketches, but English readers have no -complete presentation of the facts of that remarkable career in our -own tongue. The <i>History of Abailard</i> of Mr. Berington, dating from -the eighteenth century, is no longer adequate or useful. Many French -and German scholars have rewritten Abélard’s life in the light of -recent knowledge and feeling, but, beyond the short sketches to be -found in Compayré, Poole, Rashdall, Cotter Morison, and others, no -English writer of the nineteenth century has given us a complete -study of this unique and much misunderstood personality. Perhaps -one who has also had a monastic, scholastic, and ecclesiastical -experience may approach the task with a certain confidence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[p. vi]</span></p> - -<p>In the matter of positive information the last century has added -little directly to the story of Abélard’s life. Indirectly, however, -modern research has necessarily helped to complete the picture; and -modern feeling, modern humanism, reinterprets much of the story.</p> - -<p>Since the work is intended for a circle of readers who cannot be -assumed to have a previous acquaintance with the authorities who -are cited here and there, it is necessary to indicate their several -positions in advance. The chief sources of the story are the letters -of Abélard and Heloise. The first letter of the series, entitled the -‘Story of my Calamities,’ is an autobiographical sketch, covering -the first fifty years of Abélard’s life. To these must be added the -letters of St. Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux: of Peter the Venerable, -abbot of Cluny: of Jean Roscelin, canon of Compiègne, Abélard’s early -teacher: and of Fulques of Deuil, a contemporary monk. A number -of Latin works written shortly after Abélard’s death complete, or -complicate, the narrative. The principal of these are: the <i>Vita -Beati Bernardi</i>, written by his monk-secretary:<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_vii">[p. vii]</span> the <i>Vita Beati Goswini</i>, by two monks -of the period: the <i>De gestis Frederici I.</i> of a Cistercian bishop, -Otto of Freising: the <i>Metalogicus</i> and the <i>Historia Pontificalis</i> -of John of Salisbury: and the <i>Vita Ludovici Grossi</i> and <i>De rebus a -se gestis</i> of Suger, abbot of St. Denis, and first royal councillor. -Many of the chronicles of the twelfth century also contain brief -references.</p> - -<p>Chief amongst the later French historians is Du Boulai with his -<i>Historia Universitatis Parisiensis</i>—‘the most stupid man who ever -wrote a valuable book,’ says Mr. R. L. Poole. Amongst other French -chroniclers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries we may -mention: De Launoy (<i>De scholis celebrioribus</i>), Dubois (<i>Historia -Ecclesiæ Parisiensis</i>), Lobineau (<i>Histoire de Bretagne</i>), Félibien -(<i>Histoire de l’abbaye de Saint Denys</i> and <i>Histoire de la ville -de Paris</i>), Longueval (<i>Histoire de l’Église Gallicane</i>), Tarbé -(<i>Recherches historiques sur la ville de Sens</i>), and, of course, -the <i>Histoire littéraire de la France</i>, <i>Gallia Christiana</i>, and -ecclesiastical historians generally.</p> - -<p>A large number of ‘lives’ of Abélard have been founded on these -documents. In French<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[p. -viii]</span> we have <i>La vie de P. Abélard</i> of Gervaise, a monkish -admirer of the eighteenth century, far from ascetic in temper, but -much addicted to imaginative description: the historical essay -of Mme. and M. Guizot, prefixed to M. Oddoul’s translation of -the letters of Abélard and Heloise: the <i>Abélard</i> of M. Rémusat, -pronounced by Ste. Beuve himself to be ‘un chef d’œuvre’: and the -<i>Lettres Complètes</i> of M. Gréard, with a helpful introduction. -In German Reuter chiefly discusses Abélard as a thinker in his -<i>Geschichte der religiösen Aufklärung</i>: Deutsch is mainly preoccupied -with his theology in his <i>Peter Abälard</i>, but gives an exhaustive -study of the last years of his life in <i>Abälards Verurtheilung zu -Sens</i>: Neander discusses him in his <i>Heilige Bernhard</i>: and Hausrath -offers the most complete and authoritative study of his career and -character in his recent <i>Peter Abälard</i>. In English we have, as I -said, the eighteenth-century work of Berington, a small fantastic -American version (quite valueless), and the more or less lengthy -studies of Abélard found in Rashdall’s fine <i>Universities of Europe</i>, -Cotter Morison’s <i>Life and Times of St. Bernard</i> (scarcely<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[p. ix]</span> a judicious sketch), -Compayré’s <i>Abélard and the Universities</i> (in which the biography is -rather condensed), Roger Vaughan’s <i>Life of St. Thomas of Aquin</i>, and -Mr. R. L. Poole’s <i>Illustrations of the History of Mediæval Thought</i> -(from whom we may regret we have not received a complete study of -Abélard).</p> - - -<p class="small mt2"><i>January</i> 31, 1901.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="ToC"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[p. xi]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak g2">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table summary="Table of Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1"><small>CHAP.</small></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr2"><small>PAGE</small></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE QUEST OF MINERVA</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">A BRILLIANT VICTORY</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">III.</td> - <td class="tdl">PROGRESS OF THE ACADEMIC WAR</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">IV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE IDOL OF PARIS</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">V.</td> - <td class="tdl">DEAD SEA FRUIT</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">VI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MONK OF ST. DENIS</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">VII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE TRIAL OF A HERETIC</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">VIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">CLOUD UPON CLOUD</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">IX.</td> - <td class="tdl">BACK TO CHAMPAGNE</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">X.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE TRIALS OF AN ABBOT</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">XI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE LETTERS OF ABÉLARD AND HELOISE</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">XII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A RETURN TO THE ARENA</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">XIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FINAL BLOW</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">XIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">CONSUMMATUM EST</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr1">XV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE INFLUENCE OF ABÉLARD</td> - <td class="tdr2"><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[p. 1]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER I - THE QUEST OF MINERVA">CHAPTER I</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE QUEST OF MINERVA</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">Peter Abélard</span> was born -towards the close of the eleventh century. No other personality that -we may choose to study leads to so clear and true an insight into -those strange days as does that of the luckless Breton philosopher. -It was the time of transition from the darkest hour of mediæval -Europe to a period of both moral and intellectual brilliance. The -gloom of the ‘century of iron’ still lay on the land, but it was -already touched with the faint, spreading dawn of a new idealism. -There is, amongst historians, a speculation to the effect that the -year 1000 of the Christian era marked a real and very definite -stage in the history of thought. Usually we do violence to events -by our chronological demarcations; but it is said that Christendom -confidently expected the threatened rolling-up of the heavens and the -earth to take place in the year 1000. Slowly,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_2">[p. 2]</span> very slowly, the sun crept over the dial of -the heavens before the eyes of idle men. But no Christ rode on the -clouds, and no Anti-Christ came into the cities. And the heaviness -was lifted from the breasts of men, and the blood danced merrily -in their veins once more. They began again ‘to feel the joy of -existence,’ as an old writer has it, and to build up their towers -afresh in the sun-light.</p> - -<p>It was a strangely chequered period, this that changed the -darkness of the tenth into the comparative radiance of the thirteenth -century. All life was overcast by densest ignorance and grossest -lust and fiercest violence, the scarcely altered features of the -‘converted’ northern barbarians; yet the light of an ideal was -breaking through, in the pure atmosphere of reformed monasteries, -in the lives of saintly prelates and women refined beyond their -age, and in the intellectual gospel of a small band of thinkers -and teachers. Amid the general degradation of the Church and the -cloister strong souls had arisen, ardent with a contagious fire of -purity. High-minded prelates had somehow attained power, in spite -of the net of simony and corruption. The sons of St. Benedict, -rising and falling too often with the common<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_3">[p. 3]</span> tide, had, nevertheless, guarded some -treasures of the earlier wisdom, and shared them lovingly at their -gates with the wandering scholar. Thousands there were who could -close heart and home at the fiery word of a preacher, and go to -starve their souls in the living tomb of a monastery. Thousands could -cast down their spades and their wine-cups, and rush to meet death in -the trail of a frenzied hermit.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" -class="fnanchor">[1]</a> They were the days of the travail of the -spirit; and they rise before us in arresting vision when we look into -the life of Peter Abélard.</p> - -<p>That life begins some day in the last decade of the eleventh -century, when the young Breton, then in his fifteenth or sixteenth -year, went out from his father’s castle into the bright world on the -quest of Minerva. Of his earlier years we know nothing. Later fancy -has brooded over them to some purpose, it is true, if there are -any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[p. 4]</span> whom such things -interest. The usual unusual events were observed before and after his -birth, and the immortal swarm of bees that has come down the ages, -kissing the infant lips of poets and philosophers, did not fail to -appear at Pallet. In point of sober fact, we rely almost exclusively -on Abélard’s autobiography for the details of his earlier career, and -he tells us nothing of his childhood, and not much of his youth. It -matters little. The life of a soul begins when it looks beyond the -thoughts of parents and teachers—if it ever do—out into the defiant -world, and frames a view and a purpose.</p> - -<p>The home from which Abélard issued, somewhere about the year 1095, -was an ancient castle at Pallet, in Brittany, about eleven miles -to the south-east of Nantes. At the end of the village, which was -threaded on the high road from Nantes to Poitiers, a steep eminence -dominated the narrow flood of the Sanguèze. The castle was built on -this: overlooking the village more, as it chanced, in a spirit of -friendly care than of haughty menace. The spot is still visited by -many a pilgrim—not with a priestly benediction; but the castle is now -the mere relic of a ruin. In the most penetrating movements of his -prophetic genius, Abélard never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[p. -5]</span> foresaw the revolt of the serfs, or indeed any economic -development. In this one respect he failed to detect and outstrip -what little advance was made in his day. His father’s castle has -disappeared with the age it belonged to, and the sons of his vassals -now lay the bones of their dead to rest on his desolated hearth.</p> - -<p>Bérenger, the father, was a noble of a rare type. He had -fortunately received a little culture before setting out in the -service of Hoel <small>IV.</small>, Duke of Brittany and Count of -Nantes, and he in turn communicated his taste and his knowledge to -his children. From the fact, too, that he and his wife Lucia adopted -the monastic life a few years after Abélard’s departure, we may -gather that they were also above the moral level of their class. -It is not idle to note that Abélard’s mind encountered no evil or -irreligious influences when it first opened. All the circumstances -that are known to us suggest a gentle, uplifting, and reverential -education. He was the eldest of the sons of Bérenger; and, partly, no -doubt, because greater care had been taken with his education, partly -in the necessary consciousness of mental power, he early determined -to leave home, and wander over the land in search of learning. His -words give one the impression<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[p. -6]</span> that he shouldered a wallet, and sallied forth alone, -after the adventurous fashion of the day. However that may be, he -says that he resolved to leave the chances of the favour of Mars to -his brothers, and set out to woo the gentler Minerva. Abandoning the -rights of primogeniture and the possible grace of kings, he passed -away from the great castle, and turned eagerly in the direction of -the nearest school.</p> - -<p>It was not uncommon in those ‘Dark Ages’ for a young noble to -resign the comfort of the château and the glamour of a courtly -life in this way. The scholastic fever, which was soon to inflame -the youth of the whole of Europe, had already set in. You could -not travel far over the rough roads of France without meeting -some foot-sore scholar, making for the nearest large monastery or -episcopal town. Before many years, it is true, there was a change, as -the keen-eyed Jew watched the progress of the fever. There arose an -elaborate system of conveyance from town to town, an organisation of -messengers to run between the château and the school, a smiling group -of banks and bankers. But in the earlier days, and, to some extent, -even later, the scholar wandered afoot through the long provinces -of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[p. 7]</span> France. Here and -there a noble or a wealthy merchant would fly past in his silks and -furs, with a body-guard of a dozen stout fellows; or a poor clerk -would jog along on his ass, looking anxiously towards each wood or -rock that bordered the road ahead. Robbers, frequently in the service -of the lord of the land, infested every province. It was safest to -don the coarse frieze tunic of the pilgrim, without pockets, sling -your little wax tablets and style at your girdle, strap a wallet of -bread and herbs and salt on your back, and laugh at the nervous folk -who peeped out from their coaches over a hedge of pikes and daggers. -Few monasteries refused a meal or a rough bed to the wandering -scholar. Rarely was any fee exacted for the lesson given. For the -rest, none were too proud to earn a few sous by sweeping, or drawing -water, or amusing with a tune on the reed-flute: or to wear the -cast-off tunics of their masters.</p> - -<p>It is fitting that we should first find little Pierre—Master -Roscelin recalls him in later years as ‘the smallest of my -pupils’—under the care of a rationalist scholar. Love was the first -rock on which the fair promise of his early manhood was shattered, -but throughout the long, sternly religious years that followed, -it was his restless applica<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[p. -8]</span>tion of reason to the veiled dogmas of faith that brought -endless cruelty and humiliation upon him. Now, Jean Roscelin, canon -of Compiègne, was the rationalist of his day. As Abélard was fated -to do, he had attempted to unveil the super-sacred doctrine of the -Trinity; not in the spirit of irreverent conceit, with which people -credited both him and Abélard, but for the help of those who were -afflicted with a keen intellect and an honest heart. For this he had -been banished from England in 1093, and from the kingdom of France, -and had settled in one or other of the Gaulish provinces.</p> - -<p>Mme. Guizot, in her very careful study of Abélard, sees no -evidence for the statement that he studied under Roscelin, but -the fact is now beyond dispute. Otto von Freising, a contemporary -historian, says that he ‘had Roscelin for his first master’; -Aventinus and others also speak of Roscelin as an early teacher -of his. Roscelin himself, in a letter which it seems ‘frivolous,’ -as Deutsch says, to hesitate to accept, claims that Abélard sat -at his feet—it was the literal practice in those days—‘from -boyhood to youth.’ Abélard, on the other hand, writes that he -attended Roscelin’s lectures ‘for a short time’; but this<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[p. 9]</span> correspondence took place -at a moment when the one would be greatly disposed to exaggerate -and the other to attenuate. An anonymous anecdote, which we shall -examine presently, pretends that he found Roscelin unsatisfactory, -but ‘controlled his feeling so far as to remain under Roscelin for a -year.’ It is clear enough that he spent a few of his earlier years on -the hay-strewn floor of Master Roscelin’s lecture-hall.</p> - -<p>There is some uncertainty as to the locality, but a sufficient -indication to impart an interest to the question. Roscelin says it -was at the ‘Locensis ecclesia.’ This is easily understood if we -interpret it to mean the monastery of Locmenach<a id="FNanchor_2" -href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> in Brittany. The monks -of St. Gildas, on the coast of Brittany, a wild band whose closer -acquaintance we shall make later on, had established a branch -monastery at Locmenach. As will appear in due time, they would be -likely to have small scruple about increasing its revenue by erecting -a chair for one of the most famous dialecticians in Christendom, -in spite of his condemnation for heresy at London and<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[p. 10]</span> Soissons. We have no -special information about the manner of school-life at Locmenach, -save that we know the monks of St. Gildas to have been the living -antithesis to the good monks of Bec; but it is interesting to find -Abélard studying dialectics under a famous rationalist, and in a -monastery that was subject to the Abbey of St. Gildas of Rhuys. -The dark pages of his later history will give point to the dual -circumstance.</p> - -<p>There is one other, and less reliable, account of Abélard in -his school-days. In an anecdote which is found in one or two older -writers, and on the margin of an old Abélard manuscript, it is stated -that he studied mathematics under a certain Master Tirricus. The -anecdote is generally rejected as valueless, on the ground that it -contains clear trace of the work of a ‘constructive imagination’; -but Mr. Poole points out that ‘there is no reason to doubt’ the -authenticity of the substance of the narrative, and it seems to me -that the fictional element may be reduced to a very slender quantity. -The story runs that Tirric, or Theodoric, one day found Abélard -shedding tears of fruitless perspiration over mathematical problems. -He had already, it is said, mastered the higher branches<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[p. 11]</span> of knowledge, and was -even teaching, but had omitted mathematics, and was endeavouring to -remedy the omission by taking private lessons from Tirric. Noting his -effort, the master is represented to say: ‘What more can the sated -dog do than lick the bacon?’ ‘To lick the bacon’ is, in the crude -Latinity of the age, <i>bajare lardum</i>, and the story pretends the -phrase afforded a nickname for Pierre (Bajolard or Baiolard), and -was eventually rounded into Abélard or Abailard. The construction is -so crude, and the probability that Abélard is a surname needing no -legendary interpretation is so high, that the whole anecdote is often -contemptuously rejected. It is surely much more reasonable to read -the phrase as a pun on Abélard’s name, which some later writer, to -whom the name was unfamiliar, has taken in a constructive sense.<a -id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<p>There are several good reasons for retaining<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_12">[p. 12]</span> the historical framework of the -anecdote. It is a fact that Abélard never mastered mathematics; -chancing to mention arithmetic in one of his works, he says, ‘Of -that art I confess myself wholly ignorant.’ It was unfortunate for -mathematics. Most probably the puerility of that liberal art, in -its early mediæval form, repelled him. In the next place, there -was a distinguished master living in France of the name of Tirric, -or Theodoric, who is said to have had a leaning to mathematics. He -taught in the episcopal school at Chartres, long famous for the -lectures of his brother Bernard. Finally, a Master Tirric (presumably -the same) turns up at Abélard’s trial in 1121, and boldly and -caustically scourges papal legate and bishops alike. However, if we -attribute so much authority to the story, it clearly refers to a -later date. The picture of Abélard, already a teacher, sated with -knowledge, coming ‘in private’ to repair an omission in the course -of his studies, must be relegated to one of the intervals in his -teaching at Paris, not, as Mr. Poole thinks, to the period between -leaving Roscelin and arriving at Paris.</p> - -<p>Abélard himself merely says that he ‘went wherever dialectics -flourished.’ For five or six<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[p. -13]</span> years he wandered from school to school, drawn onward -continually by the fame of schools and of masters. Schools were -plentiful, and the age was already rich in great teachers. -Charlemagne had inaugurated the scholastic age two hundred years -before with the founding of the Palace School, and had directed that -every monastery and every episcopal town should give instruction. -With periods of languor the Benedictines had sustained the scholastic -tradition through the soulless age that followed, and the second -half of the eleventh century saw a brisk development. There was the -great abbey of Bec, in Normandy, where St. Anselm still detained -crowds of pupils after the departure of Lanfranc. But at Bec the -students were not part of a ‘great undisciplined horde,’ as Rashdall -calls the students of the early Middle Ages. With its careful -regulations, its bare-back castigations, its expurgated classics, -and its ever watchful monks, it contrived at once to cultivate the -mind (in moderation) and to guard the sanctity of faith and morals. -Cluny, in the south, had a similar school at its gates, and the same -control of the scholars it lodged and fed. St. Denis, near Paris, had -another famous Benedictine school. The forty monasteries that<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[p. 14]</span> William of Dijon had -recently reformed had opened free schools for the wandering pupils, -and even fed the poorer youths.</p> - -<p>Then there were men of European fame teaching in the cathedral -cloisters of the larger towns. At Chartres, good Bishop Ivo—the only -lawyer who ever lived and died in the odour of sanctity—had spent -much energy in the improvement of his school. Little John, or John -of Salisbury, has left us a proud record of its life at a slightly -later date, when Tirric and his brother Bernard presided over it. -At Tournai, Master Eudes of Orleans, the peripatetic of the time, -walked the cloisters all day with his questioning scholars, and -gathered them before the cathedral door of an evening to explain -the profound mysteries of the solid spheres that whirled overhead, -and of the tiny, immortal fires that were set in them. Other famous -episcopal schools were those of Tours, Rheims, Angers, and Laon. But -every bishop had his master or masters for the teaching of grammar, -rhetoric, and dialectics (the <i>trivium</i>), and in the larger towns -were ‘lectors’ of the other four liberal arts (the <i>quadrivium</i>), -music, geometry, arithmetic, and astronomy. Theology was taught under -the watchful eye of the bishop<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[p. -15]</span> and his chapter, and in time chairs of Hebrew, and, -with the progress of the Saracenic invasion of the intellectual -world, even of Arabic, were founded. At the abbey of St. Denis, -monk Baldwin, sometime physician to the King of England, taught and -practised the art of healing. At Chartres, also, medicine was taught -somewhat later; and there are stories of teachers of law. And beside -all these, there were the private masters, ‘coaches,’ etc., who -opened schools wherever any number of scholars forgathered.</p> - -<p>Thus the historical imagination can readily picture all that is -contained in the brief phrase with which Abélard dismisses the five -or six years of his studies. ‘There was no regular curriculum in -those days,’ Mr. Rashdall says, in his study of the ‘Universities -of Europe’; but the seven liberal arts were taught, and were -gradually arranging themselves in a series under the pressure of -circumstances. Music Abélard certainly studied; before many years -his songs were sung through the length and breadth of France. None -of his contemporaries made a more eager and profitable study of what -was called grammar—that is, not merely an exercise in the rules -of Donatus and Priscian, but a close acquaintance with the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[p. 16]</span> great Latin poets and -historians. Rhetoric and dialectics he revelled in—‘I went wherever -dialectics flourished.’ To so good purpose did he advance in this -work of loosening the tongue and sharpening the wit, that throughout -his life the proudest orators and thinkers of Christendom shrank in -dismay from the thought of a verbal encounter with him. ‘I am a child -beside him,’ pleaded Bernard of Clairvaux, at a time when France, and -even Rome, trembled at the sound of his own voice. But we must defer -for a few pages the consideration of mediæval dialectics.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">‘Illi soli patuit quicquid scibile erat,’</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="ti0">said an ancient epitaph; and, though the historian -handles epigrams with discretion, it must be admitted that Abélard -surpassed his contemporaries, not only in ability and in utterance, -but also in erudition. There is the one exception of mathematics, but -it seems probable that he despised what passed under that name in the -twelfth century. ‘Mathematics,’ he says somewhere, in a sarcastic -parenthesis, ‘the exercise of which is nefarious.’ But in the thrust -and parry of dialectics he found a keen delight; and so he wandered -from place to place, edging his logical<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_17">[p. 17]</span> weapons on fellow-pupils and provincial -masters, until one day, about the opening year of the twelfth -century, he directed his steps towards far-famed Paris—beautiful, -naughty, brilliant, seductive Paris, even in those distant days.</p> - -<p>But the Paris of the first decade of the twelfth century was -wholly different, not only from the Paris of to-day, but even from -the Paris of Victor Hugo’s famous picture.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[p. 18]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER II - A BRILLIANT VICTORY">CHAPTER II</h2> - <p class="subh2">A BRILLIANT VICTORY</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">If you</span> desire to see the -Paris of those early days, imagine yourself beside the spot where -the modern Pantheon stands. It is the summit of what Paris called -‘the hill’ for many a century—the hill of St. Genevieve. Save for -the large monastery of secular canons beside you, the abbey of St. -Genevieve, there is yet little sign of the flood of grimy masonry -that will creep up slowly from the river valley, as the ages advance, -and foul the sweet country for miles beyond. Paris lies down in -the valley below, a toy city. The larger island in the Seine bears -almost the whole weight of the capital of France. It has, it is true, -eaten a little way into the northern bank of the river, to which -it is joined by the Great Bridge. That is the Lombard Quarter, and -Lutetian commerce is increasing rapidly. Numbers of curious ships -sail up the broad, silver bosom of the Seine,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_19">[p. 19]</span> and make for the port of St. Landry. -The commercial quarter is already spreading in the direction of -Montmartre, with the public butchery and bakery at its outskirt; but -it is a mere fringe. The broad valleys and the gentle hills that are -one day to support Paris are now clothed with vineyards and orchards -and cornfields, and crowned with groves of olive<a id="FNanchor_4" -href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> and oak. On the nearer -side, too, the city has already overflowed the narrow limits of the -island. There are houses on the fine stone bridge, the Little Bridge, -and there is a pretty confusion of houses, chapels, schools, and -taverns gradually stealing up the slope of St. Genevieve. But, here -also, most of the hill is covered with gardens and vineyards, from -which a chapel or a relic of old Roman Lutetia peeps out here and -there—the ruins of the famous old thermæ lie half-way down the hill -below us—; and along the valley of the</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">‘... florentibus ripis amnis’</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="ti0">(to quote a poet of the time), to east and -west, are broad lakes of fresh green colour, broken only in their -sweet monotony by an occasional island of<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_20">[p. 20]</span> masonry, an abbey with a cluster of -cottages about it.</p> - -<p>It is down straight below us, on the long, narrow island, that we -see the heart of France, the centre of its political, intellectual, -and ecclesiastical life. A broad, unpaved road, running from Great -Bridge to Little Bridge, cuts it into two. Church occupies most of -the eastern half, State most of the western; their grateful subjects -pack themselves as comfortably as they can in the narrow fringe -that is left between the royal and ecclesiastical domains and the -bed of the river. Each generation in turn has wondered why it was -so scourged by ‘the burning fire’ (the plague), and resolved to be -more generous to the Church. From the summit of St. Genevieve we see -the front of the huge, grey, Roman cathedral, that goes back to the -days of Childebert, and the residences of its prelates and canons -bordering the cloister. Over against it, to the west, is the spacious -royal garden, which is graciously thrown open to the people two or -three times a week, with the palace of King Philip at the extremity -of the island. That is Paris in the year of grace 1100; and all -outside those narrow limits is a very dream of undulating scenery, -with the vesture<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[p. 21]</span> -of the vine, the fir, the cypress, the oak, the olive, and the fig; -and the colour of the rose, the almond, the lily, and the violet; and -the broad, sweet Seine meandering through it; and the purest air that -mortal could desire.</p> - -<p>To our young philosopher Paris probably presented itself first -in the character of ‘the city of philosophers.’ Each of the great -abbeys had its school. That of the abbey of St. Genevieve will soon -be familiar to us. The abbey of St. Germain of Auxerre, to the -north, and the abbey of St. Germain of the Meadow, to the west, had -schools at their gates for all comers. St. Martin in the Fields had -its school, and the little priory of St. Victor, to the east, was -soon to have one of the most famous of all schools of theology. The -royal abbey of St. Denis, a few miles away, had a school in which -Prince Louis was then being trained, together with the illustrious -Abbot Suger. A number of private schools were scattered about the -foot of St. Genevieve. The Jews had a school, and—mark the liberality -of the time—there was, or had been until a very few years before, -a school for women; it was conducted by the wife and daughters of -famous Master Manegold, of Alsace, women who were well versed<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[p. 22]</span> in Scripture, and ‘most -distinguished in philosophy,’ says Muratori.</p> - -<p>But Abélard went straight to the centre of Paris, to the cloistral -enclosure under the shadow of old Notre Dame,<a id="FNanchor_5" -href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> where was the first -episcopal school in the kingdom, and one of the first masters in -Christendom. William of Champeaux was a comparatively young master, -who had forced his way into high places by sheer ability. He was -held to be the first dialectician in France, and ‘almost the first -royal councillor.’ In the great philosophic controversy of the period -he was the leader of the orthodox school. The Bishop of Paris had -brought him to the island-city, and vested him with the dignity of -archdeacon of the cathedral and <i>scholasticus</i> (chancellor or rector) -and master of the episcopal school. So high was the repute of his -ability and his doctrine that, so Fleury says, he was called ‘the -pillar of doctors.’ From an obscure local centre of instruction he -had lifted the Parisian school into a commanding position, and had -attracted scholars from many lands. And he was then in the prime of -life. Within a few months Abélard made his<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_23">[p. 23]</span> authority totter, and set his reputation -on the wane. In six or seven years he drove him, in shame and -humiliation, from his chair, after a contest that filled Christendom -with its echoes.</p> - -<p>Let us repeat that William of Champeaux was then in the prime of -life, or only ten years older than Abélard. There are those who talk -of the ‘venerable teacher’ and the audacious, irreverent stripling. -This picture of the conflict is historically ridiculous. Rousselot -and Michaud, two of the most careful students of Champeaux’s -life, give the date of his birth as 1068 and 1070, respectively. -He had fought his way with early success into the first chair in -Christendom; he cannot have been much older than Abélard when he -secured it. Abélard had an immeasurably greater ability; he was -frankly conscious of the fact; and he seems promptly to have formed -the perfectly legitimate design of ousting William—whose philosophy -certainly seemed absurd to him—and mounting the great chair of Notre -Dame.</p> - -<p>Such a thought would naturally take shape during the course of -the following twelve months. The only indication that Abélard gives -us is to the effect that William was well disposed towards him -at first, though there is no foundation in<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_24">[p. 24]</span> recorded fact for the assertion that -William invited the youth to his house, but they were gradually -involved in a warm dialectical encounter. Abélard was not only -a handsome and talented youth (which facts he candidly tells us -himself), but he was a practised dialectician. The lectures of -those untiring days lasted for hours, and might be interrupted -at any moment by a question from a scholar. Moreover, William -was principally occupied with dialectics, and it would be quite -impossible—if it were desired—to instruct youths in the art of -disputing, without letting them exercise their powers on the hosts -of problems which served the purpose of illustration. Hence the -young Breton must have quickly brought his keen rapier into play. -The consciousness of power and the adolescent vanity of exhibiting -it, both generously developed in Abélard, would prepare the way for -ambition. Question and answer soon led on to a personal contest.</p> - -<p>But there was a stronger source of provocation, and here it will -be necessary to cast a hurried glance at the great controversy of -the hour. Cousin has said that the scholastic philosophy was born -of a phrase that Boetius translated out of Porphyry. It is a good -epigram; but it has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[p. 25]</span> -the disadvantage of most epigrams—it is false. The controversy about -<i>genera</i> and <i>species</i> is by no means of vital importance to the -scholastic philosophy, as Abélard himself has said. However, there is -much truth in the assertion that this celebrated controversy, as a -specific question, may be traced entirely to Porphyry.</p> - -<p>Boetius was the chief author read in the early mediæval schools. -Amongst other works they had his Latin translation of Porphyry’s -<i>Introduction</i> to Aristotle, and in one corner of this volume some -roving scholastic had been arrested by the allusion to the old Greek -controversy about <i>genera</i> and <i>species</i>. To put it shortly: we have -mental pictures of individual men, and we have also the idea of man -in general, an idea which may be applied to each and all of the -individual men we know. The grave problem that agitated the centuries -was, whether not only the individual human beings who live and move -about us, but also this ‘general man’ or species, had an existence -outside the mind. The modern photographer has succeeded in taking -composite photographs. A number of human likenesses are super-imposed -on the same plate, so that at length individual features are blended, -and there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[p. 26]</span> emerges -only the vague portrait of ‘a man.’ The question that vexed the -mediæval soul was, whether this human type, as distinct from the -individual mortals we see in the flesh, had a real existence.</p> - -<p>In whatever terms the problem be stated, it is sure to appear -almost childish to the non-philosophical reader; as, indeed, it -appeared to certain scholars even of that time. John of Salisbury, -with his British common sense and impatience of dialectical subtlety, -petulantly spoke of it as ‘the ancient question, in the solution of -which the world has grown grey, and more time has been consumed than -the Cæsars gave to the conquest and dominion of the globe, more money -wasted than Crœsus counted in all his wealth.’ But listen to another -Briton, and one with the fulness of modern life outspread before him. -Archbishop Roger Vaughan, defending the attitude of the enthusiasts -in his <i>Thomas of Aquin</i>, says: ‘Kill ideas, blast theories, -explode the archetypes of things, and the age of brute force is -not far distant.’ And Rousselot declares, in his <i>Philosophie du -Moyen Age</i>, that the problem of universals is ‘the most exalted -and the most difficult question in the whole of philosophy.’ Poor -philosophy!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[p. 27]</span> will be -the average layman’s comment. However, though neither ancient Greeks -nor mediæval formalists were guilty of the confusion of <i>ideas</i> and -<i>ideals</i> which Dom Vaughan betrays, the schoolmen had contrived to -connect the question in a curious fashion with the mystery of the -Trinity.</p> - -<p>When, therefore, Jean Roscelin began to probe the question with -his dialectical weapons, the ears of the orthodox were opened wide. -The only position which was thought compatible with the faith was -realism—the notion that the species or the genus was a reality, -distinct from the individuals that belonged to it, and outside the -mind that conceived it. By and by it was whispered in the schools, -and wandering scholars bore the rumour to distant monasteries -and bishoprics, that Roscelin denied the real existence of these -universals. Indeed, in his scorn of the orthodox position, he -contemptuously declared them to be ‘mere words’; neither in the world -of reality, nor in the mind itself, was there anything corresponding -to them; they were nothing but an artifice of human speech. Europe -was ablaze at once. St. Anselm assailed the heretic from the -theological side; William of Champeaux stoutly led the opposition, -and the defence of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[p. 28]</span> -realism, from the side of philosophy. Such was the question of the -hour, such the condition of the world of thought, when Pierre Abélard -reached the cloistral school at Paris.</p> - -<p>If you stated the problem clearly to a hundred men and women who -were unacquainted with philosophic speculations, ninety-nine of them -would probably answer that these universals were neither mere words -nor external realities, but general or generalised ideas—composite -photographs, to use the interesting comparison of Mr. Galton, in -the camera of the mind. That was the profound discovery with which -Abélard shattered the authority of his master, revolutionised the -thought of his age, and sent his fame to the ends of the earth. He -had introduced a new instrument into the dialectical world, common -sense, like the little girl in the fairy tale, who was brought -to see the prince in his imaginary clothes.<a id="FNanchor_6" -href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> This, at least, Abélard -achieved, and it was a brilliant triumph for the unknown youth: he -swept for ever out of the world of thought, in spite of almost all -the scholars of Christendom,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[p. -29]</span> that way of thinking and of speaking which is known as -realism. I am familiar with the opinion of scholastic thinkers in -this question, from the thirteenth century to the present day. It -differs verbally, but not substantially, from the conceptualism of -Abélard. The stripling of twenty or twenty-one had enunciated the -opinion which the world of thought was to adopt.</p> - -<p>We still have some of the arguments with which Abélard assailed -his chief—but enough of philosophy, let us proceed with the story. -Once more the swift and animated years are condensed into a brief -phrase by the gloomy autobiographist; though there is a momentary -flash of the old spirit when he says of the earlier stage that he -‘seemed at times to have the victory in the dispute,’ and when he -describes the final issue in the words of Ovid,</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">‘... non sum superatus ab illo.’</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="ti0">He soon found the weak points in William’s -armour, and proceeded to attack him with the uncalculating passion -of youth. It was not long before the friendly master was converted -into a bitter, life-long enemy; and that, he wearily writes, ‘was the -beginning of my calamities.’ Possibly: but it is not unlikely that he -had had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[p. 30]</span> a similar -experience at Locmenach. However that may be, it was a fatal victory. -Ten years afterwards we find William in closest intimacy and daily -intercourse with Bernard of Clairvaux.</p> - -<p>Most of the scholars at Notre Dame were incensed at the success -of Abélard. In those earlier days the gathering was predominantly -clerical; the more so, on account of William’s championship of -orthodoxy. But as the controversy proceeded, and rumour bore its -echo to the distant schools, the number and the diversity of the -scholars increased. Many of the youths took the side of the handsome, -brilliant young noble, and encouraged him to resist. He decided to -open a school.</p> - -<p>There was little organisation in the schools at that period—the -university not taking shape until fully sixty years afterwards -(Compayré)—and Abélard would hardly need a ‘license’ for the purpose, -outside the immediate precincts of the cloister. But William was -angry and powerful. It were more discreet, at least, not to create a -direct and flagrant opposition to him. The little group of scholars -moved to Melun, and raised a chair for their new master in that royal -town. It was thirty miles away, down the valley<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_31">[p. 31]</span> of the Seine; but a thirty mile walk was -a trifle in the days when railways were unknown, and William soon -noticed a leakage in his class. Moreover, Melun was an important -town, the king spending several months there every year. William made -strenuous efforts to have the new academy suppressed, but he seems -to have quarrelled with some of the courtiers, and these took up the -cause of the new master of noble rank.</p> - -<p>When Abélard saw the powerlessness of the chancellor of Notre -Dame, he decided to come a little nearer. There was another fortified -and royal town, Corbeil by name, about half-way to Paris, and thither -he transferred his chair and his followers. The move was made, he -tells us, for the convenience of his students. His reputation was -already higher than William’s, and the duel of the masters had led to -a noisy conflict between their respective followers. Corbeil being -a comfortable day’s walk from Paris, there was a constant stream of -rival pupils flowing between the two. In the schools and the taverns, -on the roads and the bridges, nothing was heard but the increasing -jargon of the junior realists and conceptualists. Besides the great -problem, dialectics<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[p. 32]</span> -had countless lesser ones that would furnish argumentative material -for an eternity. ‘Whether the pig that is being driven to market is -held by the man or the rope’; ‘whether a shield that is white on one -side and black on the other may be called either black or white,’ and -problems of that kind, are not to be compared in point of depth and -fecundity with such mere matters of fact as the origin of species. -But the long and severe strain had gravely impaired Abélard’s health; -he was compelled to close his school, and return to Brittany. William -was not the only one who rejoiced. The Church was beginning to view -with some alarm the spread of the new doctrine and the new spirit. -Cynical rivals were complaining that ‘the magician’ had brought ‘a -plague of frogs’ on the land.</p> - -<p>Abélard tells us that he remained ‘for several years almost cut -off from France.’ Rémusat thinks it was probably during this period -that he studied under Roscelin, but there is now little room for -doubt that his intercourse with the famous nominalist falls in the -earlier years. Much more probable is it that we should assign his -relations to Tirric of Chartres to the later date. The substance -of the anecdote that was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[p. -33]</span> found on the margin of the Ratisbon manuscript seems to -accord admirably with Abélard’s circumstances in the period we have -now reached. The question, however, will interest few, beyond the -narrow circle of historical specialists. He himself is silent about -the few years of rest in the Breton castle, merely stating that -he returned to Paris when he had recovered his health. We have to -remember that the autobiography he has left us was entitled by him -the ‘Story of my Calamities.’ It is not the full presentment of the -swiftly moving drama of the life of Abélard. He speaks of joy only -when it is the prelude to sorrow, or when some faint spark of the old -ardour leaps into life once more.</p> - -<p>When Abélard at length returned to the arena, he found a -significant change. William had deserted the cloistral school. In -a solitary spot down the river, beyond the foot of the eastern -slope of St. Genevieve, was a small priory that had belonged to -the monks of St. Victor of Marseilles. Thither, says Franklin, -William had retired ‘to hide his despair and the shame of his -defeat.’ The controversy had by no means been decided against him -yet. Indeed, William’s biographers loyally contend that he was -sincerely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[p. 34]</span> touched -by the religious spirit of the age, and adopted the monastic life -from the purest of motives. Abélard, on the other hand, declares -that the inspiration came from a hope of exchanging the chair of -Notre Dame for that of an episcopal see. Abélard is scarcely an -ideal witness, though the passage was written nearly thirty years -afterwards, yet his interpretation is probably correct; at least, -if we take it as a partial explanation. William was shrewd enough -to see that his supremacy in the scholastic world was doomed, and -that the best alternative was a bishopric. He was still young -(about thirty-eight, apparently) and ambitious; in his character of -archdeacon, he was already only one step removed from the episcopate; -and he had influence and qualifications above the average. It is -scarcely correct to say, as Gervaise does, that at that time ‘the -monastery was the recognised path to the episcopacy,’ on account -of the wide degradation of the secular clergy. Their degradation -was assuredly deep and widespread, but so were simony and electoral -corruption. We generally find, in the old chronicles, one or other -of the deceased bishop’s archdeacons ascending the vacant throne. -However, William<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[p. 35]</span> of -Champeaux was a religious man; for the pious the surest path to the -episcopate passed through the monastery.</p> - -<p>Whatever be the correct analysis of the motive—and it was probably -a complex feeling, including all the impulses suggested, which -William himself scarcely cared to examine too narrowly—the fact -is that in the year 1108 he donned the black cassock of the canon -regular, and settled with a few companions in the priory of St. -Victor. The life of the canons regular was a compromise between that -of the sterner monks and the unascetic life of the secular canons -and secular clergy. They followed, on the whole, the well-known rule -of St. Augustine. They arose at midnight to chant their matins, but, -unlike the Cistercians, they returned to bed as soon as the ‘office’ -was over. They ate meat three times a week, and were not restricted -in the taking of fish and eggs. They had linen underclothing, and -much friendly intercourse with each other, and they were less rigidly -separated from the world. Altogether, not too rough a path to higher -dignities—or to heaven—and (a not unimportant point) one that did not -lead far from Paris.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[p. 36]</span></p> - -<p>Such was the foundation of one of the most famous schools of -mystic theology. The abbey that William instituted, before he was -removed to the coveted dignity in 1113, has attained an immortality -in the world of thought through such inmates as Richard and Hugh of -St. Victor.</p> - -<p>Abélard’s first impulse on hearing the news was to repair at once -to the cloistral school. He found the chair occupied. William had -not, in fact, resigned his title of scholastic, and he had placed a -substitute in the chair. It was a poor ruse, for there was now no -master in Christendom who could long endure the swift, keen shafts -of the ambitious Breton. Abélard would quickly make the chair of -Notre Dame uncomfortable for the most pachydermatous substitute; and -he seems to have commenced the edifying task at once, when he heard -that the unfortunate William had set up a chair of rhetoric at St. -Victor. Like a hawk, Master Peter descended on the ill-fated canon. -The Bishop of Mans had, it appears, stimulated William into a renewal -of activity, and he had chosen that apparently safe section of the -trivium, the art of rhetoric.</p> - -<p>With what must have been a mock humility, Abélard went down the -river each day with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[p. -37]</span> crowd of monks and clerks to receive instruction in -rhetoric from the new Prior of St. Victor’s. Deutsch remarks, with -Teutonic gravity, that we do not read of a reconciliation between the -two. Nor do we find that Abélard had been ‘converted’ to the spirit -of Robert of Arbrissel or Bernard of Clairvaux during his retirement -at Pallet. Abélard, now nearly thirty years of age, could have -taught William the art of rhetoric with more profit than he himself -was likely to derive from William’s <i>prælectiones</i>. His obvious aim -was to break William’s connection with Paris and with Notre Dame. -The high and gentle spirit of these latter days, that studies the -feelings of an antagonist, and casts aside an ambition that would -lead over the fallen fame of a fellow-man, did not commend itself to -the mediæval mind.</p> - -<p>And so the contest ran on, until at length a new rumour was -borne over the roads and into the schools of Europe. The ‘pillar -of doctors’ was broken—had fallen beyond restoration. Guillaume de -Champeaux had changed his doctrine on the question of universals. -Swiftly the story ran over hill and dale—they were days when the -words of masters outstripped the deeds of kings<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_38">[p. 38]</span> and the fall of dynasties: the -champion of realism had so far yielded to Abélard’s pressure -as to modify his thesis materially. For long years he had held -that the universal was <i>essentially</i> one and the same in all its -individuals; now he admitted that it was only <i>indifferently</i>, or -<i>individually</i>, identical.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" -class="fnanchor">[7]</a> The death of King Philip was a matter -of minor interest to a world that brooded night and day over the -question of genera and species.</p> - -<p>Abélard felt that he need strive no longer in the hall of the poor -canon regular, and he turned his attention to the actual occupant of -the chair of Notre Dame. We need not delay in determining the name of -the luckless master, whether it was Robert of Melun, as some think, -or Adam of the Little Bridge, or Peter the Eater—poor man! a sad -name to come down the ages with; it was merely an allusion to his -voracious reading. He had the saving grace of common-sense, whatever -other gifts he was burdened with. As soon as he saw the collapse of -William’s authority and the dispersal of his pupils, he resolved to -decline a contest with the irresistible Breton.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_39">[p. 39]</span> He voluntarily yielded the chair to -Abélard, and took his place on the hay-strewn floor amongst the new -worshippers. Such a consummation, however, was not to the taste of -the angered scholastic. A substitute had, it seems, the power to -subdelegate his license, so that the installation of Abélard in the -cathedral school was correct and canonical. But William was still -scholastic of the place, and he had an obvious remedy. Robert, or -Peter, or whoever it may have been, depended on him, and he at once -set to work to recall the delegation. Abélard says that he trumped -up a false and most obnoxious charge against the intermediary. -He did, at all events, succeed in changing the appointment, and -thus rendering Abélard’s subdelegated license null. The new-comer -was a man of different temper, so that Abélard only occupied the -great chair ‘for a few days.’ He could not teach in or about the -episcopal school without a ‘respondent,’ and he therefore once more -transferred his chair to Melun.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" -class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> - -<p>The Prior of St. Victor’s had won a pyrrhic<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_40">[p. 40]</span> victory. Whether or no Abélard had -learned a lesson from him, and began in his turn to practise the -subtle art of diplomacy, we cannot say, but Paris was soon too -warm for the prior. The lawless students respected his authority -no longer, and clamoured for Abélard. The king was dead: long live -the king! They discovered that William’s conversion was peculiarly -incomplete. For a man who had felt an inner call to leave the -world, he still evinced a fairly keen interest in its concerns. -William found their ‘ceaseless raillery’ intolerable. He fled, says -Archbishop Roger Vaughan, ‘to hide his shame in a distant monastery.’ -Abélard merely records that ‘he transferred his community to a -certain town at some distance from the city.’ The path to Paris lay -open once more.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[p. 41]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER III - PROGRESS OF THE ACADEMIC WAR">CHAPTER III</h2> - <p class="subh2">PROGRESS OF THE ACADEMIC WAR</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">When</span> Abélard and his -admirers returned from Melun to Paris, they found William’s new -successor sitting resolutely in the chair of Notre Dame. From some -manuscripts of the ‘Story of my Calamities’ it appears that he had -won repute by his lectures on Priscian, the Latin grammarian. He had -thus been able to augment the little band who remained faithful to -William and to orthodoxy with a certain number of personal admirers. -Clearly, the episcopal school must be taken by storm. And so, says -Abélard, his pen leaping forward more quickly at the recollection, -twenty years afterwards, ‘we pitched our camp on the hill of St. -Genevieve.’</p> - -<p>During the century that preceded the coalescence of the schools -into a university, St. Genevieve was the natural home of rebellion. -Roscelin had taught there. Joscelin the Red, another famous<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[p. 42]</span> nominalist, was teaching -there. The ‘feminists’ had raised their tabernacle there; the Jews -their synagogue. From its physical advantages the hill naturally -presented itself to the mind of every master who had designs on the -episcopal school or the episcopal philosophy. Its gentle, sunny -flanks offered ideal situations for schools, and the students were -breaking away more and more from the vicinity of the cloister and -the subordination it expressed. A new town was rapidly forming at -its foot, by the river, and on the northern slope; a picturesque -confusion of schools, chapels, brothels, taverns, and hospices. It -was the cradle of the famed Latin Quarter—<i>very</i> Latin in those days, -when the taverns swung out their Latin signs, ‘taverna de grangia,’ -‘ad turbotum,’ ‘apud duos cygnos,’ and so forth, and the songs that -came from the latticed, vine-clothed arbours were half French, half -Celtic-Latin.</p> - -<p>Abélard did not open a private school on ‘the hill.’ He delivered -his assault on ‘the island’ from the abbey of St. Genevieve at the -summit, the site now occupied by the Pantheon. There is nothing in -the least remarkable in the abbey opening its gates to one who was -obviously bent on assailing the great ecclesiastical school, and -who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[p. 43]</span> was already -regarded as the parent of a new and freer generation of students. -The secular canons had little deference for authority and little -love of asceticism at that period. St. Norbert had fruitlessly tried -to reform them, and had been forced to embody his ideal in a new -order. Cardinal Jacques de Vitry, the classical censor of the twelfth -century, makes bitter comment on their hawks and horses, their -jesters and singing-girls, and their warmer than spiritual affection -for their sisters in religion, the ‘canonesses.’ It was natural -enough that an abbey of secular canons should welcome the witty and -brilliant young noble—and the wealth that accompanied him.</p> - -<p>We have little information about the abbey at that precise date, -but history has much to say of its affairs some thirty or forty -years afterwards, and thus affords a retrospective light. In the -year 1146 Innocent the Second paid a visit to Paris. The relics of -St. Genevieve were one of the treasures of the city, and thither his -holiness went with his retinue, and King Louis and his followers. -In the crush that was caused in the abbey church, the servants of -the canons quarrelled with those of the court, and one of them -was unlucky enough to bring his staff down with some force<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[p. 44]</span> on the royal pate. That -was a death-blow to the gay life of the abbey. Paris, through the -abbot of St. Denis, who was also the first royal councillor, quickly -obtained royal and papal assent to the eviction of the canons, and -they were soon summarily turned out on the high road. They did not -yield without a struggle, it is true. Many a night afterwards, when -the canons regular who replaced them were in the midst of their -solemn midnight chant, the evicted broke in the doors of the church, -and made such turmoil inside, that the chanters could not hear each -other across the choir. And when they did eventually depart for less -rigorous surroundings, they thoughtfully took with them a good deal -of the gold from Genevieve’s tomb and other ecclesiastical treasures, -which were not reclaimed until after many adventures.</p> - -<p>To this abbey of St. Genevieve, then, the militant master led -his followers, and he began at once to withdraw the students from -Notre Dame, as he candidly tells us. If Bishop Galo and his chapter -found their cloistral school deserted, they might be induced to -consider Abélard’s gifts and influence. So the war went on merrily -between the two camps. The masters fulminated against each other; -the students ran from school to school,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_45">[p. 45]</span> and argued it out on the bridge and -in the taverns, and brought questions to their logical conclusion -in the Pré-aux-clercs.<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" -class="fnanchor">[9]</a> There was certainly, as we saw previously, -ample room for litigation in the problems of mediæval dialectics. -John of Salisbury studied dialectics under Abélard at St. Genevieve -(though not in the abbey) at a later date, and he tells us that when -he returned to Paris twelve years afterwards he found his dialectical -friends just where he had left them. ‘They had not added the -smallest proposition,’ he says contemptuously. Little John preferred -‘philology,’ as they called classical studies in his day.</p> - -<p>We get a curious insight into the school-life of the period in -the <i>Life of Saint Goswin</i>. Goswin of Douai—whom we shall meet again -once or twice—was studying in the school of Master Joscelin the Red, -down the hill. He was a youthful saint of the regulation pattern: had -borne the aureole from his cradle. About this time he is described as -brimming over with precocious zeal for righteousness, and astounded -at the impunity with which Abélard poured out his novelties.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[p. 46]</span> Why did not some one -silence ‘this dog who barked at the truth’? Already, the authors of -the saint’s life—two monks of the twelfth century—say, ‘Abélard’s -hand was against every man, and every man’s hand against him,’ yet -no one seemed inclined ‘to thrash him with the stick of truth.’ The -young saint could not understand it. He went to Master Joscelin at -length, and declared that he was going to do the work of the Lord -himself. Joscelin is reported to have endeavoured to dissuade him -with a feeling description of Abélard’s rhetorical power; we do not -know, however, that Joscelin was void of all sense of humour. In any -case the saintly youngster of ‘modest stature’ with the ‘blue-grey -eyes and light air’ had a good measure of courage. It will be -interesting, perhaps, to read the issue in the serio-comic language -of the times.</p> - -<p>‘With a few companions he ascended the hill of St. Genevieve, -prepared, like David, to wage single conflict with the Goliath who -sat there thundering forth strange novelties of opinion to his -followers and ridiculing the sound doctrine of the wise.</p> - -<p>‘When he arrived at the battlefield—that is, when he entered the -school—he found the master<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[p. -47]</span> giving his lecture and instilling his novelties into -his hearers. But as soon as he began to speak, the master cast an -angry look at him; knowing himself to be a warrior from his youth, -and noticing that the scholar was beginning to feel nervous, he -despised him in his heart. The youth was, indeed, fair and handsome -of appearance, but slender of body and short of stature. And when the -proud one was urged to reply, he said: “Hold thy peace, and disturb -not the course of my lecture.”’</p> - -<p>The story runs, however, that Abélard’s students represented to -him that the youth was of greater importance than he seemed to be, -and persuaded him to take up the glove. ‘Very well,’ said Abélard, -and it is not improbable, ‘let him say what he has to say.’ It -was, of course, unfortunate for Goliath, as the young champion of -orthodoxy, aided by the Holy Spirit, completely crushed him in the -midst of his own pupils.</p> - -<p>‘The strong man thus bound by him who had entered his house, -the victor, who had secured the Protean-changing monster with the -unfailing cord of truth, descended the hill. When they had come to -the spot where their companions awaited them in the distant schools -[<i>i.e.</i> when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[p. 48]</span> they -had got to a safe distance from Abélard’s pupils], they burst forth -in pæans of joy and triumph: humbled was the tower of pride, downcast -was the wall of contumacy, fallen was he that had scoffed at Israel, -broken was the anvil of the smiter,’ etc. etc.</p> - -<p>The course of events does not seem to have been much influenced -by this breaking of the ‘anvil.’ Joscelin was soon compelled to seek -fresh pastures; he also found ultimate consolation in a bishopric, -and a share in the condemnation of Abélard. The commentator of -Priscian must then have received the full force of Abélard’s keen -dialectical skill and mordant satire. His students began to fall -away to the rival camp in large numbers. William was informed in his -distant solitude, and he returned (‘impudenter,’ says Abélard) in -haste to St. Victor’s. He opened his old school in the priory, and -for a time Paris rang more loudly than ever with the dialectical -battle. But William’s intervention proved fatal to his cause. The -substitute had kept a handful of students about him, Abélard says, -but even they disappeared when William returned. The poor Priscianist -could think of nothing better than to develop ‘a call to the monastic -life,’ and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[p. 49]</span> he -obeyed it with admirable alacrity. However, just as Abélard was about -to enter on the last stage of the conflict, he was recalled to Pallet -by his mother.</p> - -<p>The eleventh century had witnessed a strong revival of the -monastic spirit. When men came at length to feel the breath of an -ideal in their souls, the sight of the fearful disorder of the age -stimulated them to the sternest sacrifices. They believed that he -who said, ‘If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and -give to the poor,’ was God, that he meant what he said, and that -he spoke the message to all the ages. So there uprose a number of -fervent preachers, whose voices thrilled with a strange passion, and -they burned the Christ-message into the souls of men and women. In -Brittany and Normandy Robert of Arbrissel and two or three others -had been at work years before St. Bernard began his apostolate. They -had broken up thousands of homes—usually those which were helping -most to sweeten the life of the world—and sent husband and wife to -spend their days apart in monasteries and nunneries. The modern -world speaks of the harshness of it; in their thoughts it was only a -salutary separation for a time, making wholly<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_50">[p. 50]</span> certain their speedy reunion in a not too -ethereal heaven. In the great abbey of Fontevraud, founded by Robert -of Arbrissel in the year 1100, there were nearly four thousand nuns, -a large proportion of whom were married women. Even in their own -day the monastic orators were strongly opposed on account of their -appalling dissolution of domestic ties. Roscelin attacked Robert -of Arbrissel very warmly on the ground that he received wives into -his monasteries against the will of their husbands, and in defiance -of the command of the Bishop of Angers to release them: he boldly -repeats the charge in a letter to the Bishop of Paris in 1121. Not -only sober thinkers and honest husbands would resent the zeal of -the Apostle of Brittany; the courtly, and the ecclesiastical and -monastic, gallants of the time would be equally angry with him. -We have another curious objection in some of the writers of the -period. Answering the question why men were called to the monastic -life so many centuries before women, they crudely affirm that the -greater frailty of the women had made them less competent to meet -the moral dangers of the cenobitic life. Thus from one cause or -other a number of calumnies, still found in the chronicles, were -in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[p. 51]</span> circulation -about Robert of Arbrissel.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" -class="fnanchor">[10]</a> It would be interesting to know what -half-truths there were at the root of these charges; there may have -been such, in those days, quite consistently with perfect religious -sincerity. In the martyrologies of some of the monastic orders, there -are women mentioned with high praise who disguised themselves as men, -and lived for years in monasteries. It is noteworthy that mediæval -folk worked none of those miracles at the tomb of Robert of Arbrissel -that they wrought at the tombs of St. Bernard and St. Norbert. He is -not a canonised saint.</p> - -<p>However, in spite of both responsible and irresponsible -opposition, Robert of Arbrissel, Vitalis the Norman, and other -nervous orators, had caused an extensive movement from the hearth -to the cloister throughout Brittany and Normandy, such as St. -Bernard inaugurated in France later on.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_52">[p. 52]</span> Home after home—<i>château</i> or -<i>chaumière</i>—was left to the children, and they who had sworn -companionship in life and death cheerfully parted in the pathetic -trust of a reunion. Abélard’s father was touched by the sacred fire, -and entered a monastery. His wife had to follow his example. Whatever -truth there was in the words of Roscelin, the Church certainly -commanded that the arrangement should be mutual, unless the lady -were of an age or a piety beyond suspicion, as St. Francis puts it -in his ‘Rule.’ Lucia had agreed to take the veil after her husband’s -departure. This was the news that withheld the hand of ‘the smiter’ -on the point of dealing a decisive blow, and he hastened down to -Brittany to bid farewell to his ‘most dear mother.’ Not only in this -expression, but in the fact of his making the journey at all in the -circumstances, we have evidence of a profound affection. Since he had -long ago abdicated his rights of primogeniture, there cannot have -been an element of business in the visit to Pallet.</p> - -<p>He was not long absent from Paris. The news reached him in -Brittany that the prior had at length discovered a dignified retreat -from the field. Soon after Abélard’s departure the bishopric of -Châlons-sur-Marne became vacant, and William<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_53">[p. 53]</span> was nominated for the see. He bade a fond -farewell to Paris and to dialectics. From that date his ability was -devoted to the safe extravagances of mystic theology, under the safe -tutorship of St. Bernard.<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" -class="fnanchor">[11]</a> He had left his pupil Gilduin to replace -him at St. Victor, and the school quickly assumed a purely -theological character; but the luckless chair of Notre Dame he -entrusted to the care of Providence.</p> - -<p>Abélard now formed a resolution which has given rise to much -speculation. Instead of stepping at once into the chair of the -cloistral school, which he admits was offered to him, he goes off -to some distance from Paris for the purpose of studying theology. -It is the general opinion of students of his life that his main -object in doing so was to make more secure his progress towards the -higher ecclesiastical dignities. That he had such ambition, and was -not content with the mere chair and chancellorship of the cloistral -school, is quite clear. In his clouded and em<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_54">[p. 54]</span>bittered age he is said, on the high -authority of Peter of Cluny, to have discovered even that final -virtue of humility. There are those who prefer him in the days of -his frank, buoyant pride and ambition. If he had been otherwise -in the days of the integrity of his nature, he would have been an -intolerable prig. He was the ablest thinker and speaker in France. He -was observant enough to perceive it, and so little artificial as to -acknowledge it, and act in accordance. Yet there was probably more -than the counsel of ambition in his resolution. From the episode of -Goswin’s visit to St. Genevieve it is clear that whispers of faith, -theology, and heresy were already breaking upon the freedom of his -dialectical speculations. He must have recalled the fate of Scotus -Erigena, of Bérenger, of Roscelin, and other philosophic thinkers. -Philosophic thought was subtly linked with ecclesiastical dogma. He -who contemplated a life of speculation and teaching could not afford -to be ignorant of the ecclesiastical claims on and limitations of his -sphere. Such thoughts can scarcely have been unknown to him during -the preceding year or two, and it seems just and reasonable to trace -the issue of them in his resolution. He himself merely says: ‘I -returned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[p. 55]</span> chiefly -for the purpose of studying divinity.’ Hausrath quotes a passage from -his <i>Introductio ad theologiam</i> with the intention of making Abélard -ascribe his resolution to the suggestion of his admirers. On careful -examination the passage seems to refer to his purpose of writing on -theology, not to his initial purpose of studying it.</p> - -<p>Abélard would naturally look about for the first theological -teacher in France. There were, in point of fact, few theological -chairs at that time, but there was at least one French theologian who -had a high reputation throughout Christendom. Pupil of St. Anselm of -Canterbury at Bec, canon and dean of the town where he taught, Anselm -of Laon counted so many brilliant scholars amongst his followers that -he has been entitled the ‘doctor of doctors.’ William of Champeaux, -William of Canterbury, and a large number of distinguished masters, -sat at his feet. His <i>scholia</i> to the Vulgate were in use in the -schools for centuries. He and his brother Raoul had made Laon a -most important focus of theological activity for more countries -than France. England was well represented there. John of Salisbury -frequently has occasion to illustrate the fame and magnitude of the -cathedral school.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[p. 56]</span></p> - -<p>Anselm had been teaching for forty years when Abélard, <i>aetat.</i> -thirty-four, appeared amidst the crowd of his hearers. We can -well conceive the fluttering of wings that must have occurred, -but Laon was not Paris, and Anselm was not the man to enter upon -an argumentative conflict with the shrewd-tongued adventurer. -Two incidents of contemporary life at Laon, in which Anselm -figured, will be the best means of illustrating the character of -the theologian. Abbot Guibertus, of that period, has left us a -delightful work ‘<i>De vita sua</i>,’ from which we learn much about -Laon and Anselm. The treasure of the cathedral was entrusted, it -seems, to seven guardians—four clerics and three laymen. One of -these guardians, a Canon Anselm, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He -purloined a good deal of the treasure; and when the goldsmith, his -accomplice, was detected, and turned king’s evidence, Anselm denied -the story, challenged the goldsmith to the usual duel, and won.<a -id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> The -canon was encouraged, and shortly set up as an expert burglar. One -dark,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[p. 57]</span> stormy -night he went with his ‘ladders and machines’ to a tower in which -much treasure was kept, and ‘cracked’ it. There was dreadful ado in -the city next day; most horrible of all, the burglar had stolen a -golden dove which contained some of the hair and some of the milk -of the Virgin Mary. In the uncertainty the sapient Master Anselm -(no relation, apparently, of Canon Anselm Beessus, the burglar -and cathedral treasurer) was invited to speak. His advice largely -reveals the man. Those were the days, it must be remembered, when the -defects of the detective service were compensated by a willingness -and activity of the higher powers which are denied to this sceptical -age. When their slender police resources were exhausted, the accused -was handed over to a priest, to be prepared, by prayer and a sober -diet of bread, herbs, salt, and water, for the public ordeal. On -the fourth day priests and people repaired to the church, and when -the mass was over, and the vested priests had prostrated themselves -in the sanctuary, the accused purged himself of the charge or -proved his guilt by carrying or walking on a nine foot bar of -heated iron, plunging his arms ‘for an ell and a half’ into boiling -water, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[p. 58]</span> being -bodily immersed in a huge tank, cold, and carefully blessed and -consecrated.</p> - -<p>These are familiar facts. The difficulty at Laon was that there -was no accused to operate on. The Solomon Laudunensis was therefore -called into judgment, and his proposal certainly smacks of the -thoroughness of the systematic theologian. A baby was to be taken -from each parish of the town, and tried by the ordeal of immersion. -When the guilty parish had been thus discovered, each family in -it was to purge itself by sending an infant representative to the -tank. When the guilt had been thus fastened on a certain house, -all its inmates were to be put to the ordeal.<a id="FNanchor_13" -href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> - -<p>We see Anselm in a very different light in an incident that -occurred a year or two before Abélard’s arrival. Through the -influence of the King of England and the perennial power of gold a -wholly unworthy bishop had been thrust upon<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_59">[p. 59]</span> the people of Laon. Illiterate, worldly, -and much addicted to military society, he was extremely distasteful -to Anselm and the theologians. The crisis came when the English -king, Henry <small>I.</small>, tried to levy a tax on -the people of Laon. The bishop supported his patron; Anselm and -others sternly opposed the tax in the name of the people. Feeling -ran so high that the bishop was at length brutally murdered by some -of the townsfolk, and the cathedral was burned to the ground. Anselm -immediately, and almost alone, went forth to denounce the frenzied -mob, and had the unfortunate prelate—left for the dogs to devour -before his house—quietly buried.</p> - -<p>Such was the man whom Abélard chose as his next, and last, -‘teacher.’ In the circumstances revealed in the above anecdotes it -would have been decidedly dangerous to attack Anselm in the manner -that had succeeded so well at Notre Dame. There is, however, no -just reason for thinking that Abélard had formed an intention of -that kind. No doubt, it is impossible to conceive Abélard in the -attitude of one who seriously expected instruction from a master. -Yet it would be unjust to assume that he approached the class-room -of the venerable, authori<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[p. -60]</span>tative theologian in the same spirit in which he had -approached William of Champeaux’s lectures on rhetoric. We do not -find it recorded that he made any attempt to assail directly the high -position of the old man. It was sufficient for the purpose we may -ascribe to him that he should be able to state in later years that he -had frequented the lectures of Anselm of Laon.</p> - -<p>With whatever frame of mind the critic came to Laon, he was not -long in discovering the defects of Anselm’s teaching. Anselm had one -gift, a good memory, and its fruit, patristic erudition. The fame -that was borne over seas and mountains was founded mainly on the -marvellous wealth of patristic opinion which he applied to every text -of Scripture. There was no individuality, no life, in his work. To -Abélard the mnemonic feat was a mechanical matter; and indeed, he -probably cared little at that time how St. Ambrose or St. Cyril may -have interpreted this or that text. Little as he would be disposed -to trust the fame of masters after his experience, he tells us that -he was disappointed. He found the ‘fig-tree to be without fruit,’ -fair and promising as it had seemed. The lamp, that was said to -illumine theological Christendom, ‘merely<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_61">[p. 61]</span> filled the house with smoke, not light.’ -He found, in the words of his favourite Lucan,</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i22">‘magni nominis umbra,</p> -<p class="i0">Qualis frugifero quercus sublimis in agro’:</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="ti0">and he determined ‘not to remain in this idleness -under its shade very long.’ With his usual heedlessness he frankly -expressed his estimate of the master to his fellow pupils.</p> - -<p>One day when they were joking together at the end of the lecture, -and the students were twitting him with his neglect of the class, -he quietly dropped a bomb to the effect that he thought masters of -theology were superfluous. With the text and the ordinary glosses -any man of fair intelligence could study theology for himself. He -was contemptuously invited to give a practical illustration of his -theory. Abélard took the sneer seriously, and promised to lecture -on any book of Scripture they cared to choose. Continuing the joke, -they chose the curious piece of Oriental work that has the title -of Ezechiel. Once more Abélard took them seriously, asked for the -text and gloss, and invited them to attend his first lecture, on -the most abstruse of the prophets, on the following day. Most of -them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[p. 62]</span> persisted in -treating the matter as a joke, but a few appeared at the appointed -spot (in Anselm’s own territory) on the following day. They listened -in deep surprise to a profound lecture on the prophet from the new -and self-consecrated ‘theologus.’ The next day there was a larger -audience; the lecture was equally astonishing. In fine, Abélard was -soon in full sail as a theological lector of the first rank, and a -leakage was noticed in Anselm’s lecture hall.</p> - -<p>Abélard’s theological success at Laon was brief, if brilliant. Two -of the leading scholars, Alberic of Rheims and Lotulphe of Novare, -urged Anselm to suppress the new movement at once. Seven years later -we shall meet Alberic and Lotulphe playing an important part in the -tragedy of Abélard’s life; later still Alberic is found in intimacy -with St. Bernard. The episode of Laon must not be forgotten. Probably -Anselm needed little urging, with the fate of William of Champeaux -fresh in his ears. At all events he gave willing audience to the -suggestion that a young master, without due theological training, -might at any moment bring the disgrace of heresy on the famous -school. He ‘had the impudence to suppress me,’ Abélard has the -impudence to say.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[p. 63]</span> -The students are said to have been much angered by Anselm’s -interference, but there was no St. Genevieve at Laon—happily, -perhaps,—and Abélard presently departed for Paris, leaving the field -to the inglorious ‘Pompey the Great.’</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[p. 64]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER IV - THE IDOL OF PARIS">CHAPTER IV</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE IDOL OF PARIS</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">A new</span> age began for -Paris and for learning, when Peter Abélard accepted the chair of -the episcopal school. It would be a difficult task to measure the -influence he had in hastening the foundation of the university—as -difficult as to estimate the enduring effect of his teaching on -Catholic theology. There were other streams flowing into the life -of the period, and they would have expanded and deepened it, -independently of the activity of the one brilliant teacher. The -work of a group of less gifted, though highly gifted, teachers had -started a current of mental life which would have continued and -broadened without the aid of Abélard. Life was entering upon a -swifter course in all its reaches. Moreover, the slender rill of -Greek thought, which formed the inspiration of the eleventh century, -was beginning to increase. Through Alexandria, through Arabia,<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[p. 65]</span> through Spain, the broad -stream of the wisdom of the Greeks had been slowly travelling with -the centuries. In the twelfth century it was crossing the Pyrenees, -and stealing into the jealous schools of Europe. The homeless Jew was -bringing the strong, swift, noble spirit of the ‘infidel Moor’ into a -hideous world, that was blind with self-complacency. The higher works -of Aristotle (the early Middle Ages had only his logic), the words -of Plato, and so many others, were drifting into France. Christian -scholars were even beginning to think of going to see with their own -eyes this boasted civilisation of the infidel.</p> - -<p>Yet it is clear that Abélard stands for a mighty force in the -story of development. At the end of the eleventh century Paris was -an island; at the end of the twelfth century it was a city of two -hundred thousand souls, walled, paved, with several fine buildings -and a fair organisation. At the end of the eleventh century the -schools of Paris, scattered here and there, counted a few hundred -pupils, chiefly French; at the end of the twelfth century the -University of Paris must have numbered not far short of ten thousand -scholars. Let us see how much of this was effected by Abélard.</p> - -<p>The pupil who had left Paris when both<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_66">[p. 66]</span> William and Abélard disappeared in 1113 -would find a marvellous change on returning to it about 1116 or 1117. -He would find the lecture hall and the cloister and the quadrangle, -under the shadow of the great cathedral, filled with as motley a -crowd of youths and men as any scene in France could show. Little -groups of French and Norman and Breton nobles chattered together in -their bright silks and fur-tipped mantles, and with slender swords -dangling from embroidered belts; ‘shaven in front like thieves, -and growing luxuriant, curly tresses at the back like harlots,’ -growls Jacques de Vitry, who saw them, vying with each other in the -length and crookedness of their turned-up shoes.<a id="FNanchor_14" -href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> Anglo-Saxons looked on, -in long fur-lined cloaks, tight breeches, and leathern hose swathed -with bands of many coloured cloth. Stern-faced northerners, Poles, -and Germans, in fur caps and coloured girdles and clumsy shoes, or -with feet roughly tied up in the bark of trees, waited impatiently -for the announcement of ‘Li Mestre.’ Pale-faced southerners had<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[p. 67]</span> braved the Alps and the -Pyrenees under the fascination of ‘the wizard.’ Shaven and sandalled -monks, black-habited clerics, black canons, secular and regular, -black in face too, some of them, heresy-hunters from the neighbouring -abbey of St. Victor, mingled with the crowd of young and old, grave -and gay, beggars and nobles, sleek citizens and bronzed peasants.</p> - -<p>Crevier and other writers say that Abélard had attracted five -thousand students to Paris. Sceptics smile, and talk of Chinese -genealogies. Mr. Rashdall, however, has made a careful study of the -point, and he concludes that there were certainly five thousand, and -possibly seven thousand, students at Paris in the early scholastic -age, before the multiplication of important centres. He points -out that the fabulous figures which are sometimes given—Wycliffe -says that at one time there were sixty thousand students at -Oxford, Juvenal de Ursinis gives twenty thousand at Paris in the -fifteenth century, Italian historians speak of fifteen thousand at -Bologna—always refer to a date beyond the writer’s experience, and -frequently betray a touch of the <i>laudator temporis acti</i>. It is, -at all events, safe to affirm that Abélard’s students were counted -by thousands,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[p. 68]</span> if -they had not ‘come to surpass the number of the laity’ [ordinary -citizens], as an old writer declares. Philippe Auguste had to direct -a huge expansion of the city before the close of the century. There -is nothing in the commercial or political development of Paris to -explain the magnitude of this expansion. It was a consequence of a -vast influx of students from all quarters of the globe, and the fame -of Master Abélard had determined the course of the stream.</p> - -<p>One condition reacted on another. A notable gathering of students -attracted Jews and merchants in greater numbers. They, in turn, -created innumerable ‘wants’ amongst the ‘undisciplined horde.’ The -luxuries and entertainments of youth began to multiply. The schools -of Paris began to look fair in the eyes of a second world—a world of -youths and men who had not felt disposed to walk hundreds of miles -and endure a rude life out of academic affection. The ‘dancers of -Orleans,’ the ‘tennis-players of Poitiers,’ the ‘lovers of Turin,’ -came to fraternise with the ‘dirty fellows of Paris.’ Over mountains -and over seas the mingled reputation of the city and the school was -carried, and a remarkable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[p. -69]</span> stream set in from Germany, Switzerland, Italy (even from -proud Rome), Spain, and England; even ‘distant Brittany sent you its -animals to be instructed,’ wrote Prior Fulques to Abélard (a Breton) -a year or two afterwards.</p> - -<p>At five or six o’clock each morning the great cathedral bell would -ring out the summons to work. From the neighbouring houses of the -canons, from the cottages of the townsfolk, from the taverns, and -hospices, and boarding-houses, the stream of the industrious would -pour into the enclosure beside the cathedral. The master’s beadle, -who levied a precarious tax on the mob, would strew the floor of the -lecture-hall with hay or straw, according to the season, bring the -Master’s text-book, with the notes of the lecture between lines or on -the margin, to the solitary desk, and then retire to secure silence -in the adjoining street. Sitting on their haunches in the hay, the -right knee raised to serve as a desk for the waxed tablets, the -scholars would take notes during the long hours of lecture (about six -or seven), then hurry home—if they were industrious—to commit them to -parchment while the light lasted.</p> - -<p>The lectures over, the stream would flow back<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[p. 70]</span> over the Little Bridge, -filling the taverns and hospices, and pouring out over the great -playing meadow, that stretched from the island to the present Champ -de Mars. All the games of Europe were exhibited on that international -playground: running, jumping, wrestling, hurling, fishing and -swimming in the Seine, tossing and thumping the inflated ball—a game -on which some minor poet of the day has left us an enthusiastic -lyric—and especially the great game of war, in its earlier and less -civilised form. The nations were not yet systematically grouped, and -long and frequent were the dangerous conflicts. The undergraduate -mind, though degrees had not yet been invented, had drawn up an -estimate, pithy, pointed, and not flattering, of each nationality. -The English were, it is sad to find, ‘cowardly and drunken,’—to the -‘Anglophobes’; the French were ‘proud and effeminate’; the Normans -‘charlatans and boasters,’ the Burgundians ‘brutal and stupid’; -the Bretons ‘fickle and extravagant’; the Flemings ‘blood-thirsty, -thievish, and incendiary’; the Germans ‘choleric, gluttonous, and -dirty’; the Lombards ‘covetous, malicious, and no fighters’; the -Romans ‘seditious, violent, and slanderous.’ Once those war-cries -were raised, peaceable folk<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[p. -71]</span> hied them to their homes and hovels, and the governor -summoned his guards and archers.</p> - -<p>The centre of this huge and novel concourse was the master of the -cathedral school. After long years of conventual life Heloise draws a -remarkable picture of the attitude of Paris towards its idol. Women -ran to their doors and windows to gaze at him, as he passed from -his house on St. Genevieve to the school. ‘Who was there that did -not hasten to observe when you went abroad, and did not follow you -with strained neck and staring eyes as you passed along? What wife, -what virgin, did not burn? What queen or noble dame did not envy my -fortune?’ And we shall presently read of a wonderful outburst of -grief when the news of the outrage done to Abélard flies through the -city. ‘No man was ever more loved—and more hated,’ says the sober -Hausrath.</p> - -<p>It is not difficult to understand the charm of Abélard’s teaching. -Three qualities are assigned to it by the writers of the period, some -of whom studied at his feet: clearness, richness in imagery, and -lightness of touch are said to have been the chief characteristics of -his teaching. Clearness is, indeed, a quality of his written works, -though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[p. 72]</span> they do not, -naturally, convey an impression of his oral power. His splendid gifts -and versatility, supported by a rich voice, a charming personality, -a ready and sympathetic use of human literature, and a freedom from -excessive piety, gave him an immeasurable advantage over all the -teachers of the day. Beside most of them, he was as a butterfly to -an elephant. A most industrious study of the few works of Aristotle -and of the Roman classics that were available, a retentive memory, -an ease in manipulating his knowledge, a clear, penetrating mind, -with a corresponding clearness of expression, a ready and productive -fancy, a great knowledge of men, a warmer interest in things human -than in things divine, a laughing contempt for authority, a handsome -presence, and a musical delivery—these were his gifts. His only -defects were defects of character, and the circumstances of his life -had not yet revealed them even to himself.</p> - -<p>Even the monkish writers of the <i>Life of St. Goswin</i>, whose -attitude towards his person is clear, grant him ‘a sublime -eloquence.’ The epitaphs that men raised over him, the judgments of -episcopal Otto von Freising and John of Salisbury, the diplomatic -letter of Prior Fulques,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[p. -73]</span> the references of all the chroniclers of the time, I -refrain from quoting. We learn his power best from his open enemies. -‘Wizard,’ ‘rhinoceros,’ ‘smiter,’ ‘friend of the devil,’ ‘giant,’ -‘Titan,’ ‘Prometheus,’ and ‘Proteus,’ are a few of their compliments -to his ability: the mellifluous St. Bernard alone would provide a -rich vocabulary of flattering encomiums of that character: ‘Goliath,’ -‘Herod,’ ‘Leviathan,’ ‘bee,’ ‘serpent,’ ‘dragon,’ ‘hydra,’ ‘Absalom,’ -are some of his epithets. When, later, we find St. Bernard, the first -orator and firmest power in France, shrink nervously from an oral -encounter with him, and resort to measures which would be branded as -dishonourable in any other man, we shall more faithfully conceive the -charm of Abélard’s person and the fascination of his lectures.</p> - -<p>Yet no careful student of his genius will accept the mediæval -estimate which made him the ‘Socrates of Gaul,’ the peer of Plato -and of Aristotle. He had wonderful penetration and a rare felicity -of oral expression, but he was far removed from the altitude of -Socrates and Plato and the breadth of Aristotle. He had no ‘system’ -of thought, philosophical or theological; and into the physical -and social world he never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[p. -74]</span> entered. His ideas—and some of them were leagues beyond -his intellectual surroundings—came to him piecemeal. Yet we shall -see that in some of those which were most abhorrent to Bernard—who -was the Church for the time being—he did but anticipate the judgment -of mature humanity on certain ethical and intellectual features of -traditional lore. The thesis cannot be satisfactorily established -until a later stage.</p> - -<p>When we proceed to examine the erudition which gave occasion to -the epitaph, ‘to him alone was made clear all that is knowable,’ -we must bear in mind the limitations of his world. When Aristotle -lent his mind to the construction of a world system, he had the -speculations of two centuries of Greek thinkers before him; when -Thomas of Aquin began to write, he had read the thoughts of -three generations of schoolmen after Abélard, and all the Arabic -translations and incorporations of Greek thought. At the beginning of -the twelfth century there was little to read beside the fathers. If -we take ‘all that was knowable’ in this concrete and relative sense, -the high-sounding epitaph is not far above the truth.</p> - -<p>His Latin is much better than that of the great majority -of his contemporaries. Judged by a per<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_75">[p. 75]</span>fect classical standard it is defective; -it admits some of the erroneous forms that are characteristic of -the age. But it is not without elegance, and it excels in clearness -and elasticity. It could not well be otherwise, seeing his wide -and familiar acquaintance with Latin literature. He frequently -quotes Lucan, Ovid, Horace, Vergil, and Cicero; students of his -writings usually add an acquaintance with Juvenal, Persius, -Statius, Suetonius, Valerius Maximus, Quintilian, and Priscian. It -was a frequent charge in the mouths of his enemies that he quoted -the lewdest books of Ovid in the course of his interpretation of -Scripture. The constant glance aside at the literature of human -passion and the happy flash of wit were not small elements in his -success. Those who came to him from other schools had heard little -but the wearisome iteration of Boetius, Cassiodorus, and Martianus -Capella. They found the new atmosphere refreshing and stimulating.</p> - -<p>His command of Greek and Hebrew is a subject of endless dispute. -His pupil Heloise certainly had a knowledge of the two tongues, -as we shall see presently. She must have received her instruction -from Abélard. But it is clear that Abélard likes to approach a -controversy which turns on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[p. -76]</span> the interpretation of the original text of Scripture -through a third person, such as St. Jerome. He rarely approaches -even the easy Greek text of the New Testament directly, and he has -no immediate acquaintance with any Greek author. Aristotle he has -read in the Latin translation of Boetius, through whose mediation -he has also read Porphyry’s <i>Isagoge</i>. He was certainly familiar -with the <i>De Interpretatione</i> and the <i>Categories</i>; Cousin grants -him also an acquaintance with the <i>Prior Analytics</i>; and Brucker -and others would add the <i>Sophistici Elenchi</i> and the <i>Topics</i>. The -physical and metaphysical works of Aristotle were proscribed at Paris -long after the Jewish and Arabian translations had found a way into -other schools of France. The golden thoughts of Plato came to him -through the writings of the fathers; though there is said to have -been a translation of the <i>Timæus</i> in France early in the twelfth -century.</p> - -<p>His knowledge of Hebrew must have been equally, or even more, -elementary. Only once does he clearly approach the Hebrew text -without patristic guidance; it is when, in answering one (the -thirty-sixth) of the famous ‘Problems of Heloise,’ he adduces the -authority of ‘a certain Hebrew,’ whom he ‘heard discussing the -point.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[p. 77]</span>’ In this we -have a clear clue to the source of his Hebrew. The Jews were very -numerous in Paris in the twelfth century. When Innocent the Second -visited Paris in 1131, the Jews met him at St. Denis, and offered him -a valuable roll of the law. By the time of Philippe Auguste they are -said to have owned two-thirds of the city: perceiving which, Philippe -recollected, or was reminded, that they were the murderers of Christ, -and so he banished them and retained their goods. Abélard indicates -that they took part in the intellectual life of Paris in his day; in -Spain they were distinguished in every branch of higher thought; and -thus the opportunity of learning Hebrew lay close at hand. One does -not see why Rémusat and others should deny him any acquaintance with -it. His knowledge, however, must have been elementary. He does not -make an impressive, though a novel, use of it in deriving the name of -Heloise (Helwide, or Helwise, or Louise) from Elohim, which he does, -years afterwards, in the sober solitude of his abbey and the coldness -of his mutilation.</p> - -<p>Add an extensive acquaintance with Scripture and the fathers, -and the inventory is complete. Not difficult to be erudite in those -days,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[p. 78]</span> most people -will reflect. Well, a phonogram may be erudite. The gifts of Abélard -were of a higher order than industry and memory, though he possessed -both. He takes his place in history, apart from the ever-interesting -drama and the deep pathos of his life, in virtue of two distinctions. -They are, firstly, an extraordinary ability in imparting such -knowledge as the poverty of the age afforded—the facts of his career -reveal it; and secondly, a mind of such marvellous penetration that -it conceived great truths which it has taken humanity seven or -eight centuries to see—this will appear as we proceed. It was the -former of these gifts that made him, in literal truth, the centre -of learned and learning Christendom, the idol of several thousand -eager scholars. Nor, finally, were these thousands the ‘horde of -barbarians’ that jealous Master Roscelin called them. It has been -estimated that a pope, nineteen cardinals, and more than fifty -bishops and archbishops, were at one time among his pupils.</p> - -<p>We are now at, or near, the year 1118. In the thirty-ninth year -of his age, the twenty-third year of his scholastic activity, -Abélard has reached the highest academic position in Christendom. -He who loved so well, and so naturally, to be<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_79">[p. 79]</span> admired, found himself the centre of a -life that had not been seen since Greek sages poured out wisdom in -the painted colonnade, and the marble baths, and the shady groves -of Athens. His self-esteem was flattered; his love of rule and of -eminence was gratified. Poor as many of his pupils were, their -number brought him great wealth. His refinement had ample means of -solacing its desires. The petty vexations of the struggle were nobly -compensated. Before him lay a world of fairest promise into which -he, seemingly, had but to enter. Then there arose one of the forces -that shattered his life, beginning its embodiment in an idyll, ending -quickly in a lurid tragedy. It is the most difficult stage in the -story of Abélard. I approach it only in the spirit of the artist, -purposing neither to excuse nor to accuse, but only to trace, if I -may, the development of a soul.</p> - -<p>Abélard’s life had until now been purely spiritual, almost wholly -intellectual. His defects were spiritual—conceit and ambition; -if, as men assure us, it is a defect to recognise that you have a -supra-normal talent, and to strive for the pre-eminence it entitles -you to. The idealist spirit in which he had turned away from the -comfort and quiet of the château had remained<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_80">[p. 80]</span> thus far the one fire that consumed -his energy. In the pretty theory of Plato, his highest soul had -silenced the lower, and reduced the lowest to the barest requisite -play of vegetative life. There are men who go through life thus. The -scientist would crudely—it is the fashion to say ‘crudely’—explain -that the supra-normal activity of the upper part of the nervous -system made the action of the lower part infra-normal; but let -us keep on the spiritual plane. There are men whose soul is so -absorbed in study or in contemplation that love never reaches their -consciousness; or if it does, its appeal is faint, and quickly -rejected. The condition of such a life, highly prized as it is by -many, is constant intellectual strain.</p> - -<p>Abélard had now arrived at a point when the mental strain began -instinctively to relax. Wealth would inevitably bring more sensuous -pleasure into his life. He was not one of the ‘purely intellectual’; -he had a warm imagination and artistic power. No immediate purpose -called for mental concentration. Sensuous enjoyment crept over the -area of his conscious life. During a large proportion of his time, -too, he was following with sympathy the quickening life of the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[p. 81]</span> passionate creations -of Ovid and Vergil and Lucan. The inner judge, the sterner I, is -indisposed to analyse, unless education, or faith, or circumstance, -has laid a duty of severer watchfulness upon it. Blending with other -and not alarming sensuous feelings, veiling itself, and gently, -subtly passing its sweet fire into the veins, the coming of love is -unperceived until it is already strong to exert a numbing influence -on the mind. Abélard awoke one day to a consciousness that a large -part of the new sweetness that pervaded his life was due to the birth -of a new power in his soul—a power as elusive to recognition as it is -imperious in its demands. Then is the trial of the soul.</p> - -<p>Before quoting Abélard’s confession, with respect to this -transformation of his character, it is necessary, out of justice to -him, to anticipate a little, in indicating the circumstances of the -making of the confession. The long letter which Abélard entitled the -‘Story of my Calamities’ was written twelve or thirteen years after -these events. By that time he had not only endured a succession of -cruel persecutions, but his outlook on life and on self had been -entirely changed. Not only had the memory of the events faded<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[p. 82]</span> somewhat, but he had -become colour-blind in an important sense. A frightful mutilation had -distorted his physical and psychic nature. Partly from this cause, -and partly under the stress of other circumstances, he had become a -Puritan of the Puritans, an ascetical hermit. As is the wont of such, -he manifests a tendency to exaggerate the shadows cast by actions of -his which he can no longer understand; for nature has withdrawn her -inspiration. On the point we are considering he does not evince the -smallest desire of concealment or palliation, but rather the reverse. -And, finally, the letter, though written ostensibly for the solace of -a friend in distress, was clearly written for circulation, and for -the conciliation of the gentler of the Puritans, who knew his life -well.</p> - -<p>After speaking of the wealth and fame he had attained, he says: -‘But since prosperity ever puffs up the fool, and worldly ease -dissolves the vigour of the mind, and quickly enervates it by carnal -allurements; now that I thought myself to be the only philosopher -in the world, and feared no further menace to my position, whereas -I had hitherto lived most continently, I began to loose the rein to -passion. And the further I had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[p. -83]</span> advanced in philosophy and in reading Holy Writ, so -much the wider did I depart from philosophers and divines by the -uncleanness of my life. It is well known to thee that philosophers -and divines have ever been distinguished for this virtue of -continence. But, whilst I was thus wholly taken up with pride and -lust, the grace of God brought me a remedy, unwilling as I was, -for both maladies; for lust first, and then for pride. For lust, -by depriving me of its instrument; for pride—the pride which was -chiefly born of my knowledge of letters, according to the word of the -Apostle, ‘knowledge puffeth up’—by humbling me in the burning of the -book by which I set such store. And now I would have thee learn the -truth of both these stories, from the events themselves rather than -from rumour, in the order in which they befell. Since then I had ever -abhorred the uncleanness of harlots, and I had been withheld from the -company and intercourse of noble dames by the exactions of study, nor -had I more than a slight acquaintance with other women, evil fortune, -smiling on me, found an easier way to cast me down from the summit -of my prosperity; proud, as I was, and unmindful of divine favour, -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[p. 84]</span> goodness of -God humbled me, and won me to itself.’ And the penitent passes on -immediately to give the story of his relation to Heloise.</p> - -<p>It is quite clear that all the vehement language with which he -scourges himself before humanity refers exclusively to his liaison -with Heloise. Searching about, as he does, for charges to heap upon -his dead self, he yet denies that he had intercourse with women of -any description before he knew the one woman whom he loved sincerely -throughout life. In a later letter to Heloise, not intended to -circulate abroad, he repeats the statement; recalling their embraces, -he says they were the more treasured ‘since we had never known the -like (<i>ista gaudia</i>) before.’ Moreover, he says a little later in -the ‘Story’ that up to the time of his liaison with Heloise he had -a ‘repute for chastity’ in the city; the events we have to follow -prove this to have been the case. Finally, let us carefully remember -that there would be no advantage in concealing any earlier disorder, -and that there is clear indication, even in the short passage I -have quoted, of a disposition rather to magnify faults than to -attenuate.</p> - -<p>I labour the point, because a writer who has introduced Abélard to -many of the present<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[p. 85]</span> -generation, and for whom and whose thoughts I have otherwise a high -regard, has somehow been led to lay here a very damning indictment -of Abélard. Mr. Cotter Morison was a follower of the religion that -worships the departed great, and should have a special care to set -in light the character of those whom the Church has bruised in life, -and slandered after death, under a false view of the interest of -humanity. Yet, in his <i>Life of St. Bernard</i>, he has grossly added to -the charge against Abélard, with the slenderest of historical bases. -It were almost an injustice to Kingsley to say that Cotter Morison’s -Abélard recalls the great novelist’s pitiful Hypatia. The Positivist -writer thus interprets this stage in Abélard’s career. After saying -that his passion broke out like a volcano, and that he felt ‘a -fierce, fiery thirst for pleasure, sensual and animal,’ he goes on -in this remarkable strain: ‘He drank deeply, wildly. He then grew -fastidious and particular. He required some delicacy of romance, some -flavour of emotion, to remove the crudity of his lust. He seduced -Heloise.’</p> - -<p>Was ever a graver perversion in the historical construction of -character by an impartial writer? Stranger still, Mr. Cotter Morison -has already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[p. 86]</span> warned -his readers that the ‘Story of my Calamities’ must be shorn of -some penitential <i>exaggeration</i>, if we are to give it historical -credence. But Mr. Morison has witnesses. Prior Fulques, in a letter -to Abélard, reminded him that he squandered a fortune on harlots. The -assertion of this monk of Deuil, based, professedly, on the reports -of Abélard’s bitter enemies, the monks of St. Denis, and made in a -letter which is wholly politic, is held by Mr. Morison to ‘more than -counterbalance’ the solemn public affirmation of a morbidly humble, -self-accusing penitent. And this, after warning us not to take -Abélard’s self-accusation too literally! I shall examine this letter -of Prior Fulques’ more closely later. Not only does the letter itself -belong to, but the charge refers to, a later period, and will be -weighed then. There is nothing at this stage to oppose to the quiet -and indirect claim of Abélard, allowed by the action of Fulbert, -that his character was unsullied up to the date of his liaison with -Heloise.</p> - -<p>Let us return to the accredited historical facts. Somewhere -about the year 1118 Abélard first felt the claims of love. He was -wealthy and prosperous, and living in comparative luxury. He<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[p. 87]</span> had those gifts of -imagination which usually reveal an ardent temperament. Whether it -was Heloise who unwittingly kindled the preparing passion, or whether -Abélard yielded first to a vague, imperious craving, and sought one -whom he might love, we do not know. But we have his trustworthy -declaration that he detested the rampant harlotry, and knew no woman -until he felt the sweet caress of Heloise.</p> - -<p>I have now to set out with care the story of that immortal love. -But nine readers out of ten are minded to pass judgment on the -acts and lives of those we recall from the dead. My function is to -reconstruct the story as faithfully as the recorded facts allow. Yet -I would make one more digression before doing so.</p> - -<p>What standard of conduct shall be used in judging Abélard? -There are a thousand moral codes—that of the Hindu and that of the -Christian, that of the twelfth century and that of the <i>twentieth</i>. -In the twelfth century even the St. Bernards thought it just that -a man who could not see the truth of the Church’s claims should -be burned alive, and his soul tortured for all eternity; that a -Being was just and adorable who tortured a twelfth century babe for -Adam’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[p. 88]</span> sin; that -twelfth century Jews might be robbed because their remote ancestors -had put Christ to death; that the sanctity of justice demanded, -literally, an eye for an eye; and so forth. One may, of course, -choose whatever standard of conduct one likes to measure Abélard’s, -or anybody else’s, actions: Cardinal Newman, and such writers, have -a fancy for judging him by the perfected code of the nineteenth. -We cannot quarrel with them; though it is well to point out that -they are not measuring Abélard’s subjective guilt, nor portraying -his character, in so doing. And if any do elect to judge Abélard by -the moral code of the twelfth century, it must be noted that this -varied much, even on the point of sexual morality. St. Bernard and -his like saw an inherent moral evil in sexual union; they thought -the sanctity of the priestly character was incompatible with it, -and that virginity was, in itself, and by the mere abstinence from -sexual commerce, something holier than marriage. Apart from this, no -doubt—if it can be set apart in the question—good men were agreed. -But, as will appear presently, there were large bodies of men, even -clerks, who not only differed from them in practice, but also in -their deliberate moral judg<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[p. -89]</span>ment. We must approach closer still. When we have to -determine an individual conception of the law, for the purpose of -measuring real and personal guilt, we must have a regard to the -surrounding influences, the current thoughts and prevailing habits, -which may have impaired or obscured the feeling of its validity in -any respect. It is well, then, first to glance at the morals of the -time when one feels eager to measure Abélard’s guilt.</p> - -<p>It was a period when the dark triumph of what is called -materialism, or animalism, was as yet relieved only by a sporadic -gleam of idealism. There was purity in places, but over the broad -face of the land passion knew little law. If the unlettered Greek -had immoral gods to encourage him, the mediæval had immoral pastors. -The Church was just endeavouring to enforce its unfortunate law -of celibacy on them. With a stroke of the pen it had converted -thousands of honest wives into concubines. The result was utter and -sad demoralisation. In thus converting the moral into the deeply -immoral, the Church could appeal to no element in the consciences of -its servants; nor even to its basic Scriptures. Writers of the time -use hyperbolic language in speaking of the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_90">[p. 90]</span> prevalent vice, and the facts given in -the chronicles, and embodied in the modern collections of ancient -documents, fully sustain it. Speaking of the close of the eleventh -century, Dubois, in his <i>Historia Ecclesiæ Parisiensis</i>, says: ‘The -condition of the Church [in general] at that time was unhappy and -wretched ... nearly all the clergy were infected with the vice of -simony ... lust and shameful pleasure were openly rampant.’ It is -true that he excepts his ‘Church of Paris,’ but his own facts show -that it is only a piece of foolish loyalty. Cardinal Jacques de -Vitry, who studied at Paris towards the close of the century (it must -have been worse in Abélard’s time), gives a clearly overdrawn, yet -instructive, picture of its life in his <i>Historia Occidentalis</i>. ‘The -clergy,’ he says, probably meaning the scholars in general, of whom -the majority were clerics, ‘saw no sin in simple fornication. Common -harlots were to be seen dragging off clerics as they passed along to -their brothels. If they refused to go, opprobrious names were called -after them. School and brothel were under the same roof—the school -above, the brothel below.... And the more freely they spent their -money in vice, the more were they commended, and regarded by almost -everybody<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[p. 91]</span> as fine, -liberal fellows.’ The vice that has ever haunted educational centres -and institutes was flagrant and general. It is a fact that the -authorities had at length to prohibit the canons to lodge students -in their houses on the island. In the country and in the other towns -the same conditions were found. In Father Denifle’s <i>Chartularium</i> -there is a document (No. <small>V.</small>) which throws -a curious light on the habits of the clergy. A priest of Rheims -was dancing in a tavern one Sunday, when some of the scholars -laughed at him. He pursued them to their school, took the place by -storm, half-murdered, and then (presumably recalling his sacerdotal -character) excommunicated them. At another time, Cardinal Jacques -tells us, the lady of a certain manor warned the priest of the -village to dismiss his concubine. He refused; whereupon the noble -dame had the woman brought to her, and ordained her ‘priestess,’ -turning her out before the admiring villagers with a gaudy crown. -Another poor priest told his bishop, with many tears, that, if it -were a question of choosing between his church and his concubine, -he should have to abandon the church; the story runs that, finding -his income gone, the lady also departed. There is an equally<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[p. 92]</span> dark lament in Ordericus -Vitalis, the Norman, who lived in Abélard’s day. The letters and -sermons of Abélard—Abélard the monk, of St. Bernard, and of so many -others, confirm the darkest features of the picture. Only a few years -previously the king had lived with the wife of one of his nobles, in -defiance of them all; and when a council, composed of one hundred and -twenty prelates, including two cardinals and a number of bishops, -met at Poitiers to censure him, the Duke of Aquitaine broke in with -his soldiers, and scattered them with the flat of his sword. Indeed, -an ancient writer, Hugo Flaviniacensis, declares there was a feeling -that Pope Paschal did not, for financial reasons, approve the censure -passed by his legates.</p> - -<p>Considering the enormous prevalence of simony, one could hardly -expect to find the Church in a better condition. The writers of -the time make it clear that there was an appalling traffic in -bishoprics, abbeys, prebends, and all kinds of ecclesiastical goods -and dignities. We have already seen one tragic illustration of the -evil, and we shall meet many more. A few years previously the king -had nominated one of his favourites, Étienne de Garlande, for the -vacant bishopric of Beauvais;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[p. -93]</span> and this youth, ‘of no letters and of unchaste life,’ at -once took even major orders, and talked of going to Rome ‘to buy the -curia.’ But, as with regard to the previous point, it is useless to -give instances. Corruption was very prevalent; and one cannot wonder -at it in view of the reputation which the papacy itself had, in spite -of its occasional quashing of a corrupt election. This point will be -treated more fully in the sixth chapter.</p> - -<p>The question of the deep and widespread corruption of the regular -clergy must also be deferred. In his fourth letter to Heloise, -Abélard complains that ‘almost all the monasteries of our day’ are -corrupt; Jacques de Vitry affirms that no nunneries, save those of -the Cistercians, were fit abodes for an honest woman in his day.<a -id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> It -is not a little instructive to find Abbot Abélard, in his latest -and most ascetic period, telling his son (a monk), in the course -of a number of admirable moral maxims, that: ‘A humble harlot is -better than she who is chaste and proud,’ and that ‘Far worse is the -shrewd-tongued woman than a harlot.’</p> - -<p>Finally, mention must be made of the extreme violence of the age. -Several illustrations have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[p. -94]</span> been given in the course of the narrative, and it will -bring many more before the reader. They were still the days of the -<i>lex talionis</i>, the judicial duel, the ordeal, and the truce of God. -Murder was common in town and country. We have seen the brutal murder -of the Bishop of Laon in 1112; we find the Bishop of Paris threatened -by the relatives of his archdeacon, and the Prior of St. Victor’s -murdered by them, in 1133. But the story will contain violence -enough. As for ‘the undisciplined student-hordes of the Middle Ages,’ -see the appalling picture of their life in Rashdall’s <i>Universities -of Europe</i>. Our period is pre-university—and worse: with the founding -of the university came some degree of control. Yet even then the -documentary evidence discloses a fearful condition of violence and -lawlessness. In the year 1197 we find the Bishop of Paris abolishing -the ‘Feast of Fools.’ On January 1st (and also on the feast of St. -Stephen), it seems, a carnival was held, during which the masquers -had free run of the cathedral and the churches, making them echo -with ribald songs, and profaning them with bloodshed and all kinds -of excess. In 1218, says Crevier, we find the ecclesiastical -judges of Paris complaining that the students break into the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[p. 95]</span> houses of the citizens, -and carry off their womenfolk. In 1200 we find a pitched battle -between the students of Paris and the governor and his guards, in -which several are killed; and the king condemns the unfortunate -governor to be tried by ordeal; to be hanged forthwith if it proves -his guilt, and to be imprisoned for life (in case Providence has made -a mistake) if it absolves him. After another of these battles, when -the governor has hanged several students, the king forces him and his -council to go in their shirts to the scaffold and kiss the bodies. -In another case, in 1228, the king sides with the governor, and -the masters close the university in disgust until the students are -avenged.</p> - -<p>But of story-telling there would be no end. And, indeed, there is -the danger of giving a false impression of scantiness of evidence -when one follows up a large assertion with a few incidents. It is, -however, clear from the quoted words of accredited historians, and -will be made clearer in the progress of the narrative, that simony, -unchastity, violence, cruelty, and usury were real and broad features -of the age of Abélard. The reader will not forget them, when he is -seeking to enter into the conscience of the famous master.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[p. 96]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER V - DEAD SEA FRUIT">CHAPTER V</h2> - <p class="subh2">DEAD SEA FRUIT</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> great cemetery of Père -Lachaise at Paris is a city of historic tombs. Names of world-fame -look down on you from the marble dwellings of the dead, as you pass -along its alleys and broad avenues. Paris loves to wander there on -Sundays; to scatter floral symbols of a living memory on the youngest -graves, and to hang wreaths of unfading honour over the ashes of -those who have fought for it and served it. The memory of the dead -soon fades, they say, yet you will see men and women of Paris, on -many a summer’s day, take flowers and wreaths in solemn pity to lay -on the tomb of a woman who was dust seven hundred years ago. It is -the grave of Heloise, and of her lover, Abélard.</p> - -<p>It is scarcely necessary to say that in a serious endeavour to -depict the historical Heloise much myth and legend must be soberly -declined. Even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[p. 97]</span> -historians have been seduced from their high duty in writing her -praise: witness the fond exaggeration of M. de Rémusat, which would -make her ‘the first of women.’ Yet it must be admitted that impartial -study brings us face to face with a very remarkable personality. -This will be easily accepted in the sequel, when we have followed -the course of her life to some extent—when, for instance, we see the -affection and the extraordinary respect with which she inspires the -famous abbot of Cluny, Peter the Venerable. It is more difficult -to recall her at the period of her fateful meeting with Abélard. -We have, however, the sober assurance of Peter the Venerable that, -even at this early date, she was ‘of great repute throughout the -entire kingdom’; and there is no reason whatever to resent Abélard’s -assertion that she was already distinguished for her knowledge.</p> - -<p>The mythic additions to the portraiture of Heloise refer almost -exclusively to her parentage and her beauty. Abélard introduces -her to us as the niece of a canon of the cathedral chapter, named -Fulbert. It is quite clear that Abélard considered her such -throughout life, and that it was the belief of Heloise herself; -but of her parentage neither of them speaks. In strict<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[p. 98]</span> justice, the only -inference we may draw from this is that she lost her parents at an -early age. We should never have known the parentage of Abélard but -for his own autobiography. However, the tradition that has charged -itself with the romance of Abélard’s life found in this silence a -convenient pretext for weaving further romantic elements into the -story. There is a pretty collection of myths about Heloise’s birth, -most of them, of course, making her illegitimate. The issue of lawful -wedlock is ever too prosaic and ordinary for the romantic faculty—in -spite of facts. The favourite theory is that Heloise was the daughter -of Canon Fulbert; even Hausrath thinks Fulbert’s conduct points to -this relationship. Two other canons of Paris are severally awarded -the honour by various writers. On the other hand, it was inevitable -that she should be given a tinge of ‘noble’ blood, and this is traced -on the maternal side. Turlot makes the best effort—from the romantic -point of view—in describing her as the daughter of an abbess, who was -the mistress of a Montmorency, but who gave an air of respectability -to her family matters by passing for the mistress of Fulbert. From -the less interesting point of view of history, we can only<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[p. 99]</span> say that she lived with -her uncle, Canon Fulbert, and we must admit that we do not know -whether she was illegitimate or an orphan. But the former category -was very much the larger one, even in those violent days.</p> - -<p>It was also natural that tradition should endow her with a -singular beauty: an endowment which sober history is unable to -confirm. She must, it is true, have had a singular grace and charm -of person. It is impossible to think that her mental gifts alone -attracted Abélard. Moreover, in the course of the story, we shall -meet several instances of the exercise of such personal power. But -we cannot claim for her more than a moderate degree of beauty. -‘Not the least in beauty of countenance,’ says Abélard, ‘she was -supreme in her knowledge of letters.’ The antithesis does not seem -to be interpreted aright by those writers who think it denies -her any beauty. ‘Not the least’ is a figure of rhetoric, well -known to Abélard, which must by no means be taken with Teutonic -literalness.</p> - -<p>But that ‘repute throughout the kingdom,’ which Peter the -Venerable grants her, was based on her precocious knowledge. It -is generally estimated that she was in her seventeenth or<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[p. 100]</span> eighteenth year when -Abélard fell in love with her. She had spent her early years at the -Benedictine nunnery at Argenteuil, a few miles beyond St. Denis. -Her education was then continued by her uncle. Canon Fulbert has no -reputation for learning in the chronicles of the time; in fact, the -only information we have of him, from other sources than the story of -Abélard, is that he was the happy possessor of ‘a whole bone’ out of -the spine of St. Ebrulfus. However, it is indisputable that Heloise -had a reputation for letters even at that time. Both Abélard and -Peter of Cluny are explicit on the point; the latter says to her, in -one of his admiring letters, ‘in study you not only outstripped all -women, but there were few men whom you did not surpass.’ From this -it is clear that the learning of Heloise was not distinguished only -when compared with the general condition of the feminine mind. In -fact, although Abbot Peter speaks slightingly of womanly education in -general, this was a relatively bright period. We have already seen -the wife and daughters of Manegold teaching philosophy at Paris with -much distinction at the close of the eleventh century, and one cannot -go far in the chronicles of the time without meeting many<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[p. 101]</span> instances of a learned -correspondence in Latin between prelates and women.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the learning of Heloise cannot have been -considerable, absolutely speaking. Her opportunities were even more -limited than the erudition of her time. That she knew Hebrew is -explicitly stated by Abélard and Peter of Cluny, and also by Robert -of Auxerre; but she probably learned it (with Greek) from Abélard, -and knew no more than he. Her Latin is good; but it is impossible -to discuss here her famous <i>Letters</i>, which give us our sole direct -insight into her personality. Learned, critical, penetrative, she -certainly was, but Rémusat’s estimate is entirely inadmissible. -Beside Aspasia or Hypatia she would ‘pale her ineffectual fire.’</p> - -<p>It is not difficult to understand how the two were brought -together. Both of high repute ‘in the whole kingdom,’ or, at all -events, in Paris, they could not long remain strangers. Abélard -was soon ‘wholly afire with love of the maid,’ he tells us, and -sought an opportunity of closer intercourse with her. Though Cotter -Morison’s theory of the sated sensualist looking round for a dainty -morsel is utterly at variance with Abélard’s narrative—the only -account of these events that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[p. -102]</span> we have—it is, nevertheless, clear that Abélard sought -the intimacy of Heloise for the purpose of gaining her love. He says -so repeatedly; and, though we have at times to moderate the stress -of his words, we cannot refuse to accept their substance. Mr. Poole -considers the idea of a deliberate seduction on the part of Abélard -‘incredible.’ It is strange that one who is so familiar with the -times should think this. ‘I thought it would be well to contract a -union of love with the maid,’ Abélard says. From the circumstance -that he had to approach Fulbert (who was, however, only too willing) -through the mediation of friends, it does not seem rash to infer that -he had had no personal intercourse with the canon and his niece. It -was through her fame and, perhaps, an occasional passing glance that -he had come to love her. He had, however, little diffidence about -the issue. Though between thirty-five and forty years of age, he -looked ‘young and handsome,’ he tells us; and we learn further from -Heloise that he had gifts ‘of writing poetry and of singing’ which -no female heart could resist. The ‘Socrates of Gaul’ set out on a -love-adventure.</p> - -<p>And one fine day the little world of Paris was smirking -and chattering over the startling news<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_103">[p. 103]</span> that Master Peter had gone to live -with Heloise and her uncle. The simple canon had been delighted at -the proposal to receive Abélard. Alleging the expense of maintaining -a separate house and the greater convenience of Fulbert’s house -for attending the school, Abélard had asked his hospitality in -consideration of a certain payment and the instruction of Heloise in -leisure hours. It may or may not be true that Fulbert was avaricious, -as Abélard affirms, but the honour of lodging the first master -in Christendom and the valuable advantage to his niece are quite -adequate to explain Fulbert’s eager acceptance. ‘Affection for his -niece and the repute of my chastity,’ says Abélard, blinded the canon -to the obvious danger, if not the explicit intention. The master was -at once established in the canon’s house. One reads with pity how the -uncle, blind, as only an erudite priest can be, to the rounded form -and quickened pulse, child-like, gave Abélard even power to beat his -niece, if she neglected her task.</p> - -<p>A tradition, which seems to have but a precarious claim to -credence, points out the spot where the idyll of that love was -lived. In the earlier part of the present century there was a<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[p. 104]</span> house at the corner -of the Rue des Chantres (on the island, facing the Hotel de Ville), -which bore an inscription claiming that ‘Heloise and Abélard, the -model of faithful spouses, dwelt in this house.’ If we accept the -vague legend, we can easily restore in imagination the little cottage -of Fulbert. It lay a few yards from the water’s edge, and one could -look out from its narrow windows over the gently sloping garden -of the bank and the fresh, sweet bosom of the river; the quays -were beyond—where the Hotel de Ville now stands—and further still -outspread the lovely panorama that encircled Paris.</p> - -<p>In a very short time master and pupil were lovers. He did -assuredly fulfil his promise of teaching her. Most probably it -was from him that she learned what Greek and Hebrew she knew; for -Abélard, in later years, not only reminds her nuns that they ‘have a -mother who is conversant with these tongues,’ but adds also that ‘she -alone has attained this knowledge,’ amongst the women of her time. It -is also clear that he taught her dialectics, theology, and ethics. -But it was not long, he confesses, before there were ‘more kisses -than theses,’ and ‘love was the inspirer of his tongue.’ He does not -hesitate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[p. 105]</span> to speak -of having ‘corrupted’ or seduced her, but it is only prejudice or -ignorance that can accept this in the full severity and gravity of -the modern term. Heloise had been educated in a nunnery; but before -many years we find these nuns of Argenteuil turned on the street -for ‘the enormity of their lives.’ The charge must not be taken too -literally just yet, but it should make us hesitate to credit Heloise -with a rigorous moral education. She lived, too, in a world where, -as we saw, such liaisons were not considered sinful. It is far from -likely that she would oppose any scruple to Abélard’s desire. Indeed, -from the study of her references to their love, in the letters she -wrote long years afterwards—wrote as an abbess of high repute—one -feels disposed to think that Abélard would have had extreme -difficulty in pointing out to her the sinfulness of such a love. It -is with an effort, even after twenty years of chaste, conventual -life, that she accepts the ecclesiastical view of their conduct. -Abélard sinned; but let us, in justice, limit his sin at least to -its due objective proportion; its subjective magnitude I shall not -venture to examine.</p> - -<p>In a few months the famed philosopher ap<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_106">[p. 106]</span>peared in a new character, as ‘the first -of the troubadours,’ to use the words of Ampère. ‘À mesure qu’on a -plus d’esprit les passions sont plus grandes,’ said Pascal. Of all -false epigrams that is surely the falsest, but it would be easily -inspired by the transformation of Pierre Abélard. The sober-living -man of forty, whom all had thought either never to have known or -long since to have passed the fever of youth, was mastered by a -deep, tyrannical passion. The problems of dialectics were forgotten, -the alluring difficulties of Ezechiel unheeded. Day after day the -murmuring throng was dismissed untaught from the cloistral school; -whilst passers-by heard songs that were ardent with deep love from -the windows of the canon’s house. All Paris, even all France, caught -the echo, says Heloise, and ‘every street, every house, resounded -with my name.’ The strange ‘Story of love and learning,’ as an old -ballad expressed it, was borne through the kingdom in Abélard’s -own impassioned words.<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" -class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> - -<p>Months ran on, and the purblind priest re<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_107">[p. 107]</span>mained wholly unconscious of what all -Paris sang nightly in its taverns. At length the truth was forced -upon his mind, and he at once interrupted the love-story. He drove -Abélard from the house, and raised the usual futile barriers to -the torrent of passion. Whether the canon was really more earnest -than the majority of his order, and therefore sincerely shocked at -the thought of the liaison, or whether it had disturbed some other -project he had formed, it is impossible to say. Heloise herself, -in her sober maturity, affirms that any woman in France would have -thought her position more honourable than any marriage. However that -may be, Fulbert angrily forbade a continuance of the relation. Once -more Abélard must have felt the true alternative that honour placed -before him: either to crush his passion and return to the school, or -to marry Heloise and sacrifice the desire of further advancement in -ecclesiastical dignity.</p> - -<p>Abélard was not a priest at that time. He was probably a canon of -Notre Dame, but there are very satisfactory reasons for holding that -he did not receive the priesthood until a much later date. In the -‘Story’ he makes Heloise address him, about this time, as ‘a cleric -and canon,’ but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[p. 108]</span> -he is nowhere spoken of as a priest. Had he been a priest, the -circumstance would have afforded Heloise one of the most powerful -objections to a marriage; in the curious and lengthy catalogue -of such objections which we shall find her raising presently she -does not mention the priesthood. But even if he were a priest, it -is not at all clear that he would have considered this in itself -an impediment to marriage. From the acts of the Council of London -(1102), the Council of Troyes (1107), the Council of Rheims (1119), -and others, we find that the decree of the Church against the -marriage of priests, and even bishops, was far from being universally -accepted. Indeed, we have specific reason for thinking that Abélard -did not recognise an impediment of that character. In a work which -bears the title <i>Sententiae Abaelardi</i>, we find the thesis, more or -less clearly stated, that the priest may marry. The work is certainly -not Abélard’s own composition, but the experts regard it as a careful -summary of his views by some master of the period.</p> - -<p>Apart from the laxer view of love-relation which Abélard probably -shared, we can only find firm ground to interpret his reluctance -to marry in the fear of injuring his further ambition.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[p. 109]</span> Marriage was fast -becoming a fatal obstacle to advancement in the ecclesiastical world; -a lover—with wealth—was not a serious difficulty. Even this point, -however, cannot be pressed; it looks as though his ambition had -become as limp and powerless as all other feelings in the new tyranny -of love. Historians have been so eager to quarrel with the man that -they have, perhaps, not paid a just regard to the fact that Heloise -herself was violently opposed to marriage, and conscientiously -thought their earlier union more honourable. This will appear -presently.</p> - -<p>Whatever struggle may have distracted Abélard after their -separation, he was soon forced to take practical measures. Heloise -found means to inform him—not with the conventional tears, but, -he says, ‘with the keenest joy’—that she was about to become a -mother. Fate had cut the ethical knot. He at once removed her -from Fulbert’s house during the night, and had her conveyed, in -the disguise of a nun,<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" -class="fnanchor">[17]</a> to his home at Pallet. It is not clearly -stated that Abélard accompanied her, but, beside the intrinsic -proba<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[p. 110]</span>bility, -there is a local tradition that Abélard and Heloise spent many happy -months together at Pallet, and there is a phrase in the ‘Story’ which -seems to confirm it. However that may be, we find him in Paris again, -after a time, seeking a reconciliation with Fulbert.</p> - -<p>Fulbert was by no means the quiet, passive recluse that one -would imagine from his earlier action, or inaction. The discovery -of Abélard’s treachery and the removal of his niece had enkindled -thoughts of wild and dark revenge. He feared, however, to attack -Abélard whilst Heloise remained at Pallet; it is a fearful commentary -on the times that Abélard should coolly remark that a retaliation on -the part of his own relatives was apprehended. Revenge was considered -a legitimate daughter of justice in those days. A compromise was at -length imagined by Abélard. He proposed to marry Heloise, if Fulbert -and his friends would agree to keep the marriage secret. In this we -have a still clearer revelation of the one serious flaw in Abélard’s -character—weakness. No doubt, if we had had an autobiography -from an unmaimed Abélard—an Abélard who identified himself with, -and endeavoured proudly to excuse, the lover of Heloise—we<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[p. 111]</span> should be reminded -of many extenuating elements; the repugnance of Heloise, the -stupid anti-matrimonialism of the hierarchy, the current estimate -of an unconsecrated liaison, and so forth. Even as it is, Abélard -perceives no selfishness, no want of resolution, in his action. -‘Out of compassion for his great anxiety,’ he says, he approached -Fulbert on the question of a private marriage. The canon consented, -though secretly retaining his intention of taking a bloody revenge, -Abélard thinks; and the master hastened once more to Brittany for his -bride.</p> - -<p>Abélard probably flattered himself that he had found an admirable -outlet from his narrow circumstances. Fulbert’s conscience would be -salved by the Church’s blessing on their love; the hierarchy would -have no matrimonial impediment to oppose to his advancement; Paris -would give an indulgent eye to what it would regard as an amiable -frailty, if not a grace of character. Unfortunately for his peace, -Heloise energetically repulsed the idea of marriage. The long passage -in which Abélard gives us her objections is not the least interesting -in the ‘Story.’</p> - -<p>‘She asked,’ he writes, ‘what glory she would win from me, when -she had rendered me in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[p. -112]</span>glorious, and had humbled both me and her. How great a -punishment the world would inflict on her if she deprived it of so -resplendent a light: what curses, what loss to the Church, what -philosophic tears, would follow such a marriage. How outrageous, -how pitiful it was, that he whom nature had created for the common -blessing should be devoted to one woman, and plunged in so deep -a disgrace. Profoundly did she hate the thought of a marriage -which would prove so humiliating and so burdensome to me in every -respect.’</p> - -<p>Then follows an elaborate, rhetorical discourse on the -disadvantages of matrimony, with careful division and subdivision, -arguments from reason, from experience, from authority, and all the -artifices of rhetoric and dialectics. That the learned Heloise did -urge many of its curious points will scarcely be doubted, but as a -careful and ordered piece of pleading against matrimony it has an -obvious ulterior purpose. St. Paul is the first authority quoted; -then follow St. Jerome, Theophrastus, and Cicero. She (or he) then -draws an animated picture of the domestic felicity of a philosopher, -reminding him of servants and cradles, infant music and the chatter -of nurses,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[p. 113]</span> the -pressing throng of the family and the helplessness of the little -ones. The example of monks, of Nazarites, and of philosophers is -impressively urged; and if he will not hesitate, as ‘a cleric and a -canon,’ to commit himself ‘irrevocably to domestic joy,’ at least -let him remember his dignity as a philosopher. The sad fate of the -married Socrates is adduced, together with the thunder and rain -incident. Finally, she is represented as saying that it is ‘sweeter -to her and more honourable to him that she should be his mistress -rather than his wife,’ and that she prefers to be united to him ‘by -love alone, not by the compulsion of the marriage vow.’</p> - -<p>When the letter containing this curious passage reached Heloise, -nearly twenty years after the event, she, an abbess of high repute -for holiness, admitted its correctness, with the exception that ‘a -few arguments had been omitted in which she set love before matrimony -and freedom before compulsion.’ Holy abbess writing to holy abbot, -she calls God to witness that ‘if the name of wife is holier, the -name of friend, or, if he likes, mistress or concubine, is sweeter,’ -and that she ‘would rather be his mistress than the queen of a -Cæsar.’ They who disregard these things in<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_114">[p. 114]</span> sitting in judgment on that famous -liaison are foredoomed to error.</p> - -<p>But Abélard prevailed. ‘Weeping and sobbing vehemently,’ he says, -‘she brought her discourse to an end with these words: “One thing -alone remains for us now, we must exhibit in our common ruin a grief -as strong as the love that has gone before.”’ It is an artistic -termination to Abélard’s discourse, at all events.</p> - -<p>Back to Paris once more, therefore, the two proceeded. Heloise -had a strong foreboding of evil to come from the side of Fulbert; -she did not trust his profession of conciliation. However, she -left her boy, whom, with a curious affectation, they had called -Astrolabe (the name of an astronomic apparatus), in the charge of -Abélard’s sister Denyse. They were married a few days after their -arrival at Paris. The vigil was spent, according to custom, in one -of the churches: they remained all night in prayer, and the ceremony -took place after an early Mass in the morning. Their arrival in -Paris had been kept secret, and only Fulbert and a few friends of -both parties were present at the marriage. Then they parted at the -altar: the man weakly proceeding to follow his poor ambition in the -school, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[p. 115]</span> noble -young wife making herself a sad sacrifice to his selfishness and -irresolution.</p> - -<p>During the next few dreary months they saw each other rarely -and in secret. Abélard was a man of the type that waits for the -compulsion of events in a serious conflict of desires, or of desire -and duty. He could not lay aside his day-dream that somehow and some -day the fates would smooth out a path along which he could carry -both his whole ambition and his love. Events did decide for him once -more. Fulbert, it seems, broke his faith with Abélard and divulged -the marriage. But when people came to Heloise for confirmation, she -did more than ‘lie with the sweetness of a Madonna,’ in Charles -Reade’s approving phrase; she denied on oath that she was the wife -of Abélard. Fulbert then began to ill-treat her (the circumstance -may be commended to the notice of those historians who think he had -acted from pure affection), and Abélard removed her secretly from her -uncle’s house.</p> - -<p>It was to the convent at Argenteuil that Abélard conveyed his wife -this time. One passes almost the very spot in entering modern Paris -by the western line, but the village lay at a much greater distance -from the ancient island-city, a few miles<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_116">[p. 116]</span> beyond St. Denis, going down the river. -It was a convent of Benedictine nuns, very familiar to Heloise, who -had received her early education there. In order to conceal Heloise -more effectually, he bade her put on the habit of the nuns, with -the exception of the veil, which was the distinguishing mark of the -professed religious. Here she remained for some months; Abélard -waiting upon events, as usual, and occasionally making a secret visit -to Argenteuil. According to Turlot, the abbess of Argenteuil was the -mother of Heloise. We know, at least, that the nunnery was in a very -lax condition, and that, beyond her unconquerable presentiment of -evil, Heloise would suffer little restraint. Indeed, Abélard reminds -her later, in his second letter to her, that their conjugal relations -continued whilst she was in the nunnery.</p> - -<p>How long this wretched situation continued it is impossible to -determine. It cannot have been many months, at the most, before -Fulbert discovered what had happened; it was probably a matter -of weeks. Yet this is the only period in which it is possible -to entertain the theory of Abélard’s licentiousness. We have -already seen that Cotter Morison’s notion of a licentious<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[p. 117]</span> period before the -liaison with Heloise is quite indefensible. The tragic event which we -have presently to relate puts the latest term to the possibility of -such licence. Now, there are two documents on which Abélard’s critics -rely: a letter to him from Fulques, prior in the monastery of Deuil -near Paris, and a letter from his former teacher, Master Roscelin. -Prior Fulques, however, merely says he ‘has heard’ that Abélard was -reduced to poverty through ‘the greed and avarice of harlots’; and -Roscelin explicitly states that he heard his story from the monks -of St. Denis. Indeed, we may at once exclude Roscelin’s letter; not -merely because it was written in a most furious outburst of temper, -when a man would grasp any rumour, but also on the ground that his -story is absurd and impossible. He represents Abélard, when a monk at -St. Denis, later, returning to his monastery with the money earned by -his teaching, and marching off with it to pay a former mistress. We -shall see, in a later chapter, that Abélard did not begin to teach -until he had left St. Denis.</p> - -<p>If, however, Roscelin’s story is too absurd to entertain in -itself, it is useful in casting some light on Fulques’s letter. -Fulques was writing to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[p. -118]</span> Abélard on behalf of the monks of St. Denis. He would be -well acquainted with their gossip, and would, therefore, probably -be referring to the story which Roscelin shows to be impossible in -giving it more fully. It is not unlikely that the story was really -a perverse account of Abélard’s visits to Heloise at Argenteuil. -In any case we are reduced to the gossip of a band of monks of -notorious character (<i>teste</i> St. Bernard), of indirect and uncertain -information, and of bitter hostility to Abélard.</p> - -<p>And this is all the evidence which can be found in support of -the calumny. On the strength of this monkish gossip we are asked to -believe that Abélard grossly deceived his young wife, and made an -attempt, as ridiculous (if the rumour contained truth) as it was -hypocritical, to deceive the readers of his heart-naked confession. -We are to suppose that ‘the abhorrence of harlots,’ of which he spoke -earlier, entirely disappeared when he found himself united by the -sacred bonds of both religion and love to a noble and devoted wife. -We are to suppose that his apparent detestation and condemnation -of his past conduct was a mere rhetorical artifice to conceal the -foulest and most extraordinary episode in his career from the -people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[p. 119]</span> amongst -whom he had lived—an artifice, moreover, which would be utterly -inconsistent with his life and character at the time he wrote the -‘Story.’ It is almost impossible to take such a notion seriously.</p> - -<p>Once more, then, we are in a period of waiting for the direction -of events. It came this time in tragic accents that for ever cured -the unfortunate Breton of his listless trust in fate.</p> - -<p>Fulbert learned at length that Heloise had been sent to -Argenteuil, and had taken the habit. The canon at once inferred that -this was a preliminary step to a dissolution of the marriage. He -would be unaware that it had been consummated, and would suppose that -Abélard intended to apply to Rome for a dispensation to relieve him -of an apparent embarrassment. He decided on a fearful revenge, which -should at least prevent Abélard from marrying another.</p> - -<p>And one early morning, a little later, Paris was in a frenzy of -excitement. Canons, students, and citizens, thronged the streets, -and pressed towards Abélard’s house on St. Genevieve. ‘Almost the -entire city,’ says Fulques, went clamouring towards his house: -‘women wept as though each one had lost her husband.’ Abélard had -been brutally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[p. 120]</span> -mutilated during the night. Hirelings of Canon Fulbert had corrupted -his valet, and entered his room whilst he slept. They had perpetrated -an indescribable outrage, such as was not infrequently inflicted in -the quarrels of the Patareni and the Nicolaitæ. In that dark night -the sunshine disappeared for ever from the life of Pierre Abélard. -Henceforth we have to deal with a new man.</p> - -<p>It is a pious theory of the autobiographist himself that this -mutilation led indirectly to his ‘conversion.’ There is undoubtedly -much truth in this notion of an indirect occasioning of better -thoughts and of an indirect influence being cast on his mind for -life. Yet we of the later date, holding a truer view of the unity of -human nature, and of the place that sex-influence occupies in its -life, can see that the ‘conversion’ was largely a direct, physical -process. We have, in a very literal sense, another man to deal with -henceforward.</p> - -<p>As Abélard lay on the bed of sickness, the conversion gradually -worked onwards towards a critical decision. It is not clear that the -mutilation would prove of itself an impediment to scholastic honour -or ecclesiastical office, but the old life could not be faced again -by one with so little strength and so keen a sensibility. ‘I<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[p. 121]</span> pondered on the glory -I had won and on the swift chance blow that had obscured it, nay, -wholly extinguished it: on the just judgment of God by which I had -been punished in the member that had sinned: on the justice of -treachery coming from him whom I had myself betrayed: on the joy of -my rivals at such a humiliation: on the endless sorrow this wound -would inflict on my family and my friends: on the speed with which -this deep disgrace would travel through the world. What path was -open to me now? How could I ever walk abroad again, to be pointed at -by every finger, ridiculed by every tongue, a monstrous spectacle -to all?... In such sorry plight as I was, the confusion of shame -rather than a devout conversion impelled me to seek refuge in the -monastery.’</p> - -<p>To this natural ‘confusion of shame’ we must look for an -explanation of, not merely the folly, but the cruelty and -selfishness, of Abélard’s proposal. It involved the burial of Heloise -in a nunnery. No one could shrink more feelingly from the unnatural -shade of the cloister than did Heloise, as Abélard must have known, -but in his pain and despair he forgot the elementary dictates of -love or of honour. In any other circumstances<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_122">[p. 122]</span> the act would be deemed brutal. Indeed, -he wantonly increased the suffering of his young wife by ordering -her to take the vows first. Twenty years afterwards she plaintively -tells him the sorrow he gave her by such a command. ‘God knows,’ she -says, ‘I should not have hesitated, at your command, to precede or to -follow you to hell itself.’ She was ‘profoundly grieved and ashamed’ -at the distrust which seemed to be implied in his direction. But hers -was the love that ‘is stronger than death,’ and she complied without -a murmur, making of her sunny nature one more victim on the altar of -masculine selfishness.</p> - -<p>Abélard has left us a dramatic picture of her taking the vows. It -shows clearly that the love which impelled her to such a sacrifice -was not the blind, child-like affection that is wholly merged in -the stronger loved one, but the deep, true love that sees the full -extent of the sacrifice demanded, and accepts it with wide-opened -eyes. At the last moment a little group of friends surrounded her -in the convent-chapel. The veil, blessed by the bishop, lay on the -altar before them, and they were endeavouring to dissuade her from -going forward to take it. She waved them aside—waved aside for the -last time the thought of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[p. -123]</span> child and the vision of a sun-lit earth—and took the -fateful step towards the altar. Then, standing on the spot where -the young nun generally knelt for the final thanksgiving to God, -she recited with the tense fervour of a human prayer the words of -Cornelia in Lucan:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i14">‘O spouse most great,</p> -<p class="i0">O thou whose bed my merit could not share!</p> -<p class="i0">How hath an evil fortune worked this wrong</p> -<p class="i0">On thy dear head? Why hapless did I wed,</p> -<p class="i0">If this the fruit that my affection bore?</p> -<p class="i0">Behold the penalty I now embrace</p> -<p class="i0">For thy sweet sake!’</p> -</div></div> - -<p>And, weeping and sobbing, she walked quickly up the steps of -the altar, and covered herself with the veil of the religious -profession.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[p. 124]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER VI - THE MONK OF ST. DENIS">CHAPTER VI</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE MONK OF ST. DENIS</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">Abélard</span> had now entered -upon the series of blunders which were to make his life a succession -of catastrophes. A stronger man would have retired to Pallet, and -remained there until the discussion of his outrage had abated -somewhat; then boldly, and, most probably, with complete success, -have confronted the scholastic world once more, with his wife for -fitting companion, like Manegold of Alsace. In his distraction and -abnormal sense of humiliation, Abélard grasped the plausible promise -of the monastic life. In the second place, he, with a peculiar -blindness, chose the abbey of St. Denis for his home.</p> - -<p>The abbey of St. Denis was not only one of the most famous -monasteries in Europe, but also a semi-religious, semi-secular -monarchical institution. It was the last monastery in the world -to provide that quiet seclusion which Abélard sought.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[p. 125]</span> It lay about six miles -from Paris, near one of the many bends of the Seine on its journey to -the sea. Dagobert was its royal founder; its church was built over -the alleged bones of the alleged St. Denis the Areopagite, the patron -of France; it was the burial-place of the royal house. Over its altar -hung the oriflamme of St. Denis, the palladium of the country, which -the king came to seek, with solemn rite and procession, whenever -the cry of ‘St. Denis for France’ rang through the kingdom. Amongst -its several hundred monks were the physicians and the tutors of -kings—Prince Louis of France was even then studying in its school.</p> - -<p>Rangeard, in his history of Brittany, says, that at the beginning -of the twelfth century there were more irregular than regular abbeys -in France. Abélard himself writes that ‘nearly all the monasteries’ -of his time were worldly. The truth is that few monasteries, beside -those which had been very recently reformed, led a very edifying -life. Hence it is not surprising, when one regards the secular -associations of the place, to find that the Benedictine abbey of St. -Denis was in a very lax condition. Abélard soon discovered that, -as he says, it was an abbey ‘of very worldly<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_126">[p. 126]</span> and most disgraceful life.’ The great -rhetorician has a weakness for the use of superlatives, but other -witnesses are available. St. Bernard wrote of it, in his famed, -mellifluous manner, that it was certain the monks gave to Cæsar the -things that were Cæsar’s, but doubtful if they gave to God the things -that were God’s. A chronicler of the following century, Guillaume de -Nangis, writes that ‘the monks scarcely exhibited even the appearance -of religion.’</p> - -<p>The abbey had not been reformed since 994, so that human nature -had had a considerable period in which to assert itself. The -preceding abbot, Ives <small>I.</small>, was accused at Rome of -having bought his dignity in a flagrant manner. The actual abbot, -Adam, is said by Abélard to have been ‘as much worse in manner -of life and more notorious than the rest as he preceded them in -dignity.’ It is certainly significant that the Benedictine historian -of the abbey, Dom Félibien, can find nothing to put to the credit -of Adam, in face of Abélard’s charge, except a certain generosity -to the poor. Nor have later apologists for the angels, de Nangis, -Duchesne, etc., been more successful. Ecclesiastical history only -finds consolation in the fact that Adam’s successor was<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[p. 127]</span> converted by Bernard in -1127, and at once set about the reform of the abbey.</p> - -<p>When Abélard donned the black tunic of the Benedictine monk in -it, probably in 1119, the royal abbey was at the height of its gay -career. St. Bernard himself gives a bright picture of its life in one -of his letters. He speaks of the soldiers who thronged its cloisters, -the jests and songs that echoed from its vaulted roofs, the women -who contributed to its gaiety occasionally. From frequent passages -in Abélard we learn that the monks often held high festival. It may -be noted that monastic authorities nearly always give occasion to -these festivities, for, even in the severest rules, one always finds -an egg, or some other unwonted luxury, admitted on ‘feast-days.’ It -is the consecration of a principle that no body of men and women -on earth can apply and appreciate better than monks and nuns. The -feasts of St. Denis rivalled those of any château in gay France. -The monks were skilful at mixing wine—it is a well-preserved -monastic tradition—their farmer-vassals supplied food of the best -in abundance, and they hired plenty of conjurors, singers, dancers, -jesters, etc., to aid the task of digestion.</p> - -<p>Nor was the daily life too dull and burdensome.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[p. 128]</span> Royal councils were -frequently held at the abbey, and one does not need much acquaintance -with monastic life to appreciate that circumstance. Then there -was the school of the abbey, with its kingly and noble pupils—and -corresponding visitors: there was the continual stream of interesting -guests to this wealthiest and most famous of all abbeys: there was -the town of St. Denis, which was so intimately dependent on the -abbey. Above all, there were the country-houses, of which the abbey -had a large number, and from which it obtained a good deal of its -income. Some dying sinner would endeavour to corrupt the Supreme -Judge by handing over a farm or a château, with its cattle, and men -and women, and other commodities of value, to the monks of the great -abbey. These would be turned into snug little ‘cells’ or ‘priories,‘ -and important sources of revenue. Sometimes, too, they had to be -fought for in the courts, if not by force of arms. Abélard complains -that ‘we [monks] compel our servants to fight duels for us’: he has -already complained of the frequent presentation to monasteries of -both man and maid servants. In 1111 we find some of the monks of St. -Denis, at the head of a small army, besieging the château of Puiset, -capturing its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[p. 129]</span> -lieutenant, and casting him into a monastic prison. At Toury Abbot -Adam had his important dependence armed as a fortress, and made a -financial speculation in the opening of a public market. Rangeard -tells us, in addition, that many of the monks were expert in canon -law, and they travelled a good deal, journeying frequently to Rome in -connection with matrimonial and other suits.</p> - -<p>But before Abélard turned his attention to the condition of the -abbey, he was long preoccupied with the thought of revenge. Revenge -was a branch virtue of justice in those days, and Abélard duly -demanded the punishment of <i>talio</i>. The valet, who had betrayed -him, and one of the mutilators, had been captured, and had lost -their eyes, in addition to suffering the same mutilation as they had -inflicted. But Abélard seems to have been painfully insistent on the -punishment of Fulbert. The matter belonged to the spiritual court, -since Abélard was a cleric, and Bishop Girbert does not seem to have -moved quickly enough for the new monk. Fulbert escaped from Paris, -and all his goods were confiscated, but this did not meet Abélard’s -(and the current) idea of justice. He began to talk of an appeal to -Rome.</p> - -<p>In these circumstances was written the famous<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[p. 130]</span> letter of Prior -Fulques, to which we have referred more than once. It is a -characteristic piece of mediæval diplomacy. Fulques was the prior -of Deuil, in the valley of Montmorency, a dependency of the abbey -of St. Florent de Saumur. He was apparently requested by the abbot -of St. Denis to persuade Abélard to let the matter rest. At all -events, he begins his letter with a rhetorical description of -Abélard’s success as a teacher, depicting Britons and Italians and -Spaniards braving the terrors of the sea, the Alps, and the Pyrenees, -under the fascination of Abélard’s repute. Then, with a view to -dissuading him from the threatened appeal to Rome, he reminds him -of his destitution and of the notorious avarice of Rome. There is -no reason why we should hesitate to accept Fulques’s assertion that -Abélard had no wealth to offer the abbey when he entered it. If, as -seems to be the more correct proceeding, we follow the opinion that -he spent the interval between the first withdrawal of Heloise and -the marriage with her at Pallet, he cannot have earned much during -the preceding two or three years. He was hardly likely to be a -provident and economical person. Most of whatever money he earned, -after he first began to serve up stale dishes<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_131">[p. 131]</span> to his students in the absorption of -his passion, would probably pass into the coffers of Fulbert or, -later, of the nunnery at Argenteuil. There is no need whatever to -entertain theories of licentiousness from that ground. We have, -moreover, already sufficiently discussed that portion of Fulques’s -letter.</p> - -<p>But the second part of the prior’s argument, the avarice of -Rome, requires a word of comment. It is characteristic of the -ecclesiastical historian that in Migne’s version of Fulques’s -letter the indictment of Abélard is given without comment, and the -indictment of Rome is unblushingly omitted. It might be retorted that -such historians as Deutsch and Hausrath insert the indictment against -Rome, and make a thousand apologies for inserting the charge against -Abélard. The retort would be entirely without sting, since a mass -of independent evidence sustains the one charge, whilst the other -is at variance with evidence. The passage omitted in Migne, which -refers to Abélard’s proposal to appeal to Rome, runs as follows. ‘O -pitiful and wholly useless proposal! Hast thou never heard of the -avarice and the impurity of Rome? Who is wealthy enough to satisfy -that devouring whirlpool of harlotry? Who would ever be able to<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[p. 132]</span> fill their avaricious -purses? Thy resources are entirely insufficient for a visit to the -Roman Pontiff.... For all those who have approached that see in -our time without a weight of gold have lost their cause, and have -returned in confusion and disgrace.’</p> - -<p>Let us, in justice, make some allowance for the exigency of -diplomacy and the purposes of rhetoric; the substance of the charge -is abundantly supported by other passages in Migne’s own columns. For -instance, Abbot Suger, in his <i>Vita Ludovici Grossi</i>, says of his -departure from Rome after a certain mission, ‘evading the avarice -of the Romans we took our leave.’ The same abbot speaks of their -astonishment at St. Denis when Paschal <small>II.</small> visited the -abbey in 1106: ‘contrary to the custom of the Romans, he not only -expressed no affection for the gold, silver, and precious pearls of -the monastery (about which much fear had been entertained),’ but -did not even look at them. It may be noted, without prejudice, that -Paschal was seeking the sympathy and aid of France in his quarrel -with Germany. In the apology of Berengarius, which is also found -in Migne, there is mention of ‘a Roman who had learned to love -gold, rather than God, in the Roman curia.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_133">[p. 133]</span>’ Bernard of Cluny, a more respectable -witness, tersely informs us that ‘Rome gives to every one who gives -Rome all he has.’ Matthew of Paris is equally uncomplimentary. We -have spoken already of the licentious young Étienne de Garlande and -his proposal of going to Rome to buy the curia’s consent to his -installation in a bishopric; also of the rumour that Pope Paschal -disapproved, out of avarice, the censure passed on the adulterous -king. Duboulai, after giving Fulques’s letter, is content to say that -the pope feared too great an interference with the officials of the -curia on account of the papal schism.</p> - -<p>Whether the letter of the monastic diplomatist had any weight -with Abélard or no, it seems that he did desist from his plan, and -laid aside all thought of Fulbert. But the unfortunate monk soon -discovered the disastrous error he had made in seeking peace at -the abbey of St. Denis. There had, in fact, been a serious mistake -on both sides. The monks welcomed one whom they only knew as a -lively, witty, interesting associate, a master of renown, a poet and -musician of merit. A new attraction would accrue to their abbey, -a new distraction to their own life, by the admission of Abélard. -The diversion of the stream of scholars<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_134">[p. 134]</span> from Paris to St. Denis would bring -increased colour, animation, and wealth. The erudite troubadour and -brilliant scholar would be an excellent companion in the refectory, -when the silent meal was over, and the wine invited conversation.</p> - -<p>They were rudely awakened to their error when Abélard began to -lash them with mordant irony for their ‘intolerable uncleanness.’ -They found that the love-inspired songster was dead. They had -introduced a kind of Bernard of Clairvaux, a man of wormwood valleys, -into their happy abbey: a morose, ascetic, sternly consistent monk, -who poured bitter scorn on the strong wines and pretty maids, the -high festivals and pleasant excursions, with which the brothers -smoothed the rough path to Paradise. And when the gay Latin Quarter -transferred itself to St. Denis, and clamoured for the brilliant -master, Abélard utterly refused to teach. Abbot Adam gently -remonstrated with his ‘subject,’ pointing out that he ought now to -do more willingly for the honour of God and the sake of his brothers -in religion what he had formerly done out of worldly and selfish -interest. Whereupon Abbot Adam was urgently reminded of a few truths, -nearly con<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[p. 135]</span>cerning -himself and ‘the brothers,’ which, if not new to his conscience, were -at least novel to his ears.</p> - -<p>So things dragged on for a while, but Adam was forced at length -to rid the monastery of the troublesome monk. Finding a pretext in -the importunity of the students, he sent Abélard down the country -to erect his chair in one of the dependencies of the abbey. These -country-houses have already been mentioned. Large estates were left -to the abbey in various parts of the country. Monks had to be sent -to these occasionally, to collect the revenue from the farmers and -millers, and, partly for their own convenience, partly so that -they might return something in spiritual service to the district, -they built ‘cells’ or ‘oratories’ on the estates. Frequently the -cell became a priory; not infrequently it rebelled against the -mother-house; nearly always, as is the experience of the monastic -orders at the present day, it was a source of relaxation and -decay.</p> - -<p>The precise locality of the ‘cell’ which was entrusted to -Brother Peter is matter of dispute, and the question need not delay -us. It was somewhere on the estates of Count Theobald of<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[p. 136]</span> Champagne, and -therefore not very far from Paris. Here Abélard consented to resume -his public lectures, and ‘gathered his horde of barbarians about him’ -once more, in the jealous phrase of Canon Roscelin.</p> - -<p>Otto von Freising relates that Abélard had now become ‘more -subtle and more learned than ever.’ There is no reason to doubt -that he continued to advance in purely intellectual power, but it -seems inevitable that he must have lost much of the brightness and -charm of his earlier manner. Yet his power and his fascination -were as great as ever. Maisoncelle, or whatever village it was, -was soon transformed into the intellectual centre of France. It -is said by some historians that three thousand students descended -upon the village, like a bewildering swarm of locusts. Abélard says -the concourse was so great that ‘the district could find neither -hospitality nor food’ for the students. One need not evolve from -that an army of several thousand admirers, but it seems clear that -there was a second remarkable gathering of students from all parts -of Christendom. There was no teacher of ability to succeed him at -Paris; he was still the most eminent master in Europe. Even if he had -lost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[p. 137]</span> a little of -the sparkle of his sunny years, no other master had ever possessed -it. Indeed, it is not audacious to think that the renewal of his -early success and the sweetness of life in lovely Champagne may have -in time quickened again such forces and graces of his character -as had not been physically eradicated. He began to see a fresh -potentiality of joy in life.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately for Abélard, his perverse destiny had sent him down -to the neighbourhood of Rheims. It will be remembered that Anselm of -Laon was urged to suppress Abélard’s early theological efforts by -two of his fellow-pupils, Alberic of Rheims and Lotulphe of Novare. -Alberic appears to have been a man of ability, and he had been made -archdeacon of the cathedral, and head of the episcopal school, at -Rheims. He had associated Lotulphe with himself in the direction of -the schools, and they were teaching with great success when Abélard -appeared on the near horizon. Anselm of Laon and William of Champeaux -had gone, and the two friends were eager to earn the title of their -successors. The apparent extinction of Master Abélard had largely -increased their prestige, and had filled the school of Rheims. -Indeed, we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[p. 138]</span> gather -from the details of a ‘town and gown’ fight which occurred at Rheims -about this time that the students had almost come to outnumber the -citizens.</p> - -<p>Hence it is not surprising that Abélard’s newfound peace was soon -disturbed by rumours of the lodging of complaints against him in -high quarters. The Archbishop of Rheims, Ralph the Green, began to -be assailed with charges. In the first place, he was reminded, it -was uncanonical for a monk to give lectures, and take up a permanent -residence, outside his monastery; moreover, the said monk was most -unmonastically engaged in reading Aristotle, with a flavour of -Vergil, Ovid, and Lucan. Raoul le Vert probably knew enough about -St. Denis not to attempt to force Abélard to return to it. Then the -grumblers—‘chiefly those two early intriguers,’ says the victim—urged -that Abélard was teaching without a ‘respondent’; but the archbishop -still found the pretext inadequate. Then, at length, came the second -great cloud, the accusation of heresy.</p> - -<p>The convert had now made theology his chief object of study. -The students who gathered about him in his village priory loudly -demanded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[p. 139]</span> a -resumption of the lectures on dialectics and rhetoric, but Abélard -had really passed to a new and wholly religious outlook. He complied -with the request, only with a secret intention that, as he states -in the ‘Story,’ philosophy should be used as a bait in the interest -of divinity. The religious welfare of his followers now seriously -concerned him. It will be seen presently that he exercised a strict -control over their morals, and it was from the purest of motives -that he endeavoured, by a pious diplomacy, to direct their thoughts -to the study of Holy Writ. His rivals and enemies have attempted to -censure him for this casting of pearls before swine. Certainly there -were dangers accompanying the practice, but these were not confined -to Abélard’s school. We can easily conceive the disadvantage of -discussing the question, for instance, <i>utrum Maria senserit dolorem -vel delectationem in Christo concipiendo</i>? before a crowd of twelfth -century students. However, Abélard’s attitude was wholly reverent, -and his intention as pure as that of St. Anselm.</p> - -<p>The one characteristic feature of Abélard’s theological work—the -feature which was constantly seized by his enemies, and which invests -him with so great an interest for the modern<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_140">[p. 140]</span> student—was his concern to conciliate -human reason. His predecessors had complacently affirmed that reason -had no title to respect in matters of faith. They insulted it with -such pious absurdities as ‘I believe in order that I may understand’ -and ‘Faith goeth before understanding.’ Abélard remained until his -last hour constitutionally incapable of adopting that attitude. He -frequently attributes his obvious concern to meet the questioning -of reason to the desire of helping his followers. This is partly a -faithful interpretation of their thoughts—for which, however, he -himself was chiefly responsible—and partly a subtle projection of his -own frame of mind into his hearers. The development of the reasoning -faculty which was involved in so keen a study of dialectics was bound -to find expression in rationalism.</p> - -<p>Abélard seems already to have written two works of a very -remarkable character for his age. One of these is entitled <i>A -Dialogue between a Philosopher, a Jew, and a Christian</i>. It may have -been founded on the <i>Octavius</i> of Minucius Felix; on the other hand -it may be classed with Lessing’s <i>Nathan</i>. It has been called ‘the -most radical expression of his rationalism,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_141">[p. 141]</span>’ and it would certainly seem to embody -his attitude during the period of his highest prosperity. The -ultimate victory lies with the Christian, so far as the work goes -(it is unfinished), but incidentally it shows more than one bold -departure from traditional formulæ. Abélard’s reluctance to consign -all the heathen philosophers to Tartarus would be highly suspect -to his pious contemporaries. It is a matter of faith in the Roman -Catholic Church to-day that no man shall enter heaven who has not a -belief in a personal God, at least; many theologians add the narrower -qualification of a literal acceptance of the Trinity. But Abélard -tempered his audacity by proving that his favourite heathens <i>had</i> -this qualification of a knowledge of the Trinity, probably under the -inspiration of St Augustine.</p> - -<p>The <i>Dialogue</i> was not much assailed by his rivals; probably it -was not widely circulated. It is, however, an important monument -of Abélard’s genius. It anticipated not merely the rationalistic -attitude of modern theology, but also quite a number of the -modifications of traditional belief which modern rational and -ethical criticism has imposed. Abélard regards the ethical content -of Christianity, and finds that it is only the elabora<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[p. 142]</span>tion or the reformation -of the natural law, the true essence of religion. God has given this -essential gift in every conscience and in every religion; there are -no outcasts from the plan of salvation; the higher excellence of the -Christian religion lies in its clearer formulation of the law of -life. The popular notions of heaven and hell and deity are travesties -of true Christian teaching. God, as a purely spiritual being, is the -supreme good, and heaven is an approach to Him by obedience; hell, -isolation from Him. When we remember that Abélard had before him only -the works of the fathers and such recent speculations as those of -Anselm, we shall surely recognise the action of a mind of the highest -order in these debates.</p> - -<p>The second work was not less remarkable. It was a collection of -sentences from the fathers on points of dogma. So far the compilation -would be an admirable one, but apart from the growing accusation that -Abélard was wanting in reverence for the authority of the fathers, -there was the suspicious circumstance that he had grouped these -eighteen hundred texts in contradictory columns. Thus one hundred -and fifty-eight questions are put by the compiler, relating<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[p. 143]</span> to God, the Trinity, -the Redemption, the Sacraments, and so forth. The quotations from the -fathers are then arranged in two parallel columns, one half giving -an affirmative, and the rest a negative, answer to the question. -Such a work would be perfectly intelligible if it came from the pen -of a modern freethinker. Abélard’s <i>Sic et Non</i> (Yes and No), as -the work came to be called, has borne many interpretations. Such -careful and impartial students of Abélard’s work as Deutsch pronounce -the critical element in it to be ‘constructive, not sceptical.’ -Most probably it was the intention of the compiler to shatter the -excessive regard of his contemporaries for the words of the fathers, -and thus to open the way for independent speculation on the deposit -of revelation (to which he thought he had as much right as Jerome or -Augustine), by making a striking exhibition of their fallibility.</p> - -<p>Neither of these works seems to have fallen into the hands of -Alberic. Twenty years afterwards we find a theologian complaining -of the difficulty of obtaining some of Abélard’s works, which had -been kept secret. He probably refers to one or both of these works. -However that may be, Abélard wrote a third book during his<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[p. 144]</span> stay at Maisoncelle, -and on this the charge of heresy was fixed.</p> - -<p>Wiser than the Church of those days, and anticipating the wisdom -of the modern Church of Rome, Abélard saw the great danger to the -faith itself of the Anselmian maxim, <i>Fides praecedit intellectum</i>. -He argued that, as the world had somehow outlived the age of -miracles, God must have intended rational evidence to take its place. -In any case, there was an increasingly large class of youths and men -who clamoured for ‘human and philosophic grounds,’ as he puts it, -who would lie to their consciences if they submitted to the current -pietism. Abélard believed he would render valuable service to the -Church if he could devise rational proofs, or at least analogies, -of its dogmas. It was in this frame of mind, not in a spirit of -destructive scepticism, that he raised the standard of rationalism. -He at once applied his force to the most preterrational of dogmas, -and wrote his famous <i>Treatise on the Unity and Trinity of God</i>.</p> - -<p>A manuscript of the treatise was discovered by Stölzle a few years -ago. It is unnecessary to inflict on the reader an analysis of the -work. It is perfectly sincere and religious in intention, but,<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[p. 145]</span> like every book that -has ever been penned on the subject of the Trinity, it contains -illustrations which can be proved to be heretical. We may discuss the -point further apropos of the Council of Soissons.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[p. 146]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER VII - THE TRIAL OF A HERETIC">CHAPTER VII</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE TRIAL OF A HERETIC</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> swiftly multiplying -charges seem to have impaired Abélard’s health. He became much more -sensitive to the accusation of heresy than the mere injustice of it -can explain. We have an evidence of his morbid state at this period -in a letter he wrote to the Bishop of Paris. The letter must not be -regarded as a normal indication of the writer’s character, but, like -the letter of Canon Roscelin which it elicited, it is not a little -instructive about the age in which the writers lived. There are -hypercritical writers who question the correctness of attributing -these letters to Abélard and Roscelin, but the details they contain -refer so clearly to the two masters that any doubt about their origin -is, as Deutsch says, ‘frivolous and of no account’; he adds that -we should be only too glad, for the sake of the writers, if there -were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[p. 147]</span> some firm -ground for contesting their genuineness.</p> - -<p>A pupil of Abélard’s, coming down from Paris, brought him word -that Roscelin had lodged an accusation of heresy against him with -the bishop. As a monk of St. Denis, Abélard still belonged to -Bishop Girbert’s jurisdiction. Roscelin had himself been condemned -for heresy on the Trinity at Soissons in 1092, but his was an -accommodating rationalism; he was now an important member of the -chapter of St. Martin at Tours. Report stated that he had discovered -heresy in Abélard’s new work, and was awaiting the return of Girbert -to Paris in order to submit it to him. Abélard immediately grasped -the pen, and forwarded to Girbert a letter which is a sad exhibition -of ‘nerves.’ ‘I have heard,’ he says, after an ornate salutation of -the bishop and his clergy, ‘that that ever inflated and long-standing -enemy of the Catholic faith, whose manner of life and teaching are -notorious, and whose detestable heresy was proved by the fathers -of the Council of Soissons, and punished with exile, has vomited -forth many calumnies and threats against me, on account of the work -I have written, which was chiefly directed against his heresy.’ And -so the violent and exag<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[p. -148]</span>gerated account of Roscelin’s misdeeds continues. The -practical point of the epistle is that Abélard requests the bishop -to appoint a place and time for him to meet Roscelin face to face -and defend his work. The whole letter is marred by nervous passion -of the most pitiful kind. It terminates with a ridiculous, but -characteristic, dialectical thrust at the nominalist: ‘in that -passage of Scripture where the Lord is said to have eaten a bit of -broiled fish, he [Roscelin] is compelled to say that Christ ate, not -a part of the reality, but a part of the term “broiled fish.”’</p> - -<p>Roscelin replied directly to Abélard, besides writing to Girbert. -The letter is no less characteristic of the time, though probably an -equally unsafe indication of the character of the writer. ‘If,’ it -begins, in the gentle manner of the time, ‘you had tasted a little of -that sweetness of the Christian religion which you profess by your -habit, you would not, unmindful of your order and your profession, -and forgetful of the countless benefits you received from my teaching -from your childhood to youth, have so far indulged in words of malice -against me as to disturb the brethren’s peace with the sword of the -tongue, and to contemn our Saviour’s most salutary and easy<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[p. 149]</span> commands.’ He accepts, -with an equally edifying humility, Abélard’s fierce denunciation: -‘I see myself in your words as in a mirror. Yet God is powerful to -raise up out of the very stones,’ etc. But he cannot long sustain the -unnatural tone, and he suddenly collapses into depths of mediæval -Latin, which for filth and indecency rival the lowest productions of -Billingsgate. The venerable canon returns again and again, in the -course of his long letter, to Abélard’s mutilation, and with the art -of a Terence or a Plautus. As to the proposed debate, he is only too -eager for it. If Abélard attempts to shirk it at the last moment, -he ‘will follow him all over the world.’ He finally dies away in an -outburst of childish rage which beats Abélard’s peroration. He will -not continue any longer because it occurs to him that Abélard is, by -the strictest force of logic, a nonentity. He is not a monk, for he -is giving lessons; he is not a cleric, for he has parted with the -soutane; he is not a layman, for he has the tonsure; he is not even -the Peter he signs himself, for Peter is a masculine name.</p> - -<p>These were the two ablest thinkers of Christendom at the time. -Fortunately for both, the battle royal of the dialecticians did not -take place.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[p. 150]</span> -Possibly Roscelin had not lodged the rumoured complaint at all. In -any case Girbert was spared a painful and pitiful scene.</p> - -<p>A short time afterwards, however, Alberic and Lotulphe found an -excellent opportunity to take action. Some time in the year 1121 -a papal legate, Conon, Bishop of Praeneste, came to Rheims. Conon -had been travelling in France for some years as papal legate, and -since it was the policy of Rome to conciliate France, in view of -the hostility of Germany, the legate had a general mission to make -himself as useful and obliging as possible. Archbishop Ralph, for his -part, would find it a convenient means of gratifying his teachers, -without incurring much personal responsibility. The outcome of their -conferences was, therefore, that Abélard received from the legate a -polite invitation to appear at a provincial synod, or council, which -was to be held at Soissons, and to bring with him his ‘celebrated -work on the Trinity.’ The simple monk was delighted at the apparent -opportunity of vindicating his orthodoxy. It was his first trial for -heresy.</p> - -<p>When the time drew near for what Abélard afterwards called ‘their -conventicle,’ he set out for Soissons with a small band of friends, -who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[p. 151]</span> were to -witness the chastisement of Alberic and Lotulphe. But those astute -masters had not so naïve a view of the function of a council. Like -St. Bernard, with whom, indeed, they were already in correspondence, -they relied largely on that art of ecclesiastical diplomacy which -is the only visible embodiment of the Church’s supernatural power. -Moreover, they had the curious ecclesiastical habit of deciding that -an end—in this case, the condemnation of Abélard—was desirable, and -then piously disregarding the moral quality of the means necessary to -attain it. How far the two masters had arranged all the conditions -of the council we cannot say, but these certainly favoured their -plans.</p> - -<p>Soissons, to begin with, was excellently suited for the holding -of a council which was to condemn, rather than investigate. Its -inhabitants would remember the sentence passed on Roscelin for a -like offence. In fact Longueval says, in his <i>Histoire de l’Église -Gallicane</i>, that the people of Soissons were religious fanatics as a -body, and had of their own impulse burned, or ‘lynched,’ a man who -was suspected of Manichæism, only a few years previously. Alberic -and Lotulphe had taken care to revive this pious instinct, by<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[p. 152]</span> spreading amongst the -people the information that ‘the foreign monk,’ ‘the eunuch of St. -Denis,’ who was coming to the town to be tried, had openly taught the -error of tri-theism. The consequence was that when the Benedictine -monk appeared in the streets with his few admirers, he had a narrow -escape of being stoned to death by the excited citizens. It was a -rude shock to his dream of a great dialectical triumph.</p> - -<p>On one point, however, Abélard’s simple honesty hit upon a -correct measure. He went straight to Bishop Conon with his work, and -submitted it for the legate’s perusal and personal judgment. The -politician was embarrassed. He knew nothing whatever about theology, -and would lose his way immediately in Abélard’s subtle analogies. -However, he bade Abélard take the book to the archbishop and the two -masters. They in turn fumbled it in silence, Abélard says, and at -length told him that judgment would be passed on it at the end of the -council.</p> - -<p>Meantime Abélard had succeeded in correcting, to some extent, the -inspired prejudice of the townsfolk. Every day he spoke and disputed -in the streets and churches, before the council sat, and he tells us -that he seemed to make an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[p. -153]</span> impression on his hearers. Alberic, in fact, came one day -with a number of his pupils for the purpose of modifying his rival’s -success; though he hurriedly retreated when it was shown that his -specially prepared difficulty had no force. Premising ‘a few polite -phrases,’ he pointed out that Abélard had denied that God generated -himself in the Trinity; for this statement, he carefully explained, -he did not ask reasons, but an authority. Abélard promptly turned -over the page, and pointed to a quotation from St. Augustine. It -was a swift and complete victory. But Abélard must needs improve -on it by accusing his accuser of heresy, and Alberic departed -‘like one demented with rage.’ Priests and people were now openly -asking whether the council had discovered the error to lie with -itself rather than with Abélard. They came to the last day of the -council.</p> - -<p>Before the formal opening of the last session, the legate invited -the chief actors in the comedy (except Abélard) to a private -discussion of the situation. Conon’s position and attitude were -purely political. He cared little about their dialectical subtleties; -was, in fact, quite incompetent to decide questions of personality, -modality,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[p. 154]</span> and -all the rest. Still it was mainly a minor political situation he had -to deal with, and he shows an eagerness to get through it with as -little moral damage as possible. Ralph the Green, president of the -council, knew no more than Conon about theology; he also regarded it -as a political dilemma, and the prestige of his school would gain -by the extinction of Abélard. Ralph had nine suffragan bishops, but -only one of these is proved to have taken part in the ‘conventicle.’ -It was Lisiard de Crespy, Bishop of Soissons, who would support his -metropolitan. Joscelin, an earlier rival of Abélard, was teaching -in Soissons at that time, and would most probably accompany his -bishop. Abbot Adam of St. Denis was present; so were Alberic and -Lotulphe. One man of a more worthy type sat with them, an awkward -and embarrassing spokesman of truth and justice, Geoffroi, Bishop of -Chartres, one of the most influential and most honourable members of -the French episcopacy.</p> - -<p>Conon at once shrewdly introduced the formal question, what heresy -had been discovered in Abélard’s book? After his ill-success in the -street-discussion, Alberic seems to have hesitated to quote any -definite passage in the work.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[p. -155]</span> Indeed, we not only have two contradictory charges given, -but the texts which seem to have been used in this council to prove -the charge of tri-theism were quoted by the Council of Sens in 1141 -in proof of an accusation of Sabellianism. Otto von Freising says -that Abélard held the three divine persons to be modifications of one -essence (the Anselmists claiming that the three were <i>realities</i>); -Abélard himself says he was accused of tri-theism. Every ‘analogy’ -that has been found in the natural world for the dogma of the -Trinity, from the shamrock of St. Patrick to the triangle of -Père Lacordaire, exposes its discoverer to one or other of those -charges—for an obvious reason. After the death of Dr. Dale I remember -seeing a passage quoted by one of his panegyrists in illustration of -his singularly sound and clear presentation of dogma: it was much -more Sabellian than anything Abélard ever wrote.</p> - -<p>However, the explicit demand of the legate for a specimen of -Abélard’s heresy was embarrassing. Nothing could be discovered in -the book to which Abélard could not have assigned a parallel in -the fathers. And when Alberic began to extort heresy by ingenious -interpreta<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[p. 156]</span>tion -Geoffroi de Lèves reminded them of the elementary rules of justice. -In the formal proceedings of a trial for heresy no one was condemned -unheard. If they were to anticipate the trial by an informal -decision, the requirement of justice was equally urgent. They must -give the accused an opportunity of defending himself. That was the -one course which Alberic dreaded most of all, and he so well urged -the magical power of Abélard’s tongue that the bishop’s proposal was -rejected. Geoffroi then complained of the smallness of the council, -and the injustice of leaving so grave and delicate a decision to a -few prelates. Let Abélard be given into the care of his abbot, who -should take him back to St. Denis and have him judged by an assembly -of expert theologians. The legate liked the idea. The Rheims people -regarded it, for the moment, as an effective removal of Abélard from -their neighbourhood. The proposal was agreed to, and the legate then -proceeded to say the Mass of the Holy Ghost.</p> - -<p>Meantime Archbishop Ralph informed Abélard of the decision. -Unsatisfactory as the delay was, he must have been grateful for -an escape from the power of Rheims. He turned indifferently<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[p. 157]</span> from the further -session of the council. Unfortunately another conference was even -then taking place between Alberic, Ralph, and Conon; and Abélard was -presently summoned to bring his book before the council.</p> - -<p>Alberic and Lotulphe were, on reflection, dissatisfied with the -result. Their influence would have no weight in a trial at Paris, -and their ambition required the sacrifice of the famous master. They -therefore went to the archbishop with a complaint that people would -take it to be a confession of incompetency if he allowed the case -to go before another court. The three approached the legate again, -and now reminded him that Abélard’s work was published without -episcopal permission, and could justly be condemned on that ground. -As ignorant of canon law as he was of theology, and seeing the -apparent friendlessness of Abélard, and therefore the security of a -condemnation, Conon agreed to their proposal.</p> - -<p>Abélard had long looked forward to the hour of his appearance -before the Council. It was to be an hour of supreme triumph. The -papal legate and the archbishop in their resplendent robes in the -sanctuary; the circle of bishops and abbots and canons; the crowd -of priests, theologians,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[p. -158]</span> masters, and clerics; the solemn pulpit of the cathedral -church, from which he should make his highest effort of dialectics -and oratory; the scattered rivals, and the triumphant return to -his pupils. He had rehearsed it daily for a month or more. But the -sad, heart-rending reality of his appearance! He was brought in, -condemned. He stood in the midst of the thronged cathedral, with the -brand of heresy on his brow, he, the intellectual and moral master of -them all. A fire was kindled there before the Council. There was no -need for Geoffrey of Chartres to come, the tears coursing down his -cheeks, to tell him his book was judged and condemned. Quietly, but -with a fierce accusation of God Himself in his broken heart, as he -afterwards said, he cast his treasured work in the flames.</p> - -<p>Even in that awful moment the spirit of comedy must needs assert -its mocking presence; or is it only part of the tragedy? Whilst the -yellow parchment crackled in the flames, some one who stood by the -legate muttered that one passage in it said that God the Father -alone was omnipotent. Soulless politician as he was, the ignorant -legate fastened on the charge as a confirmation of the justice -of his sentence. ‘I could scarcely believe<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_159">[p. 159]</span> that even a child would fall into such -an error,’ said the brute, with an affectation of academic dignity. -‘And yet,’ a sarcastic voice fell on his ear, quoting the Athanasian -Creed, ‘and yet there are not Three omnipotent, but One.’ The bold -speaker was Tirric, the Breton scholastic, who, as we have seen, -probably instructed Abélard in mathematics. His bishop immediately -began to censure him for his neat exhibition of the legate’s -ignorance, but the teacher was determined to express his disgust at -the proceedings. ‘You have condemned a child of Israel,’ he cried, -lashing the ‘conventicle’ with the scornful words of Daniel, ‘without -inquiry or certainty. Return ye to the judgment seat, and judge the -judges.’</p> - -<p>The archbishop then stepped forward to put an end to the -confusion. ‘It is well,’ he said, making a tardy concession to -conscience, ‘that the brother have an opportunity of defending his -faith before us all.’ Abélard gladly prepared to do so, but Alberic -and Lotulphe once more opposed the idea. No further discussion was -needed, they urged. The council had finished its work; Abélard’s -errors had been detected and corrected. If it were advisable to -have a profession of faith from Brother Peter, let him recite<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[p. 160]</span> the Athanasian Creed. -And lest Abélard should object that he did not know the Creed by -heart, they produced a copy of it. The politic prelates were easily -induced to take their view. In point of fact the archbishop’s -proposal was a bare compliance with the canons. Abélard’s book -had been condemned on the ground that it had been issued without -authorisation; nothing had been determined as to the legitimacy of -its contents. The canons still demanded that he should be heard -before he was sent out into the world with an insidious stigma of -heresy.</p> - -<p>But charity and justice had no part in that pitiful conventicle. -Archbishop and legate thought it politic to follow the ruling of -Alberic to the end, and the parchment was handed to Abélard. And -priest and prelate, monk and abbot, shamelessly stood around, whilst -the greatest genius of the age, devoted to religion in every gift of -his soul, as each one knew, faltered out the familiar symbol. ‘Good -Jesus, where wert thou?’ Abélard asks, long years afterwards. There -are many who ask it to-day.</p> - -<p>So ended the holy Council of Soissons, Provincial Synod of the -arch-diocese of Rheims, held under the ægis of a papal legate, in the -year of grace<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[p. 161]</span> -1121. Its <i>acta</i> are not found in Richard, or Labbé, or Hefele: they -‘have not been preserved.’ There is an earlier ecclesiastical council -that earned the title of the <i>latrocinium</i> (‘rogues’ council’), and -we must not plagiarise. Ingenious and audacious as the apologetic -historian is, he has not attempted to defend the Council of Soissons. -But his condemnation of it is mildness itself compared with his -condemnation of Abélard.</p> - -<p>For a crowning humiliation Abélard was consigned by the council -to a large monastery near Soissons, which served as jail or -penitentiary for that ecclesiastical province. The abbot of this -monastery, Geoffrey of the Stag’s-neck, had assisted at the council, -and Dom Gervaise would have it that he had secured Abélard for his -own purposes. He thinks the abbot was looking to the great legal -advantage, in the frequent event of a lawsuit, of having such an -orator as Abélard in his monastery. It is a possibility, like -many other details in Gervaise’s <i>Life of Abélard</i>. In forbidding -his return either to Maisoncelle or to St. Denis, and definitely -consigning him to the abbey of St. Médard, the council was once -more treating him as a legally convicted heretic. As far as it was -concerned, it was filling the chalice of the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_162">[p. 162]</span> poor monk’s bitterness. It is a mere -accident that Geoffrey was a man of some culture, and was so far -influenced by the hideous spectacle he had witnessed as to receive -Brother Peter with sympathy and some honour.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[p. 163]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER VIII - CLOUD UPON CLOUD">CHAPTER VIII</h2> - <p class="subh2">CLOUD UPON CLOUD</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> abbey of St. Médard, -to which Abélard accompanied his friendly jailer, was a very large -monastery on the right bank of the Aisne, just outside Soissons. At -that time it had a community of about four hundred monks. It derived -a considerable revenue from its two hundred and twenty farms, yet -it bore so high a repute for regular discipline that it had become -a general ‘reformatory school’ for the district. ‘To it were sent -the ignorant to be instructed, the depraved to be corrected, the -obstinate to be tamed,’ says a work of the time; though it is not -clear how Herr Hausrath infers from this that the abbey also served -the purpose of monastic asylum. For this character of penitentiary -the place was chosen for the confinement of Abélard. Thither he -retired to meditate on the joy and the wisdom of ‘conversion.’ -‘God! How furiously did I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[p. -164]</span> accuse Thee!’ he says of those days. The earlier wound -had been preceded, he admits, by his sin; this far deeper and -more painful wound had been brought upon him by his ‘love of our -faith.’</p> - -<p>Whether Abbot Geoffrey thought Abélard an acquisition or no, -there was one man in authority at St. Médard who rejoiced with a -holy joy at his advent. This was no other than Abélard’s earlier -acquaintance, St. Goswin. The zealous student had become a monastic -reformer, and had recently been appointed Prior<a id="FNanchor_18" -href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> of St. Médard. In -the recently reformed abbey, with a daily arrival of ‘obstinate -monks to be trained,’ and a convenient and well-appointed ascetical -armoury or whipping-room, the young saint was in a congenial element. -Great was his interest when ‘Pope Innocent,’<a id="FNanchor_19" -href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> as his biographers -say, ‘sent Abélard to be confined in the abbey, and, like an untamed -rhinoceros, to be caught in the bonds of discipline.’ Abélard was -not long in the abbey before the tamer approached this special task -that Providence had set him. We can imagine Abélard’s feelings<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[p. 165]</span> when the obtuse monk -took him aside, and exhorted him ‘not to think it a misfortune or an -injury that he had been sent there; he was not so much confined in a -prison, as protected from the storms of the world.’ He had only to -live piously, and set a good example, and all would be well. Abélard -was in no mood to see the humour of the situation. He peevishly -retorted that ‘there were a good many who talked about piety and did -not know what piety was.’ Then the prior, say his biographers, saw -that it was not a case for leniency, but for drastic measures. ‘Quite -true,’ he replied, ‘there are many who talk about piety, and do not -know what it is. But if we find you saying or doing anything that is -not pious, we shall show you that we know how to treat its contrary, -at all events.’ The saint prevailed once more—in the biography: ‘the -rhinoceros was cowed, and became very quiet, more patient under -discipline, more fearful of the lash, and of a saner and less raving -mind.’</p> - -<p>Fortunately, the boorish saint had a cultured abbot, one at -least who did not hold genius to be a diabolical gift, and whose -judgment of character was not wholly vitiated by the crude<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[p. 166]</span> mystic and monastic -ideal of the good people of the period. The abbot seems to have -saved Abélard from the zeal of the prior, and possibly he found -companionable souls amongst the four hundred monks of the great -abbey, some of whom were nobles by birth. We know, at all events, -that in the later period he looked back on the few months spent at -St. Médard with a kindly feeling.</p> - -<p>His imprisonment did not last long. When the proceedings of the -council were made known throughout the kingdom, there was a strong -outburst of indignation. It must not be supposed that the Council -of Soissons illustrates or embodies the spirit of the period or the -spirit of the Church; this feature we shall more nearly find in the -Council of Sens, in 1141. The conventicle had, in truth, revealed -some of the evils of the time: the danger of the Church’s excessively -political attitude and administration, the brutality of the spirit -it engendered with regard to heresy, the fatal predominance of dogma -over ethic. But, in the main, the conventicle exhibits the hideous -triumph of a few perverse individuals, who availed themselves of all -that was crude and ill-advised in the machinery of the Church.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[p. 167]</span> When, therefore, -such men as Tirric, and Geoffrey of Chartres, and Geoffrey of the -Stag’s-neck, spread their story abroad, there were few who did not -sympathise with Abélard. The persecutors soon found it necessary to -defend themselves; there was a chaos of mutual incriminations. Even -Alberic and Lotulphe tried to cast the blame on others. The legate -found it expedient to attribute the whole proceeding openly to -‘French malice.’ He had been ‘compelled for a time to humour their -spleen,’ as Abélard puts it, but he presently revoked the order of -confinement in St. Médard, and gave Abélard permission to return to -St. Denis.</p> - -<p>It was a question of Scylla or Charybdis, of Prior Goswin or Abbot -Adam. The legate seems to have acted in good faith in granting the -permission—perhaps we should say in good policy, for he again acted -out of discreet regard for circumstances; but when we find Abélard -availing himself of what was no more than a permission to return -to St. Denis we have a sufficient indication of the quality of his -experience at St. Médard. He does indeed remark that the monks of the -reformed abbey had been friendly towards him, though this is inspired -by an obvious comparison<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[p. -168]</span> with his later experience at St. Denis. But St. Médard -was a prison; that sufficed to turn the scale. A removal from the -penitentiary would be equivalent, in the eyes of France, to a -revocation of the censure passed on him. So with a heart that was -hopelessly drear, not knowing whether to smile or weep, he went back, -poor sport of the gods as he was, to the royal abbey.</p> - -<p>For a few months Brother Peter struggled bravely with the -hard task the fates had set him. He was probably wise enough to -refrain from inveighing, in season and out of season, against the -‘intolerable uncleanness’ of Adam and his monks. Possibly he nursed -a hope—or was nursed by a hope—of having another ‘cell’ entrusted -to his charge. In spite of the irregularity of the abbey, formal -religious exercises were extensively practised. All day and night the -chant of the breviary was heard in the monastic chapel. There was -also a large and busy <i>scriptorium</i>; the <i>archivium</i> of the ancient -abbey was a treasury of interesting old documents; and there was a -relatively good library. It was in the latter that Brother Peter -found his next adventure, and one that threatened to be the most -serious of all.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[p. 169]</span></p> - -<p>Seeing the present futility of his theological plans, he had -turned to the study of history. There was a copy of Bede’s <i>History -of the Apostles</i> in the library, and he says that he one day, ‘by -chance,’ came upon the passage in which Bede deals with St. Denis. -The Anglo-Saxon historian would not admit the French tradition about -St. Denis. He granted the existence of a St. Denis, but said that -he had been Bishop of Corinth, not of Athens. The legend about the -martyrdom of Denis the Areopagite, with his companions Rusticus and -Eleutherius, at Paris in the first century, is now almost universally -rejected by Roman Catholic historians, not to mention others. It is, -however, still enshrined with honour in that interesting compendium -of myths of the Christian era, the Roman breviary, and is read with -religious solemnity by every priest and every monastic choir in the -Catholic world on the annual festival.</p> - -<p>However, the abbey of St. Denis, the monastery that owed all its -wealth and repute to its possession of the bones of ‘the Areopagite,’ -was the last place in the world in which to commence a rationalistic -attack on the legend. With his usual want of tact and foresight -Brother Peter showed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[p. -170]</span> the passage in Bede to some of his fellow-monks, ‘in -joke,’ he says; he might as well have cut the abbot’s throat, or -destroyed the wine-cellar ‘in joke.’ There was a violent commotion. -Heresy about the Trinity was bad, but heresy about the idol of the -royal abbey was more touching. It is not quite clear that Abélard -came to the opinion of modern religious historians, that the St. -Denis of Paris was a much later personage than the Areopagite of the -Acts of the Apostles, but he seems to hold that opinion. In any case, -the monks felt that to be the substance of his discovery, and held -it to be an attack on the glory of the abbey. Venerable Bede was, -they bluntly replied, a liar. One of their former abbots, Hilduin, -had made a journey to Greece for the special purpose of verifying the -story.</p> - -<p>When the monks flew to Abbot Adam with the story of Brother -Peter’s latest outbreak, Adam saw in it an opportunity of terrifying -the rebel into submission, if not of effectually silencing him. -He called a chapter of the brethren. One’s pen almost tires -of describing the cruel scenes to which those harsh days lent -themselves. The vindictive abbot perched on his high chair, -prior<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[p. 171]</span> and elder -brethren sitting beside him; the hundreds of black-robed, shaven -monks lining the room; on his knees in the centre the pale, nervous -figure of the Socrates of Gaul. With a mock solemnity, Abbot Adam -delivers himself of the sentence. Brother Peter has crowned his -misdeeds, in his pride of mind, with an attack, not merely on the -abbey that sheltered him, but on the honour and the safety of France. -The matter is too serious to be punished by even the most severe -methods at the command of the abbey. Brother Peter is to be handed -over to the king, as a traitor to the honour of the country. The poor -monk, now thoroughly alarmed, abjectly implores the abbot to deal -with him in the usual way. Let him be scourged—anything to escape the -uncertain temper of King Louis. No, the abbey must be rid of him. -He is taken away into confinement, with an injunction that he be -carefully watched until it is convenient to send him to Paris.</p> - -<p>There were, however, some of the monks who were disgusted at the -savage proceeding. A few days afterwards he was assisted to escape -from the monastic dungeon during the night, and, ‘in utter despair,’ -he fled from the abbey, with a few of his<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_172">[p. 172]</span> former pupils. It was, in truth, a -desperate move. As a deserter from the abbey, the canons required -that two stalwart brothers should be sent in pursuit of him, and -that he be reimprisoned. As a fugitive from the king’s justice, to -which he had been publicly destined, he was exposed to even harsher -treatment. However, he made his way into Champagne once more, and -threw himself on the mercy of his friends.</p> - -<p>One of the friends whom he had attached to himself during his stay -at Maisoncelle was prior of St. Ayoul, near the gates of Provins. -It was a priory belonging to the monks of Troyes, and both Hatton, -Bishop of Troyes, and Theobald, Count of Champagne, were in sympathy -with the fugitive. The prior, therefore, received Abélard into his -convent, to afford at least time for reflection. His condition, -however, was wholly uncanonical, and the prior, as well as the abbot -of St. Peter of Troyes, urged him to secure some regularity for his -absence from St. Denis, so that they might lawfully shelter him at -St. Ayoul. Abélard summoned what diplomatic faculty he had, and wrote -to St. Denis.</p> - -<p>‘Peter, monk by profession and sinner by his deeds, to his dearly -beloved father, Adam, and to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[p. -173]</span> his most dear brethren and fellow-monks,’ was the -inscription of the epistle. Brother Peter, it must be remembered, -was fighting almost for life; and he was not of the heroic stuff -of his friend and pupil, Arnold of Brescia. There are critics who -think he descended lower than this concession to might, that he -deliberately denied his conviction for the purpose of conciliating -Adam. Others, such as Poole, Deutsch, and Hausrath, think the letter -does not support so grave a censure. The point of the letter is -certainly to convey the impression that Bede had erred, and that -Abélard had no wish to urge his authority against the belief of -the monks. In point of fact, Bede is at variance with Eusebius and -Jerome, and it is not impossible that Abélard came sincerely to -modify the first impression he had received from Bede’s words; in the -circumstances, and in the then state of the question, this would not -be unreasonable. At the same time a careful perusal of the letter -gives one the impression that it is artistic and diplomatic; that -Abélard has learned tact, rather than unlearned history. It reads -like an effort to say something conciliatory about St. Denis, without -doing serious violence to the writer’s conscience. Perhaps the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[p. 174]</span> abbot of St. Peter’s -could have thrown some light on its composition.</p> - -<p>Shortly afterwards Abbot Adam came to visit Count Theobald, and -Abélard’s friends made a direct effort to conciliate him. The prior -of St. Ayoul and Abélard hurried to the count’s castle, and begged -him to prevail upon his guest to release Abélard from his obedience. -The count tried to persuade Adam to do so, but without success. -Adam seemed determined, not so much to rid his happy convent of a -malcontent, as to crush Abélard. He found plenty of pious garbs to -cover his vindictiveness with. At first he deprecated the idea that -it was a matter for his personal decision. Then, after a consultation -with the monks who accompanied him, he gravely declared that it was -inconsistent with the honour of the abbey to release Abélard; ‘the -brethren had said that, whereas Abélard’s choice of their abbey had -greatly redounded to its glory, his flight from it had covered them -with shame.’ He threatened both Abélard and the prior of St. Ayoul -with the usual canonical penalties, unless the deserter returned -forthwith to obedience.</p> - -<p>Adam’s departure, after this fulmination, left<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[p. 175]</span> Abélard and his friends -sadly perplexed. The abbot had the full force of canon law on his -side, and he was evidently determined to exact his pound of flesh. -However, whilst they were busy framing desperate resolves, they -received information of the sudden death of Abbot Adam. He died a -few days after leaving Champagne, on the 19th of February 1122. The -event brought relief from the immediate pressure. Some time would -elapse before it would be necessary to resume the matter with Adam’s -successor, and there was room for hope that the new abbot would not -feel the same personal vindictiveness.</p> - -<p>The monk who was chosen by the Benedictines of St. Denis to -succeed Adam was one of the most remarkable characters of that -curious age. Scholar, soldier, and politician, he had an enormous -influence on the life of France during the early decades of the -twelfth century. Nature intended him for a minister and a great -soldier: chance made him a monk; worldly brothers made him an abbot, -and St. Bernard completed the anomaly by ‘converting’ him in 1127. -At the time we are speaking of he was the more active and prominent -of two men whom Bernard called ‘the two calamities of the Church of -France.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[p. 176]</span>’ He was -born of poor parents, near one of the priories or dependencies of -St. Denis. His talent was noticed by the monks, and his ‘vocation’ -followed as a matter of course. He was studying in the monastic -school when King Philip brought his son Louis to St. Denis, and the -abbot sent for him, and made him companion to the royal pupil. He -thus obtained a strong influence over the less gifted prince, and -when Louis came to the throne in 1108, Suger became the first royal -councillor. Being only a deacon in orders, there was nothing to -prevent him heading the troops, directing a campaign, or giving his -whole time to the affairs of the kingdom. He had proved so useful -a minister that, when some of the monks of St. Denis came in great -trepidation to tell the king they had chosen him for abbot, they -were angrily thrust into prison. Suger himself was in Rome at the -time, discharging a mission from the king, and he tells us, in his -autobiography, of the perplexity the dilemma caused him. However, -before he reached France, the king had concluded that an abbot could -be as useful as a prior in an accommodating age. In the sequel, St. -Denis became more royal, and less abbatial than ever—until 1127. St. -Bernard complained that it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[p. -177]</span> seemed to have become the ‘war office’ and the ‘ministry -of justice’ of the kingdom.</p> - -<p>Abélard now seems to have been taken in hand by a more astute -admirer, Burchard, Bishop of Meaux. They went to Paris together, and -apparently did a little successful diplomacy before the arrival and -consecration of Suger. The newly created abbot (he had been ordained -priest the day before his consecration) refused to undo the sentence -of his predecessor. He was bound by the decision of the abbey, he -said; in other words, there was still a strong vindictive feeling -against Abélard in the abbey, which it was not politic to ignore. It -is quite impossible that Suger himself took the matter seriously.</p> - -<p>But before Suger’s arrival Abélard and his companions had made -friends at court. Whether through his pupils, many of whom were -nobles, or through his family, is unknown, but Abélard for the -second time found influence at court when ecclesiastical favour was -denied. One of the leading councillors was Étienne de Garlande, -the royal seneschal, and means were found to interest him in the -case of the unfortunate monk. We have already seen that Stephen -had ecclesiastical ambition in his earlier years, and had<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[p. 178]</span> become a deacon and -a canon of Étampes. But when his patron, King Philip, submitted to -the Church and to a better ideal of life, Stephen concluded that the -path to ecclesiastical dignities would be less smooth and easy for -the ‘illiterate and unchaste,’ and he turned to secular ambition. At -the time of the events we are reviewing he and Suger were the virtual -rulers of France; from the ecclesiastical point of view he was the -man whom St. Bernard associated with Suger as ‘a calamity of the -Church.’</p> - -<p>‘Through the mediation of certain friends’ Abélard had enlisted -the interest of this powerful personage, and the court was soon known -to favour his suit. There are many speculations as to the motive of -the king and his councillors in intervening in the monastic quarrel. -Recent German historians see in the incident an illustration of a -profound policy on the part of the royal council. They think the king -was then endeavouring to strengthen his authority by patronising -the common people in opposition to the tyrannical and troublesome -nobility. Following out a parallel policy with regard to the Church, -whose nobles were equally tyrannical and troublesome, Stephen and -Suger would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[p. 179]</span> -naturally befriend the lower clergy in opposition to the prelates. -Hence the royal intervention on behalf of the monk of St. Denis is -associated with the intervention on the side of the peasantry a few -years before.</p> - -<p>The theory is ingenious, but hardly necessary. Abélard says that -the court interfered because it did not desire any change in the -free life of the royal abbey, and consequently preferred to keep him -out of it. That is also ingenious, and complimentary to Abélard. But -it is not a little doubtful whether anybody credited him with the -smallest influence at St. Denis. We shall probably not be far from -the truth if we suppose a court intrigue on the monk’s behalf which -his friends did not think it necessary to communicate fully to him. -Geoffrey of Chartres and other friends of his were French nobles. -Many of his pupils had that golden key which would at any time give -access to Étienne de Garlande.</p> - -<p>In any case Stephen and Suger had a private discussion of -the matter, and the two politicians soon found a way out of the -difficulty. Abélard received an order to appear before the king -and his council. The comedy—though it was no<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_180">[p. 180]</span> comedy for Abélard—probably took place -at St. Denis. Louis the Fat presided, in robes of solemn purple, -with ermine border. Étienne de Garlande and the other councillors -glittered at his side. Abbot Suger and his council were there to -defend the ‘honour’ of the abbey; and Brother Peter, worn with -anxiety and suffering, came to make a plea for liberty. Louis bids -the abbot declare what solution of the difficulty his chapter has -discovered. Suger gravely explains that the honour of their abbey -does not permit them to allow the fugitive monk to join any other -monastery. So much to save the face of the abbey. Yet there is a -middle course possible, the abbot graciously continues: Brother Peter -may be permitted to live a regular life in the character of a hermit. -Brother Peter expresses his satisfaction at the decision—it was -precisely the arrangement he desired—and departs from the abbey with -his friends, a free man once more, never again, he thinks, to fall -into the power of monk or prelate.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[p. 181]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER IX - BACK TO CHAMPAGNE">CHAPTER IX</h2> - <p class="subh2">BACK TO CHAMPAGNE</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> scene of the next act -in Abélard’s dramatic career is a bright, restful valley in the heart -of Champagne. It is the summer of 1122, and the limpid Arduzon rolls -through enchantingly in its course towards the Seine. In the meadow -beside it are two huts and a small oratory, rudely fashioned from -the branches of trees and reeds from the river, and daubed over with -mud. No other sign of human presence can be seen. Abélard and one -companion are the only human beings to be found for miles. And even -all thought of the cities of men and the sordid passions they shelter -is arrested by the great forests of oak and beech which hem in the -narrow horizon and guard the restfulness of the valley.</p> - -<p>By the terms of Suger’s decision Abélard could neither lodge with -secular friends nor enter any cell, priory, or abbey. Probably this -coercion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[p. 182]</span> into -leading an eremitical life was unnecessary. The experience of the -last three years had made a hermitage of his heart; nothing would -be more welcome to him than this quiet valley. It was a spot he had -noticed in earlier years. In his ancient chronicle Robert of Auxerre -says that Abélard had lived there before; Mr. Poole thinks it was to -the same part of Champagne that he resorted on the three occasions of -his going to the province of Count Theobald. That would at least have -to be understood in a very loose sense. On the two former occasions -he had found a home prepared, a cell and a priory, respectively; he -had now to build a hut with his own hands. It was a deserted spot he -had chosen, he tells us; and Heloise adds, in one of her letters, -that before Abélard’s coming it had been the haunt of robbers and -the home of foxes and wild boars, like the neighbouring forest of -Fontainebleau.</p> - -<p>Abélard must have seen this quiet side-valley in passing along -the Seine on the road to Paris. It was some twelve miles from -Troyes, where he had a number of friends; and when he expressed a -desire to retire to it with his companion, they obtained for him the -gift of the meadow through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[p. -183]</span> which the Arduzon ran. Bishop Hatton gave them permission -to build an oratory, and they put together a kind of mud hut—‘in -honour of the Blessed Trinity’! Here the heavy heart began once -more to dream of peace. Men had tortured him with a caricature of -the divine justice when his aim and purpose had been of the purest. -He had left their ignorant meddlesomeness and their ugly passions -far away beyond the forests. Alone with God and with nature in her -fairest mood, he seemed to have escaped securely from an age that -could not, or would not, understand his high ideal.</p> - -<p>So for some time no sound was heard in the valley but the song -of the birds and the grave talk of the two hermits and the frequent -chant in the frail temple of the Trinity. But Abélard’s evil genius -was never far from him; it almost seems as if it only retired just -frequently enough and long enough to let his heart regain its full -power of suffering. The unpractical scholar had overlooked a material -point, the question of sustenance. Beech-nuts and beech-leaves and -roots and the water of the river become monotonous. Abélard began to -cast about for some source of revenue. ‘To dig I was not able, to beg -I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[p. 184]</span> ashamed,’ -he says, in the familiar words. There was only one thing he could -do—teach.</p> - -<p>Probably he began by giving quiet lessons to the sons of his -neighbours. He had only to let his intention be known in Troyes, and -he would have as many pupils as he desired. But he soon found that, -as was inevitable, he had released a torrent. The words in which he -describes this third confluence of his streams of ‘barbarians’ do -not give us the impression that he struggled against his fate. With -all his genius he remained a Breton—short of memory and light of -heart. The gladdening climate of mid-France and the brightness and -beauty of the valley of the Seine quickened his old hopes and powers. -The word ran through the kingdoms of Gaul, and across the sea and -over the southern hills, that Abélard was lecturing once more. And -many hundreds, probably thousands, of youths gathered their scant -treasures, and turned their faces towards the distant solitude of -Nogent-sur-Seine.</p> - -<p>Then was witnessed a scene that is quite unique in the annals -of education. Many centuries before, the deserts of Egypt had -seen a vast crowd of men pour out from the cities, and rush -eagerly into their thankless solitude. That<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_185">[p. 185]</span> was under the fresh-born influence of -a new religious story, the only force thought competent to inspire -so great an abdication. The twelfth century saw another great stream -of men pouring eagerly into a solitude where there was no luxury but -the rude beauty of nature. Week by week the paths that led into the -valley by the Arduzon discharged their hundreds of pilgrims. The -rough justice of nature offered no advantage to wealth. Rich and -poor, noble and peasant, young and old, they raised their mud-cabins -or their moss-covered earth-works, each with his own hand. Hundreds -of these rude dwellings dotted the meadow and sheltered in the wood. -A bundle of straw was the only bed to be found in them. Their tables -were primitive mounds of fresh turf; the only food a kind of coarse -peasant-bread, with roots and herbs and a draught of sweet water from -the river. The meats and wines and pretty maids and soft beds of the -cities were left far away over the hills. For the great magician had -extended his wand once more, and the fascination of his lectures was -as irresistible as ever.</p> - -<p>They had built a new oratory, in wood and stone, for the loved -master; and each morning, as the full blaze of the sun fell upon the -strangely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[p. 186]</span> scarred -face of the valley, they arose from the hay and straw, splashed or -dipped in the running river, and trooped to the spot where Abélard -fished for their souls with the charming bait of his philosophy. Then -when the master tired of reading Scripture, and of his pathetic task -of finding analogies of the infinite in the finite, they relaxed to -such games and merriment as youth never leaves behind.</p> - -<p>Discipline, however, was strict. There is a song, composed at -the time by one of the pupils, which affords an instructive glimpse -of the life of the strange colony. Some one seems to have informed -Abélard of a group of students who were addicted to the familiar -vice. He at once banished them from the colony, threatening to -abandon the lectures unless they retired to Quincey. The poet of the -group was an English youth, named Hilary, who had come to France a -little before. Amongst his <i>Versus et ludi</i>, edited by Champollion, -we find his poetic complaint of the falseness of the charge and the -cruelty of their expulsion. It is a simple, vigorous, rhymed verse -in Latin, with a French refrain. It is obviously intended to be sung -in chorus, and it thus indirectly illustrates one of the probable -recreations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[p. 187]</span> -of the youths who were thus thrown upon their own resources. Many -another of Hilary’s rough songs must have rung through the valley at -nightfall. Perhaps Abélard recovered his old gift, and contributed -to the harmless gaiety of the colony. Seared and scarred as he -was, there was nothing sombre or sour about his piety, save in the -moments of actual persecution. With all his keen and living faith -and his sense of remorse, he remains a Breton, a child of the -sun-light, sensitive to the gladdening force of the world. Not until -his last year did he accept the ascetic view of pleasures which -were non-ethical. Watchful over the faith and morals of the colony, -he would make no effort to moderate the loud song with which they -responded to the warm breath of nature.</p> - -<p>The happiness of his little world surged in the heart of the -master for a time, but nature gave him a capacity for, and a taste -of, manifold happiness, only that he might suffer the more. ‘I had -one enemy—echo,’ he says in his autobiography. He was soon made -uneasily conscious that the echo of his teaching and the echo of the -glad life of the colony had reached Clairvaux.</p> - -<p>The first definite complaint that reached his<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[p. 188]</span> ears referred to the -dedication of his oratory. Though formally dedicated to the Trinity, -it was especially devoted to the Holy Spirit, in the character of -Paraclete (Comforter); indeed both it and the later nunnery were -known familiarly as ‘the Paraclete.’ Some captious critics had, -it appears, raised a question whether it was lawful to dedicate -a chapel to one isolated member of the Trinity. The question was -absurd, for the Church frequently offers worship to the Holy Spirit, -without mentioning the Father and the Son. The cautious Abélard, -however, defends his dedication at great length. A second attack -was made under the pretext of questioning the propriety of an image -of the Trinity which was found in the oratory. Some sculptor in -the colony had endeavoured to give an ingenious representation of -the Trinity in stone. He had carved three equal figures from one -block of stone, and had cut on them inscriptions appropriate to -each Person of the Trinity.<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" -class="fnanchor">[20]</a> Such devices were common in the Church, -common in all Trinitarian religions, in fact. But Abélard was -credited with intentions and interpretations in everything he did. -Neither<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[p. 189]</span> of these -incidents proved serious, however. It was not until Abélard heard -that Alberic and Lotulphe were inciting ‘the new apostles’ to assail -him that he became seriously alarmed. The new apostles were Bernard -of Clairvaux and Norbert of Prémontré.</p> - -<p>Not many leagues from the merry valley on the Arduzon was another -vale that had been peopled by men from the cities. It was a dark, -depressing valley, into which the sun rarely struggled. The Valley of -Wormwood men called it, for it was in the heart of a wild, sombre, -chilly forest. The men who buried themselves in it were fugitives, -not merely from the hot breath of the cities and the ugly deeds of -their fellows, but even from the gentler inspiration of nature, even -from its purest thrills. They had had a vision of a golden city, and -believed it was to be entered by the path of self-torture. The narrow -windows of their monastery let in but little of the scanty light of -the valley. With coarse bread and herbs, and a few hours’ sleep on -boxes of dried leaves, they made a grudging concession to the law of -living. But a joke was a sacrilege in the Valley of Wormwood, and a -song a piece of supreme folly. The only sound that told the ravens -and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[p. 190]</span> the owls of -the presence of man was the weird, minor chant for hours together, -that did not even seem to break the silence of the sombre spot. By -day, the white-robed, solemn shades went about their work in silence. -The Great Father had made the pilgrimage to heaven so arduous a task -that they dare not talk by the wayside.</p> - -<p>Foremost among them was a frail, tense, absorbed, dominant little -man. The face was white and worn with suffering, the form enfeebled -with disease and exacting nervous exaltation; but there was a light -of supreme strength and of joy in the penetrating eyes. He was a man -who saw the golden city with so near, so living a vision, that he was -wholly impatient of the trivial pleasures of earth: a man formed in -the mould of world-conquerors and world-politicians, in whose mind -accident had substituted a supernatural for a natural ideal: a man of -such intensity and absorption of thought that he was almost incapable -of admitting a doubt as to the correctness of his own judgment and -purpose and the folly of all that was opposed to it: a man in whom -an altruistic ethic might transform, or disguise, but could never -suppress, the demand of the entire nature for self-assertion. This -was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[p. 191]</span> Bernard of -Clairvaux, who had founded the monastery in the deepest poverty ten -years before. He was soon to be the most powerful man in Christendom. -And he held that, if the instinct of reasoning and the impulse of -love did indeed come from God and not from the devil, they were of -those whimsical gifts, such as the deity of the Middle Ages often -gave, which were given with a trust they would be rejected.</p> - -<p>The other new apostle was St. Norbert, the founder of the -Premonstratensian canons. He had fruitlessly endeavoured to reform -the existing order of canons, and had then withdrawn to form a kind -of monastery of canons at Prémontré, not far from Laon, where he -occasionally visited Anselm. His disciples entered zealously into -the task of policeing the country. No disorder in faith or morals -escaped their notice; and although Norbert was far behind Bernard -in political ability, the man who incurred his pious wrath was in -an unenviable position. He had influence with the prelates of the -Church, on account of his reforms and the sanctity of his life; he -had a profound influence over the common people, not only through his -stirring sermons, but also through the miracles he wrought. Abélard -frequently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[p. 192]</span> bases -his rationalistic work on the fact, which he always assumes to be -uncontroverted, that the age of miracles is over. Norbert, on the -contrary, let it be distinctly understood that he was a thaumaturgus -of large practice. Abélard ridiculed his pretensions, and the stories -told of him. Even in his later sermons we find him scornfully -‘exposing’ the miracles of Norbert and his companions. They used to -slip medicaments unobserved into the food of the sick, he says, and -accept the glory of the miracle if the fever was cured. They even -attempted to raise the dead to life; and when the corpse retained -its hideous rigidity after they had lain long hours in prayer in the -sanctuary, they would turn round on the simple folk in the church and -upbraid them for the littleness of their faith. This poor trickery -was the chief source of the power of the Premonstratensian canons -over the people. Abélard could not repose and ridicule it with -impunity.</p> - -<p>These were the new apostles—‘pseudo-apostles’ Heloise calls -them—whom Alberic and Lotulphe now incited to take up the task which -they themselves dared pursue no longer. And so, says Abélard, ‘they -heaped shameless calumnies on me at every opportunity, and for some -time brought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[p. 193]</span> -much discredit upon me in the eyes of certain ecclesiastical as well -as secular dignitaries.’ We shall find that, when Abélard stands -before the ecclesiastical tribunal a second time, many of his earlier -friends have deserted him, and have fallen under the wide-reaching -influence of St. Bernard.</p> - -<p>But it is strenuously denied by prejudiced admirers of St. -Bernard that he had anything to do with Abélard at this period. -Father Hefele, for instance, thinks that Abélard is guilty of some -chronological confusion in the passage quoted above; looking back on -the events of his life, he has unconsciously transferred the later -activity of Bernard to the earlier date, not clearly separating it -in time from the work of Alberic and Norbert. Unfortunately, the -‘Story of my Calamities’ was written <i>before</i> Bernard commenced his -open campaign against Abélard. We shall see later that this is beyond -dispute. There is, then, no question of confusion.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cotter Morison says it is ‘not far short of impossible’ -that Bernard showed any active hostility to Abélard at that time, -and he thinks the charge springs merely from an over-excited -imagination. Mr. Morison is scarcely happier<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_194">[p. 194]</span> here than in his earlier passage. It -must be understood that this reluctance to admit the correctness of -Abélard’s complaint is inspired by a passage in one of Bernard’s -letters. In writing to William of St. Thierry (ep. cccxxvii. in -<i>Migne</i>), fifteen years afterwards, he excuses his inaction with -regard to Abélard (whose heresies William has put before him) on the -ground that he ‘was ignorant of most, indeed nearly all, of these -things.’ This is interpreted to mean that he knew little or nothing -about Abélard until 1141, and the Abélardists generally give a more -or less polite intimation that it is—what Mr. Poole explicitly calls -another statement of Bernard’s—a lie. Cotter Morison, however, -interprets ‘these things’ to mean ‘the special details of Abélard’s -heresy,’ and it is therefore the more strange that he should join -the Bernardists in straining the historical evidence. Yet he is -probably nearer to the truth than the others in his interpretation of -Bernard’s words. Even modern writers are too apt at times to follow -the practice of the Church, in judging a statement or an action, and -put it into one or other of their rigid objective categories. In such -cases as this we need a very careful psychological analysis, and -are prone to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[p. 195]</span> -misled by the Church’s objective moral boxes or classifications. Most -probably Bernard wrote in that convenient vagueness of mind which -sometimes helps even a saint out of a difficulty, especially where -the honour of the Church is involved, and which is accompanied by -just a suspicion of ethical discomfort.</p> - -<p>In reality, we may, with all sobriety, reverse Mr. Morison’s -statement, and say it is ‘not far short of impossible’ that Bernard -was ignorant of, or indifferent to, Abélard’s activity at that time. -Ten years previously, when Bernard led his little band of white-robed -monks to their wretched barn in the Vale of Bitterness, he went to -Châlons to be consecrated by William of Champeaux. William conceived -a very strong affection for the young abbot, and he shortly after -nursed him through a long and severe illness. So great was their -intimacy and so frequent their intercourse that people said Châlons -and Clairvaux had changed places. This began only twelve months -after William had been driven from Paris, in intense anger, by the -heretical upstart, Peter Abélard. Again, Alberic was another of -Bernard’s intimate friends. A year or two before Abélard founded the -Paraclete—that is to say,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[p. -196]</span> about the time of the Council of Soissons—we find Bernard -‘imploring’ (so even Duchesne puts it) the Pope to appoint Alberic -to the vacant see of Châlons after the death of William. He failed -to obtain it, but afterwards secured for him the archbishopric of -Bourges. Anselm of Laon was also a friend of Bernard’s. Moreover, -Clairvaux was only about forty miles from Troyes, where Abélard’s -latest feat was the supreme topic.</p> - -<p>It is thus quite impossible for any but a prejudiced apologist -to question Bernard’s interest in the life of the Paraclete and its -founder. Even were he not the heresy-hunter and universal reformer -that he notoriously was, we should be compelled to think that he -had heard all the worst charges against Abélard over and over -again before 1124. To conceive Bernard as entombed in his abbey, -indifferent to everything in this world except the grave, is the -reverse of the truth. Bernard had a very profound belief in what -some theologians call ‘the law of secondary causes’—God does not do -directly what he may accomplish by means of human instruments. Prayer -was necessary; but so were vigilance, diplomacy, much running to and -fro, and a vast correspondence. He watched the Church of God<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[p. 197]</span> with the fiery zeal -of a St. Paul. He knew everything and everybody: smote archbishops -and kings as freely as his own monks: hunted down every heretic -that appeared in France in his day: played even a large part in the -politics of Rome. And we are to suppose that such a man was ignorant -of the presence of the gay, rationalistic colony a few leagues away -from his abbey, and of the unique character and profound importance -to the Church of that vast concourse of youths; or that he refrained -from examining the teaching of this man who had an unprecedented -influence over the youth of France, or from using the fulness of his -power against him when he found that his teaching was the reverse of -all he held sacred and salutary.</p> - -<p>We may take Abélard’s statement literally. Bernard and Norbert -were doing the work of his rivals, and were doing it effectively. -They who had supported him at Soissons or afterwards were being -poisoned against him. Count Theobald and Geoffrey of Chartres are -probably two whom he had in mind. He feels that the net is being -drawn close about him through the calumnies of these ubiquitous monks -and canons. The peace of the valley is broken; he becomes<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[p. 198]</span> morbidly sensitive -and timorous. Whenever he hears that some synod or conventicle has -been summoned he trembles with anxiety and expectation of another -Soissons. The awful torture of that hour before the council comes -back to him, and mingles with the thought of the power of his new -enemies. He must fly from France.</p> - -<p>Away to the south, over the Pyrenees, was a land where the poor -monk would have found peace, justice, and honour. Spain was just then -affording ‘glory to God in heaven, and peace to men of good-will on -earth’: it had been snatched from the dominion of Christianity for a -century or two. So tolerant and beneficent was the reign of the Moors -that even the Jews, crushed, as they were, by seven centuries of -persecution, developed their finest powers under it. They were found -in the front rank of every art and science; in every field where, not -cunning and astuteness, but talent of the highest order and industry, -were needed to command success. The Moors had happily degenerated -from the fierce proselytism of their religious prophet—whilst the -Christians had proportionately enlarged on that of theirs—and their -human character was asserting the high natural ideal which it always -does<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[p. 199]</span> when it -breaks away from the confining bonds of a narrow dogma.</p> - -<p>It was towards this land that Abélard turned his thoughts. It -seemed useless for him to exchange one Christian land for another. -A few years before, a small group of French monks had created a -centre of education in a humble barn on the banks of the Cam; but -was England more tolerant than France? He remembered Roscelin’s -experience. There were famous schools in Italy; but some of his most -brilliant pupils at the Paraclete, such as Arnold of Brescia, had -little good to say of Italy. The evil lay in Christianity itself—in -that intolerance which its high claim naturally engendered.</p> - -<p>One does not like to accept too easily this romantic proposal -to find refuge under the protection of the crescent, yet Abélard’s -words compel us to do so. ‘God knows,’ he says, ‘that at times I fell -into so deep a despair that I proposed to go forth from Christendom -and betake me to the heathens ... to live a Christian life amid the -enemies of Christ.’ Possibly he would have done so, if he had had a -better knowledge of Spain at that time. The Arabs of Spain were no -enemies of Christ. Only a most perverse idea<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_200">[p. 200]</span> of their state could make an able -thinker and teacher thus regard a life amongst them as a matter -of ultimate and desperate resort. Had they but conquered Europe, -materially or morally, half the problems that still harass it—or -ought to do—would have been solved long ago. It is pathetic to find -Abélard speculating whether the hatred of the Christians for him will -not make his path easier to the favour of the Arabs, by producing in -them an impression that he had been unfaithful to Christian dogma. -The caliphs could keep a watchful eye on the thoughts of professed -Mohammedan philosophers, but they cared little about the theories -of others. Abélard, with his pronounced tendency to concentrate on -natural-religious and ethical truths, would have found an honoured -place in Spain; and he would quickly have buried his dogmas there.</p> - -<p>Abélard was spared the trial of so desperate and dreadful a -secession. Far away on the coast of Brittany an abbot died in 1125, -and Abélard’s evil genius put it into the hearts of the monks to -offer the vacant dignity to the famous teacher. They sent some of -their number to see him at the Paraclete. It seemed a providential -outlet from his intolerable position. There were abbeys<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[p. 201]</span> and abbeys, it was -true, but his Breton optimism and trust in fate closed that avenue of -speculation. Conon, Duke of Brittany, had agreed to his installation. -Suger made no opposition; he probably saw the net that was being -drawn about him in France. Abélard turned sadly away from the vale of -the Paraclete and the devoted colony, and faced the mists of the west -and of the future. ‘I came not to bring peace into the world but the -sword.’</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[p. 202]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER X - THE TRIALS OF AN ABBOT">CHAPTER X</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE TRIALS OF AN ABBOT</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">Abélard</span> had, of course, -committed another serious blunder in accepting the proffered -‘dignity.’ There was an error on both sides, as there had been in -his first fatal assumption of the cowl; though on this occasion the -pressure behind him was greater, the alternative less clear, and -the prospect at least uncertain. It will be remembered that Abélard -probably studied at Locmenach in his early years. This was a branch -monastery of the ancient abbey of St. Gildas at Rhuys, on the coast; -and it is not impossible that some recollection of the monks of -Locmenach entered into his decision to become abbot of St. Gildas. -There were probably few abbeys in France at the time which were -sufficiently moral and earnest in their life to offer a congenial -home to this man who is held up to the blushes of the ages as a -sinner, and of whom the Church only speaks in<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_203">[p. 203]</span> the low and solemn tone that befits a -great scandal. If Abélard’s first and chief misfortune is that he was -a Christian, his second is that he was a monk.</p> - -<p>The abbey of St. Gildas had reached the last stage of monastic -decay. The monks did not accept presents of pretty maid-servants, -nor receive fine lady visitors in their abbey, like the monks of St. -Denis; nor were they eager to have a nunnery of sisters in religion -close at hand, like the cloistered canons. Theirs was not a case for -the application of the words of Erasmus: ‘Vocantur “patres”—et saepe -sunt.’ Each monk had a respectable wife and family on the monastic -estate. The outlying farms and cottages were colonised with the women -and the little monklings; there was no cemetery of infant bones at -or near St. Gildas. Their monasticism consisted in the discharge of -their formal religious exercises in church and choir—the chant of the -Mass and of the breviary. And when the monk had done his day’s work -of seven or eight hours’ chanting, he would retire, like every other -Christian, to the bosom of his family. The half-civilised Celtic -population of the district were quite content with this version of -their duty, and did not refuse them the customary sustenance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[p. 204]</span></p> - -<p>Abélard’s horror on discovering this state of things was equalled -by the surprise of the monks when they discovered his Quixotic ideas -of monastic life. They only knew Abélard as the amorous troubadour, -the teacher who attracted crowds of gay and wealthy scholars wherever -he went, the object of the bitter hostility of the monastic reformers -whom they detested. It was the Bernardist or Norbertian Abélard whom -they had chosen for their abbot. Surprise quickly turned to disgust -when the new abbot lectured them in chapter—as a sexless ascetic -could so well do—on the beauty of continence and the Rule of St. -Benedict. They were rough, ignorant, violent men, and they soon made -it clear that reform was hopelessly out of the question.</p> - -<p>The very locality proved an affliction. He had exchanged the -gentle beauty and the mild climate of the valley of the Seine for a -wild, bleak, storm-swept sea-shore. The abbey was built on a small -promontory that ran out into the Bay of Biscay, a few leagues to the -south of Vannes. It was perched on the edge of the steep granite -cliffs, and Abélard’s very pen seems to shudder as he writes of the -constant roar of the waves at the foot of the rocks and the sweep of -the ocean winds.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[p. 205]</span> -Behind them stretched a long series of sand-hills. They occupied a -scarcely gracious interval between desolation and desolation. For -Abélard was not of the temperament to appreciate the grandeur of an -ever-restless ocean or to assimilate the strength that is borne on -its winds. He was sadly troubled. Here he had fled, he says, to the -very end of the earth, the storm-tossed ocean barring his further -retreat, yet he finds the world no less repulsive and cruel.</p> - -<p>In the character of abbot, Abélard was at liberty to seek what -consolation he could outside his abbey. He soon found that there -was none to be had in the vicinity of Rhuys. ‘The whole barbarous -population of the land was similarly lawless and undisciplined,’ -he says; that seems to include such other monks and priests as the -locality contained. Even their language was unintelligible to him, -he complains; for, although he was a Breton, his ear would only -be accustomed to Latin and to Romance French, which would differ -considerably from the Celtic Bas-Breton. Whether the lord of the -district was equally wild—as seems most probable—or no, the way to -his château was barred by another difficulty. He was considered -the bitter enemy of the abbey, for he had ‘annexed’ the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[p. 206]</span> lands that belonged by -right to the monks. Moreover he exacted a heavy tribute from them. -They were frequently without food, and wandered about stealing all -they could lay their hands on for the support of their wives and -families. They violently urged Abélard to fight for their rights and -find food for them, instead of giving them his ethereal discourses. -And the abbot succeeded just far enough to embitter the usurper -against him, without obtaining much for his lawless monks. He -found himself in a new dilemma. If he remained in the abbey he was -assailed all day by the hungry clamour and the brutal violence of his -‘subjects’; if he went abroad the tyrannical lord threatened to have -him done to death by his armed retainers.</p> - -<p>For three or four years Abélard sustained this miserable -existence almost without alleviation. In 1129, however, an event -occurred which, evil as it looked at the moment, proved a source of -considerable happiness to him for some years.</p> - -<p>Abbot Suger, the cowled warrior and statesman, had become -monastic reformer after his conversion. The circumstance proved more -lucrative to St. Denis than would be thought. In his <i>De rebus a se -gestis</i>, Suger writes at great length of the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_207">[p. 207]</span> additional possessions he secured for -the abbey, and amongst these is enumerated the nunnery of St. Mary -at Argenteuil. He was not only a rigid disciplinarian, but he had an -unusual acquaintance with ancient records. Many of his early years at -St. Denis had been spent in the <i>archivium</i>, in diligent scrutiny of -deeds and documents relating to the earlier history of the abbey. One -day when he was absorbed in this study he hit upon a document from -which it seemed possible to prove that the convent of the Benedictine -nuns at Argenteuil, two or three miles away, belonged to the monks -of St. Denis. It was a complicated question, the nuns dating their -possession from the time of Charlemagne. But when Suger became abbot -of St. Denis himself, and eager to employ his political ability and -influence in the service of the abbey, he recollected, along with -others, the document relating to the nunnery. When, moreover, he had -been converted, he was able to see the licentiousness of the nuns of -Argenteuil, and make it a pretext for asserting the rights of his -abbey.</p> - -<p>In 1127, he states in his Life, he obtained from Honorius -<small>II.</small> a bull which was supposed to legalise his -seizure of the convent: ‘both in justice to<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_208">[p. 208]</span> ourselves and on account of the -enormity of life of the nuns who were established there, he restored -the place to us with its dependencies, so that the religious life -might be re-instituted in it.’ In his <i>Vita Ludovici Grossi</i> he also -lays stress on the ‘foul enormity’ of life in the nunnery.</p> - -<p>How far we may accept the strong language of the enterprising -abbot it would be difficult to say. Honorius, who would be flattered -by the request to pronounce on the domestics difficulties of the -Church of France, would certainly not be over-exacting in the matter -of proof. Still, he sent a legate, the Bishop of Albano, and directed -him to hold an inquiry into the affair, together with the Archbishop -of Rheims and the Bishops of Paris, Chartres, and Soissons. The -name of Geoffrey of Chartres is a guarantee that the inquiry was -more than a mere cloak to cover the sanctioning of a questionable -act. Although, we must remember, Suger does not quote their words -in the above passage, they must have decided that his charge was -substantially founded. The nuns were turned out of their convent a -few months afterwards.</p> - -<p>The asserted corruption of the nunnery is quite in accord -with what we know of the period from<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_209">[p. 209]</span> other sources. We have already quoted -Jacques de Vitry’s observation that none of the convents of the time, -except those of the Cistercians (his own order), were fit places for -an honest woman; and he describes the ‘thousand tricks and wicked -artifices’ by which respectable dames were sometimes induced to enter -them. The same Vandyke-like painter of the morals of the twelfth -century elsewhere passes a comprehensive sentence on the convents of -canonesses. Nor was this the first Parisian nunnery to be suppressed -in the twelfth century. There was until 1107 a convent of Benedictine -nuns on the island, on the site of the present Rue Calende. It was -close to the royal palace; and the relations of the nuns to the -nobles of the court had become so notorious that Bishop Galo had -to intervene and put the good sisters on the street. One has only -to read Abélard’s sermon on ‘Susannah’ (delivered to an exemplary -community of nuns) to realise the condition of the average nunnery at -that time.</p> - -<p>Heloise was prioress of the convent of Argenteuil. This is, -indeed, the only circumstance that need make us hesitate to accept -Suger’s words at their literal value. The Heloise of those writers -who have but touched the love-romance of the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_210">[p. 210]</span> famous couple, without entering into a -deeper study of their characters, is pitifully inadequate. She had -all the passion that poetic or decadent admirer has ever given her; -she had that freer, because narrower, view of the love-relation, -which only regarded her own particular and exceptional case, and did -not extend to the thousand cases on which the broad law of matrimony -is based; and she retained her ardent love and her particularist -view throughout long years of conventual life. We may examine this -more directly in the next chapter. For the moment it reveals, when -it is taken in conjunction with that integrity and altitude of life -which none can hesitate to assign her, a strength and elevation of -character which are frequently obscured by the mere admirers of her -passion. We know nothing whatever of the eight or nine miserable -years of her life at Argenteuil; but as soon as she does emerge into -the light of history (in 1130) she is found to be of an elevated -and commanding character. She was prior, not abbess, at Argenteuil. -When she became abbess, her community became a centre of light in -France.</p> - -<p>Still, Heloise shared the fate of her sisters, if she had -not shared their sin; in fact, we may<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_211">[p. 211]</span> see a protest against their life in her -refusal to follow them to a new home. Suger had been directed to find -a nunnery which would receive the evicted sisters, and most of them -had gone to St. Mary of Footel. Heloise had not accompanied them, -and she was still without a canonical home in 1129, when the news of -these events reached the distant abbey of St. Gildas.</p> - -<p>The finest and supreme test of love is to purge it of the last -subtle admixture of sexual feeling and then measure its strength. As -a rule this is wholly impracticable—Mr. W. Platt has a remarkable -paper on the subject in his <i>Women, Love, and Life</i>—but in the -case of Abélard the test was applied in supreme rigour, and with a -satisfactory issue. There was indeed another consideration impelling -Abélard, when he sought out his nun-wife. The desertion of the -Paraclete had cost him many a heavy thought. The little estate was -still his legal property, but it was insufficient to support a -priest and companion at the oratory. He would assuage both anxieties -by installing Heloise and such companions as she chose in his old -home. But the course of the story will reveal more clearly the -deep affection he had for Heloise. It was<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_212">[p. 212]</span> faithfulness to the views he held since -his conversion, faithfulness to the ideal of the best men of the -time, as well as a dread of the ever ready tongue of the calumniator, -that separated him so long and so sternly from her.</p> - -<p>In 1129, therefore, the year in which the plague ravaged Paris, -Abélard revisited the quiet valley of the Arduzon. Thither he invited -Heloise and some of her companions, to whom he made over the legal -possession of the estate. Poor Heloise must have been disappointed. -The ardour which she reveals in her letters was evidently met by a -great restraint and formality on his side. He was severely correct -in the necessary intercourse with his ‘sisters in religion.’ Later -events showed that, ridiculous as it may well seem, he had good -reason for this deference to detractors. However, Heloise soon won -universal regard and affection in Champagne. ‘The bishops came to -love her as a daughter,’ says Abélard, ‘the abbots as a sister, -and the laity as a mother.’ They lived in deep poverty and some -anxiety at first, but nobles and prelates soon added generously to -the resources of the new foundation. Noble dames, too, brought rich -dowries with them in coming to ask for the veil<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_213">[p. 213]</span> in Heloise’s respected community. The -priory grew rapidly in importance and good repute.</p> - -<p>In 1131 Abélard sought a further favour for the new foundation, -in having Heloise raised to the dignity of abbess. Innocent -<small>II.</small> was making a journey through France, and lavishing -favours (when they cost him nothing) generously and gratuitously -on all sides, behaving in a manner that departed widely from papal -traditions. It was the second year of the great papal schism, and, -Anacletus having bought or otherwise secured Rome, through his -family, the Pierleoni, Innocent was making a successful bid for -France, where exception was taken to Pierleone’s Jewish strain. -Passing from Chartres to Liége, on his way to meet Lothair of Saxony, -Innocent spent a day or two at the Benedictine abbey of Morigni. -Abélard joined the crowd of prelates who assembled there to do -homage to the pope, and he obtained the promise of a bull (which -was duly sent), conferring the dignity of abbess on Heloise, and -securing to her and her successors the full canonical rights of -their abbey. Abélard seems to have been received with distinction -by the papal court. The chronicle of Morigni mentions the presence -of the Abbot of St. Gildas,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[p. -214]</span> and adds: ‘the most distinguished teacher and master -in the schools, to whom lovers of learning flocked from almost the -whole of Christendom.’ Later, too, Abélard boasts (so says Bernard) -of his friends amongst the Roman cardinals; it must have been during -the stay of the papal court at Morigni that he met them. Another -noteworthy personage whom Abélard met there was St. Bernard. We have -no details about this first meeting of the two great antagonists, but -their names occur side by side in the chronicle as those of the most -eminent teacher and the most distinguished preacher in France.</p> - -<p>In the increasing bitterness of life at St. Gildas Abélard now -naturally sought consolation in the new abbey of the Paraclete. His -relation to Heloise personally remained marked by a reserve which -hurt her, but his visits to the abbey became more frequent and -prolonged. It appears that this loosened the tongues of some foolish -people, and Abélard took up the accusation, or insinuation, with -his usual gravity. His apology is often described as ‘ridiculous’ -and ‘painful’; and one certainly cannot take very seriously his -dissertation on Origen’s misdeed and the Oriental custom of -eunuch-guardians. More interesting is the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_215">[p. 215]</span> second part, in which he urges many -precedents of the familiarity of saintly men with women. His -favourite saint, Jerome, afforded a conspicuous illustration; and -others were not wanting. It is too early in the history of theology -to find the example of Christ adduced. A modern apologist could -greatly extend the list, beginning with Francis of Assisi (and -Clare) and ending with Francis de Sales (and Madame de Chantal). -Perhaps Abélard’s own case is the clearest proof that even masked -sexual feeling may be entirely absent from such attachments. Those -who care to analyse them will probably find the greater refinement, -gentleness, sympathy, and admiration of women to be quite adequate to -explain such saintly intimacies, without any subtle research into the -psychology of sex. However, the complaint seems to have moderated the -abbot’s fervour for a time; and indeed events soon became absorbingly -interesting at St. Gildas.</p> - -<p>The frequent journeys to Champagne increased the bitterness of his -monks. Then he had a serious accident, nearly breaking his neck in a -fall from his horse. When he recovered, he found that his monks had -entered upon a most dangerous stage of conspiracy. The accident<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[p. 216]</span> seems to have suggested -an idea to them, and they determined to rid themselves of an abbot -who was worse than useless. They even put poison in the wine which -he was to use in the Mass one morning, but he discovered the fact -in time. On another occasion he had an adventure which may have -suggested an important incident in M. Zola’s <i>Rome</i>. He had gone to -Nantes to visit the count in an illness, and was staying with his -brother Dagobert, who was a canon in the cathedral. When the time -came for the abbot and his monastic companion to sup, Abélard had, -providentially, lost his appetite—or suspected something. The monk -supped—and died. As Abélard’s servant disappeared after the meal, -it was natural to suppose that he had been paid by the ferocious -monks to poison their abbot. ‘How many times did they try to do away -with me by poison!’ he exclaimed. But he lived apart from them, and -succeeded in frustrating the attempt. Then they hired robbers to -apply their professional skill to the task. Whenever the monks heard -that he was going anywhere, they planted a few cut-throats on the -route.</p> - -<p>Abélard had no great love for this Dionysiac existence, -and he resolved to make a bold effort<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_217">[p. 217]</span> at reform. He summoned the monks in -solemn chapter, and hurled the sentence of excommunication at the -leaders of the revolt. It sat more lightly on their shoulders than -the abbot anticipated, and he proceeded to call in the help of a -papal legate. The Duke of Brittany and several neighbouring bishops -were invited to the function, and the sentence of excommunication -and expulsion from the abbey was repeated with impressive ceremony. -The chief rebels were thus restricted to following the abbot’s -movements without—in company, apparently, of the hired assassins -of the monks and the equally dangerous servants of the lord of the -manor—and Abélard devoted his attention to reforming the remainder of -the community. But the old abbey was past redemption. ‘The remaining -monks began to talk, not of poison, but of cutting my throat,’ he -says. The circle of knives was drawing closer upon him, within and -without, and he saw that it would be impossible to guard his life -much longer. He gave up the struggle, and fled from the abbey. -There is a local tradition which tells of a secret flight by night -through a subterranean passage leading down to the sea. Abélard -at least intimates there was little dignity in his retire<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[p. 218]</span>ment, when he says: -‘under the guidance of a certain noble of the district I succeeded, -with great difficulty, in escaping from the abbey.’</p> - -<p>Where Abélard found refuge from his murderous ‘sons,’ and where -he spent the next three or four years, it is difficult to say. He -probably moved from place to place, generally remaining in the -neighbourhood of Rhuys, but occasionally journeying to Champagne -or accepting an invitation to preach at some special festival. The -‘certain noble’—an uncertain one, as the phrase usually implies—would -be likely to give him immediate hospitality; and the Count of Nantes -was friendly, and would find Abélard a graceful addition at his -board. Then there was the family château at Pallet, and the house -of his brother Dagobert at Nantes. We seem to find Abélard’s boy, -Astrolabe, under the care of this brother later on. Abélard would at -all events see much of him, and assist in educating him, either at -Pallet or Nantes. The son had, apparently, not inherited the gifts of -his parents. An obscure mention of his death in a later <i>necrologium</i> -merely indicates the close of a correct but ordinary ecclesiastical -career.</p> - -<p>But though Abélard lacked neither wealth, nor<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[p. 219]</span> honour, nor home, he -speaks of his condition as a very pitiable one. Deutsch has hazarded -the conjecture that the monks of St. Gildas really desired an abbot -who would be generally absent. It seems rather that they wanted -an abbot who would share their comfortable theory of life and at -the same time have influence to enrich the abbey, discontinue the -paying of tribute, and induce a higher authority to restrain their -tyrannical neighbours. They were therefore naturally inflamed when -Abélard deserted the immediate concerns of the abbey, yet remained -near enough to secure his revenue out of its income. He retained his -title (we find no successor appointed until after his death), and as -he speaks of wealth, we must suppose that he somehow continued to -obtain his income. The Count of Nantes would probably support his -cause as long as he remained in Brittany. But, at the same time, -this detained him in the constant danger of assassination. Wherever -he went, he apprehended bribery and corruption, poison and poniards. -‘My misery grew with my wealth,’ he says, and ‘I find no place where -I may rest or live.’ His classical reading promptly suggests the -parallel of Damocles.</p> - -<p>It was in these circumstances that Abélard wrote<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[p. 220]</span> the famous letter which -he entitled the ‘Story of my Calamities.’ The passage I have just -quoted occurs in its closing paragraph. It is an invaluable document -for the purpose of the great master’s biography. Without it, the life -of Abélard would occupy only a score of pages. His contemporaries -had numbers of monastic followers and admirers who were eager to -write their deeds in letters of gold. The little band of friends who -stood around Abélard in his final struggle were scattered, cowed, -or murdered, by triumphant Bernardism. At the mention of Bernard’s -name Christendom crossed itself and raised its eyes to the clouds: -at the mention of the ‘Peripatetic of Pallet’ it closed its pious -lips, forgetful, or ignorant, of the twenty years of profound sorrow -for the one grave delinquency of his life. If the sins of youth are -to leave an indelible stain, one is forced to recall that Augustine -had been a greater sinner, and that the Canon of the Church contains -the names of converted prostitutes, such as Mary of Magdala and -Mary Magdalene of Pazzi. It may be thought by some Catholics that, -in the uncertainty of human judgment, there is a providential -criterion given in the working of miracles; but, once more, even the -fifth century only credited<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[p. -221]</span> St. Augustine with two miracles. And if intention to -serve the Church be all-important, Abélard has won high merit; or -if effective service to the Church, then is his merit the greater, -for the thirteenth century, in its construction of that theology -and philosophy which the Church even now deems sufficient for the -needs of the world, utterly rejected Bernardism, and borrowed its -foundation from Pierre Abélard.</p> - -<p>As a piece of literature the ‘Story’ lies under the disadvantage -of being written in degenerate Latin. With all his classical reading, -Abélard has not escaped the use of forms which gravely offend the -classical taste. Perhaps John of Salisbury is superior to him in -this respect; there have certainly been later theologians, such -as Petavius, who have far surpassed him. But, apart from this -limitation in form, it is as high above the many biographies and -autobiographies of his contemporaries as he himself was above most -of their writers. Abbot Suger’s autobiography is a piece of vulgar -and crude self-advertisement beside it. It has not the mere chance -immortality which honours such works as that of Suger, and which is -wholly due to the zeal of the modern collector of ancient documents; -it has the germ of immor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[p. -222]</span>tality within it—the same soul that lives in the -<i>Confessions</i> of Augustine: those who understand that soul will not -add the <i>Confession</i> of Rousseau. And the confession of Abélard has -this singular feature: it is written by a man to whom the former -sinful self is dead in a way which was impossible to Augustine. That -feature implies both advantages and disadvantages, but it at least -gives a unique value and interest to the document.</p> - -<p>We have throughout relied on and quoted this autobiography, so -that an analysis of its contents would be superfluous. There remains, -however, the interesting question of Abélard’s motive for writing -it. It is ostensibly written as a letter, addressed to a friend who -is in trouble, and merely intended to give him some consolation by a -comparison of the sorrows of Abélard. No one will seriously question -that this is only a rhetorical artifice. Probably it reached such -a friend, but it was obviously written for ‘publication.’ In its -sincere acknowledgment of whatever fault lay on his conscience, -only striving to excuse where the intention was clearly good, that -is, in the matter of his theological opinions, the letter must be -regarded as a conciliatory document. Not only<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_223">[p. 223]</span> its elaborate construction, but its -care in explaining how guiltless he was in the making of most of -his enemies—Anselm, Alberic, Norbert, Bernard, and the monks of St. -Denis and St. Gildas—impel us to think that it was intended for -circulation in France. In a few years we shall find him in Paris once -more. Deutsch believes that the ‘Story’ was written and circulated to -prepare the way for his return, and this seems very probable. From -‘the ends of the earth’ his thoughts and hopes were being redirected -towards Paris; it had availed him nothing to fly from it. But there -were calumnious versions abroad of every step in his eventful life, -and even Bernard sneered at his experience at St. Gildas. He would -make an effort to regain the affection of some of his old friends, or -to create new admirers.</p> - -<p>Whatever may have been the aim of Abélard in writing his ‘Story,’ -it had one immediate consequence of the first literary importance. -Great of itself, it evoked a correspondence which is unique in the -literature of the world. It fell into the hands of Abbess Heloise, -and led to the writing of her famous <i>Letters</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[p. 224]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER XI - THE LETTERS OF ABÉLARD AND HELOISE">CHAPTER XI</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE LETTERS OF ABÉLARD AND HELOISE</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> true interest of the -correspondence between the abbot husband and the abbess wife, which -resulted from the publication of the ‘Story of my Calamities,’ -needs to be pointed out afresh at the beginning of the twentieth -century. It has been obscured through the eagerness of historians -to indicate parallels and the tendency of poets and romancers to -isolate features which appeal to them. During the eighteenth century -the famous letters were made familiar to English readers by a number -of translations from the French or from the original Latin. Even -then there was a tendency to read them apart from the lives of -the writers, or at least without an adequate preliminary study of -their characters and their fortunes. Those translations are read -no longer. Apart from the limited number of readers who have<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[p. 225]</span> appreciated the -excellent French versions of Madame Guizot and M. Gréard, an idea is -formed of the letters and their writers from a few ardent fragments, -which are misleading in their isolation, and from the transference -of the names ‘Abélard’ and ‘Heloise’ to more recent characters of -history or romance. The letters must be read anew in the light of our -augmented knowledge and of the juster psychological analysis which it -has made possible.</p> - -<p>There are those whose sole knowledge of Heloise is derived from -the reading of Pope’s well-known poem, which is taken to be a -metrical exposition of her first letter. With such an impression, -and a few broad outlines of the life of the lovers, one is well -prepared to accept the assertion of a parallel with the <i>Portuguese -Letters</i> and other of the <i>lettres amoureuses</i> which were so dear -to the eighteenth century. Probably few who compare Pope with the -original, or indeed read him without comparison, will agree with -Hallam that he has put ‘the sentiments of a coarse and abandoned -woman into her mouth.’ Johnson found ‘no crudeness of sense, no -asperity of language’ in Pope’s poem. Yet no one who has carefully -read the original will fail to perceive<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_226">[p. 226]</span> that Pope has given a greatly distorted -version of it. French versifiers found it ‘un amusement littéraire et -galant,’ as has been said of Bussy-Rabutin’s version, to isolate the -element of passion in the finer soul of Heloise, and thus present her -as a twelfth-century Marianne Alcoforado. Pope has yielded somewhat -to the same spirit. He does indeed introduce the intellectual -judgment and the complex ethical feeling of Heloise in his poem, but -he alters the proportions of the psychic elements in her letter, and -prepares the way for a false estimate. Pope’s <i>Heloise</i> is framed -in the eighteenth century as naturally as the real <i>Heloise</i> is in -the twelfth. Still, it must be remembered that Pope did not write -from the original Latin letters. He evidently used some of the -so-called ‘translations,’ but really paraphrases, of his time.<a -id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p> - -<p>The charge must also be laid, though with less insistence, -against the parallels which some writers<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_227">[p. 227]</span> have discovered, or invented, for -Heloise. The most famous are the <i>Portuguese Letters</i>, a series of -singularly ardent love-letters from a Portuguese nun to a French -noble. The correspondents are said to have been Marianne Alcoforado -and M. de Chamilly—to look at whom, said St. Simon, you would never -have thought him the soul of the <i>Portuguese Letters</i>. He was -neither talented nor handsome, and his liaison with the nun seems to -have been no more than the usual temporary incident in a soldier’s -life. When he returned to France she wrote the letters which are so -frequently associated with those of Heloise. It is an unworthy and -a superficial comparison. There is a ground for comparison in the -condition of the writer and in the free and vivid expression of a -consuming love, but they are separated by profound differences. The -Portuguese nun has nothing but her love; her life is being consumed -in one flame of passion. Heloise is never so wholly lost in her -passion; she can regard it objectively. Even were Abélard other -than he was at the time, no one who knows Heloise could conceive -her, after her vows, to say, ‘if it were possible for me to get -out of this miserable cloister, I should not wait in Portugal for -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[p. 228]</span> fulfilment -of your promise,’ or imagine her, under any conditions, to talk -lightheartedly to her lover of ‘the languid pleasures your French -mistresses give you,’ and remind him that he only sought in her ‘un -plaisir grossier.’ There is not a word, in any of the <i>Portuguese -Letters</i>, of God, of religious vows, of any thought or feeling above -the plane of sense, of any appreciation of the literal sacrilege -of her position, of anything but a wilful abandonment to a violent -passion.</p> - -<p>There are the same defects, though they are less obtrusive, in the -parallel which Rousseau claimed in giving the title of the <i>Nouvelle -Heloïse</i> to his Savoyard letters. The accidental resemblance of the -religious costume is wanting here, but, on the other hand, there is -a greater show of character. Rousseau has confused the Heloise of -1117 and the abbess of the letters. From another point of view, one -would like to know what Bussy-Rabutin or Colardeau would have thought -of the <i>Nouvelle Heloïse</i> as the expression of an absorbing passion. -Rousseau, who held that the <i>Portuguese Letters</i> had been written by -a man, was of the singular opinion that no woman could describe, or -even feel, love. The letters<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[p. -229]</span> of his Julie are pale fires beside the first and -second letters of Heloise.<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" -class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> - -<p>In direct opposition to the writers who find parallels for the -correspondence of abbess and abbot we have a few critics who deny or -doubt the authenticity of the letters. It is significant that the -recent and critical German biographers of Abélard do not even mention -these doubts. They have, in truth, the slenderest of foundations. -Lalanne, who has endeavoured to spread this heresy in faithful -France, can say little more than that he cannot reconcile the tone -of the letters with the age and condition of the writers; he also -says that Abélard would be hardly likely to preserve such letters -had he received them from his wife. Orelli has tried to sow similar -doubts in the apparently more promising soil of German culture, but -with no greater success. If it seems incredible that Heloise should -have penned the letters which bear her name, how shall we qualify the -supposition that there lived, some time within<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_230">[p. 230]</span> the following century, a genius capable -of creating them, yet utterly unknown to his contemporaries? If -they are the work of some admirer of Abélard, as Orelli thinks, -they reveal a higher literary competency than Rousseau shows in his -<i>Nouvelle Heloïse</i>. We are asked to reject a wonder in the name of -a greater wonder. Moreover, an admirer of Abélard would not have -written the letters which bear his name in a style that has won -for him anything but the admiration of posterity. And it is quite -impossible to admit one series of the letters without the other.</p> - -<p>Setting apart the letters of Abélard, which it is idle to question -in themselves, it must be admitted that there are features in the -letters of Heloise which are startling to the modern mind. These -are the features on which her romantic admirers have concentrated; -they will appear in due course. But when one evades the pressure -of modern associations, and considers the correspondence in its -twelfth-century setting, there is no inherent improbability in -it. Rather the reverse. As to the publication of letters in which -husband and wife had written the most sacred confidences, we need -not suppose, as M. Gréard does, that Heloise ever intended such a -result,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[p. 231]</span> or built -up her notes into letters for that purpose. Nothing compels us to -think that they were brought together until years after the writers -had been laid in a common tomb. There are obvious interpolations, -it is true, but we shall only increase the difficulty—nay, we shall -create a difficulty—if we look upon the most extraordinary passages -in the letters as coming from any other source than the heart of an -impassioned lover.</p> - -<p>As regards what a logician would call the external difficulty—that -we cannot trace the letters further back than the middle of the -thirteenth century—it need not discompose us. The conditions which -make a negative argument of that character valid are not present -here. Abélard had been condemned and his party scattered. There are -no writers to whom we should look for allusions to the letters before -Guillaume de Lorris and Jehan le Meung manifestly introduce them in -the <i>Roman de la Rose</i>. Indeed this circumstance, and the fact that -the oldest manuscript we have dates from one hundred years after the -death of Heloise, incline one to think that she wished the treasure -to be preserved in a reverent privacy.</p> - -<p>To give any large proportion of the letters<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_232">[p. 232]</span> here would be impossible, yet we -must give such extracts from them as may serve in the task of -reconstructing character. It was an age when the practice, if not -the art, of letter-writing greatly flourished. St. Bernard’s letters -form a portly and a remarkable volume. The chroniclers of the time -have preserved an immense number of the Latin epistles which busy -couriers bore over the land. One is prepared, therefore, to find -much formality, much attention to the rules and the conventional -graces of the epistolary art, even in the letters of Heloise. The -strong, impetuous spirit does at times break forth, in splendid -violence, from its self-imposed restraint, but we have, on the whole, -something very unlike the utter and unthinking outpouring of an -ebullient passion which is found in the letters of the Portuguese -nun. Arguments are rounded with quotations from classic writers; -dialectical forms are introduced here and there; a care for literary -manner and construction of the Latin periods is manifested. Bayle -says her Latin is ‘too frequently pedantic and subtile.’ It is, -at all events, much superior to the average Latinity of the time, -though, as in the case of Abélard, the characteristic defects of this -are not entirely avoided.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[p. 233]</span></p> - -<p>Some day, then, after his ‘Story’ had gone forth on its peaceful -mission into France, Abélard received a folded parchment in the once -familiar hand.</p> - -<p>‘To her lord, yea father: to her spouse, yea brother: from -his servant, yea daughter—his wife, his sister: to Abélard from -Heloise.’</p> - -<p>So ran the superscription, a curious effort to breathe life into -a formality of the day. Chance has brought to their abbey, she says, -a copy of the letter he has recently sent forth. The story of his -saddened life and of the dangers that yet multiply about him has -affected them so deeply that they are filled with anxiety for him. -‘In hourly anguish do our trembling hearts and heaving breasts await -the dread rumour of thy death. By Him who still extends to thee an -uncertain protection we implore thee to inform us, His servants and -thine, by frequent letter, of the course of the storms in which -thou art still tossed; so that thou mayst let us at least, who have -remained true to thee, share thy sorrow or thy joy. And if the -storm shall have abated somewhat, so much the more speedily do thou -send us an epistle which will bring so much joy to us.’ She invokes -the authority of Seneca on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[p. -234]</span> the epistolary duties of friends, and she has a holier -claim than that of friend, a stronger one than that of wife. ‘At thy -command I would change, not merely my costume, but my very soul, -so entirely art thou the sole possessor of my body and my spirit. -Never, God is my witness, never have I sought anything in thee but -thyself: I have sought thee, not thy gifts. I have not looked to the -marriage bond or dowry: I have not even yearned to satisfy my own -will and pleasure, but thine, as thou well knowest. The name of wife -may be the holier and more approved, but the name of friend—nay, -mistress or concubine, if thou wilt suffer it—has always been the -sweeter to me. For in thus humbling myself for thee, I should win -greater favour from thee, and do less injury to thy greatness. This -thou hast thyself not wholly forgotten, in the aforesaid letter thou -hast written for the consolation of a friend. Therein also thou hast -related some of the arguments with which I essayed to turn thee from -the thought of our unhappy wedlock, though thou hast omitted many in -which I set forth the advantage of love over matrimony, freedom over -bondage. God is my witness that if Augustus, the emperor of the whole -world, were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[p. 235]</span> to -honour me with the thought of wedlock, and yield me the empire of the -universe, I should deem it more precious and more honourable to be -thy mistress than to be the queen of a Cæsar.’</p> - -<p>She claims no merit for her devotion. Abélard’s greatness more -than justifies her seeming extravagance. ‘Who,’ she asks, going -back to his golden age, ‘who did not hasten forth to look as thou -didst walk abroad, or did not follow thee with outstretched neck and -staring eyes? What wife, what maid, did not yearn for thee? What -queen or noble dame was there who did not envy my fortune?’</p> - -<p>Yet she would ask this measure of gratitude from him, that he -write to her at times. He had never known refusal from her. ‘It was -not religious fervour that drew me to the rigour of the conventual -life, but thy command. How fruitlessly have I obeyed, if this gives -me no title to thy gratitude!... When thou didst hasten to dedicate -thyself to God I followed thee—nay, I went before thee. For, as if -mindful of the looking back of Lot’s wife, thou didst devote me to -God before thyself, by the sacred habit and vows of the monastery. -Indeed it was in this sole circumstance that I had the sorrow and -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[p. 236]</span> shame of -noting thy lack of confidence in me. God knows that I should not -have hesitated a moment to go before or to follow thee to the very -gates of hell, hadst thou commanded it. My soul was not my own but -thine.’</p> - -<p>Let him, therefore, make this small return of a letter to relieve -her anxiety. ‘In earlier days, when thou didst seek worldly pleasure -with me, thy letters were frequent enough; thy songs put the name of -Heloise on every lip. Every street, every house in the city, echoed -with my name. How juster would it be to lead me now to God than thou -then didst to pleasure! Think then, I beseech thee, how much thou -owest me. With this brief conclusion I terminate my long letter. -Farewell, beloved.’</p> - -<p>It is small wonder that the epistle placed Abélard in some -perplexity. True, the devoted Heloise had spoken throughout in the -past tense. But the ardour and the violence of her phrases betrayed -a present depth of emotion which he must regard with some dismay. -He had trusted that time and discipline would subdue the flame he -had enkindled, and here it was indirectly revealed to live still in -wondrous strength. He could not refuse to write, nor indeed would -such a neglect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[p. 237]</span> -profit anything; but he would send her a long letter of spiritual -direction, and endeavour to divert her meditations.</p> - -<p>‘To Heloise, his sister in Christ, from Abélard, her brother in -Him,’ was the characteristic opening of his reply. If he has not -written to her since her conversion, he says, it is not from neglect -nor want of affection, but from the thought that she needed neither -counsel nor consolation. She had been prioress at Argenteuil, the -consoler and instructor of others. Yet, ‘if it seems otherwise to thy -humility,’ he will certainly write her on any point she may suggest. -She has spoken of prayer, and so he diverges into a long dissertation -on the excellence of prayer, which fills nearly the whole of his -pages. On one or two occasions only does he approach that colloquy of -soul to soul, for which Heloise yearned so ardently. ‘We ourselves -are united not only by the sanctity of our oath, but also by the -identity of our religious profession. I will pass over your holy -community, in which the prayers of so many virgins and widows ever -mount up to God, and speak of thee thyself, whose holiness hath -much favour with God, I doubt not, and remind thee what thou owest -me, particularly in this grievous peril of<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_238">[p. 238]</span> mine. Do thou remember, then, in thy -prayers him who is so specially thine own.’ And when at length he -nears the end of his edifying treatise, he once more bares the heart -that still beats within him. If, he says, they hear before long that -he has fallen a victim to the plots of his enemies, or has by some -other chance laid down his burden of sorrow, he trusts they will have -his body brought to rest in their home, his own dear Paraclete, ‘for -there is no safer and more blessed spot for the rest of a sorrowing -soul.’</p> - -<p>The long letter is, on the whole, prudent and formal to a degree. -Yet it is not true that Abélard had nothing but coldness and prudence -to return to his wife’s devotion. It is quite obvious what Abélard -would conceive to be his duty in replying to Heloise. For her sake -and for his, for her happiness and his repute, he must moderate the -threatening fire. But that he had a true affection and sympathy for -her is made clear by the occasional failure of his pious resolution. -‘Sister, who wert once dear to me in the world and art now most dear -in Christ,’ he once exclaims parenthetically; and at other moments he -calls her ‘dearest sister,’ and even ‘beloved.’ When we remember the -gulf that now separated them,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[p. -239]</span> besides his obvious duty to guide her, we shall accept -the contrast of their letters without using harsh words of the -distracted abbot. But the pathos and the humanity of his closing -paragraph defeated his purpose, and the whole soul of the abbess -flames forth in her reply.</p> - -<p>It opens with a calm and somewhat artificial quarrel with the -superscription of his letter, but soon breaks out into strong -reproach for his talk of death. ‘How hast thou been able to frame -such thoughts, dearest?’ she asks; ‘how hast thou found words to -convey them?’ ‘Spare me, beloved,’ she says again: ‘talk not of death -until the dread angel comes near.’ Moreover, she and her nuns would -be too distracted with grief to pray over his corpse. Seneca and -Lucan are quoted to support her. Indeed she soon lapses into words -which the theologian would call blasphemous. She turns her face to -the heavens with that old, old cry, Where is Thy boasted justice? -They were untouched in the days of their sinful joy, but smitten with -a thousand sorrows as soon as their bed had the sacramental blessing. -‘Oh, if I dared but call God cruel to me! Oh, most wretched of all -creatures that I am!’ Women have ever been the ruin of men<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[p. 240]</span>—Adam, Solomon, -Samson, Job—she runs through the long category of man’s sneaking -accusations.</p> - -<p>She wishes she could make satisfaction to God for her sin, but, -‘if I must confess the true infirmity of my wretched soul, how can -I appease Him, when I am always accusing Him of the deepest cruelty -for this affliction?’ There is yet a further depth that she must -lay bare to her father confessor and her spouse. How can there be -question of penance ‘when the mind still retains the thought of -sinning, and is inflamed again with the old longing? So sweet did I -find the pleasures of our loving days, that I cannot bring myself to -reject them, nor banish them from my memory. Wheresoever I go they -thrust themselves upon my vision, and enkindle the old desire. Even -when I sleep they torment me with their fancied joy. Even during the -Mass, when our prayer should be purest, the dreadful vision of those -pleasures so haunts my soul that I am rather taken up with them than -with prayer. I ought to be lamenting what I have done; I am rather -lamenting what I miss. Not only our actions, but the places and the -times are so bound up with the thought of thee in my mind, that -night and day I am repeating all with thee in spirit. The move<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[p. 241]</span>ment of body reveals my -thoughts at times; they are betrayed in unguarded speech. Oh, woe is -me!... Not knowing my hypocrisy, people call me “chaste.” They deem -bodily integrity a virtue, whereas virtue resides in the mind, not -the body.’ Moreover, virtue should be practised out of love for God, -whereas ‘God knows that in every part of my life I have more dread of -offending thee than Him; I have a greater desire to please thee than -Him.’ Let him not deceive himself with trust in <i>her</i> prayers, but -rather help her to overcome herself. And the poor woman, the nobility -of her soul hidden from her and crushed under the appalling ethical -ignorance and perverse ordering of her times, ends with a plaintive -hope that she may yet, in spite of all, find some corner in heaven -that will save her from the abyss.</p> - -<p>We have here the passages which have made Heloise an heroine -in erotic circles for so many centuries. On these words, isolated -from their context of religious horror and self-accusation, -have Bussy-Rabutin, and Pope, and the rest, erected their gaudy -structures; on them is grounded the parallel with Marianne -Alcoforado, and Rousseau’s Julie, and so many other women<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[p. 242]</span> who have meditated sin. -Bayle has carried his Pyrrhonism so far as to doubt that ‘bodily -integrity’ which she claims for herself with so little boasting; -Chateaubriand, with broader and truer judgment, finds in the letter -the mirroring of the soul of a good woman.</p> - -<p>There can be little doubt that the optimism of Chateaubriand has -for once come nearer to the truth than the cynicism of Bayle. The -decadent admirers of Heloise forget three circumstances which should -have diminished their equivocal adoration: the letter is from a -wife to her husband, from a penitent to her spiritual guide—women -say such things every day in the confessional, even in this very -sensitive age—from a thoughtful woman to a man whom she knew to be -dead to every breath of sensual love. There is no parallel to such a -situation.</p> - -<p>Further, it is now obvious that the romancists have done injustice -to the soul of Heloise in their isolation of her impassioned -phrases. She objectifies her love: she is not wholly merged in it. -She never loses sight of its true position in her actual life. It -is an evil, a temptation, a torment—she would be free from it. Yet -she is too rational a thinker to turn to the easy theory of an<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[p. 243]</span> outward tempter. It -is part of herself, a true outgrowth of the nature God has given -her; and between the voice of nature and the voice of conscience, -complicated by the influence of conventual tradition and written law, -her soul is rent with a terrific struggle. A modern confessor with a -knowledge of physiology—there are a few such—could have led her into -paths of peace without difficulty. There was no sin in her.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to say that Abélard sails faultlessly through -these troubled waters, but his answer to her on this point is true -and sound in substance. ‘God grant that it be so in thy soul as thou -hast written,’ he says in his next letter. It is true that he is -chiefly regarding her humility, and that he does not shed the kindly -light of human wisdom on her soul which an earlier Abélard would -have done; yet we can imagine what St. Bernard or Robert d’Arbrissel -would have answered to such an outpouring. However, apart from the -happy moderation of this reply, Abélard’s third letter only increases -our sympathy with this woman who wanders in the desert of the -twelfth century of the Christian era. The wild cry of the suffering -heart has startled him. He becomes painfully ingenious in defending -Provid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[p. 244]</span>ence and -the monastic or Buddhistic view of life. As to his death, why should -she be moved so strongly? ‘If thou hadst any trust in the divine -mercy towards me, the more grievous the afflictions of this life seem -to thee the more wouldst thou desire to see me freed from them! Thou -knowest of a certainty that whoever will deliver me from this life -will deliver me from a heavy penalty. What I may incur hereafter I -know not, but there is no uncertainty as to that which I escape.’ -And again, when he comes to her accusations of Providence: if she -would follow him to ‘the home of Vulcan,’ why cannot she follow him -quietly to heaven? As to her saying that God spared them in their -guilt and smote them in their wedded innocence, he denies the latter -point. They were not innocent. Did they not have conjugal relations -in the holy nunnery of the Virgin at Argenteuil?<a id="FNanchor_23" -href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> Did he not profanely -dress her in the habit of a nun when he took her secretly to Pallet? -Flushed with the success of his apology for Providence, the unlucky -abbot goes from bathos to bathos. There was not merely justice but -love in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[p. 245]</span> -divine ruling. They had merited punishment, but had, ‘on the -contrary,’ been rescued from the ‘vile and obscene pleasures’ of -matrimony, from the ‘mud and mire,’ and so forth. His mutilation was -a skilful operation on the part of Providence ‘to remove the root of -all vice and sordidness from him, and make him fitter for the service -of the altar.’ ‘I had deserved death, and I have received life. Do -thou, then, unite with me in thanksgiving, my inseparable companion, -who hast shared both my sin and my reward.’ How fortunate it was that -they married! ‘For if thou hadst not been joined to me in matrimony, -it might easily have happened that thou wouldst have remained in the -world’—the one thing that would have saved her from utter desolation. -‘Oh, how dread a loss, how lamentable an evil it had been, if in -the seeking of carnal pleasure thou hadst borne a few children in -pain to the world, whereas thou now bearest so great a progeny with -joy to heaven.’ Again the ‘mud and mire,’ and the thanksgiving. He -even lends his pen, in his spiritual ecstasy, to the writing of this -fearful calumny against himself: ‘Christ is thy true lover, not -I; all that I sought in thee was the satisfaction of my miserable -pleasure.’ Her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[p. 246]</span> -passions are, like the artificially stimulated ones of the deacons in -Gibbon and of Robert d’Arbrissel, a means of martyrdom. He had been -spared all this, she had plaintively written; on the contrary, he -urges, she will win more merit and reward than he.</p> - -<p>I have given a full summary of the long epistle, because -its psychological interest is great. We have seen the gradual -transformation of Abélard—the steps in his ‘conversion’—from -chapter to chapter. This letter marks the deepest stage of his -lapse into Bernardism.<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" -class="fnanchor">[24]</a> It offers an almost unprecedented contrast -to the Abélard of 1115. And this is the man, I may be pardoned for -repeating, who is held up by ecclesiastical writers (even such as -Newman) to the blushes of the ages. Perhaps the age is not far off -that will sincerely blush over him—not for his personal defects.</p> - -<p>Heloise was silenced. Whether the pious dissertation had really -influenced her, or the proud utterance of her plaint had relieved -her, or she closed in upon her heart after such a reply, it<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[p. 247]</span> would be difficult -to say. Her next letter is calm, erudite, dialectical. ‘To her -lord as to species, her beloved in person’ is the quaint heading -of the epistle. She will try to keep her pen within due bounds in -future, but he knows the saying about ‘the fulness of the heart.’ -Nevertheless, ‘just as a nail is driven out by a new one, so it is -with thoughts.’ He must help her to dwell on other things. She and -her nuns beg him to write a new rule for them and a history of the -monastic life. There are points in the Rule of St. Benedict which are -peculiarly masculine; she discusses them in early mediæval style. She -would like her nuns to be permitted to eat meat and drink wine. There -is less danger in giving wine to women; and she naïvely quotes (from -Macrobius) Aristotle’s crude speculation on the subject. Then follows -a long dissertation on wine, temperance, and intemperance, bristling -with proofs and weighty authorities. Briefly, she quarrels with the -ascetic view of life. She happily avoids the hard sayings in which -Christ urges it on every page of the Gospels, and voices the eternal -compromise of human nature. Who may become Abélard’s successor as -their spiritual guide, she does not know. Let him appoint a<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[p. 248]</span> rule of life for them, -which will guard them from unwise interference, and let it concede a -little in the way of soft clothing, meat, wine, and other suspected -commodities.</p> - -<p>Abélard complies willingly, quite entering into the spirit of -the nail theory. ‘I will make a brief and succinct reply to thy -affectionate request, dear sister,’ he begins, at the head of a -very long and very curious sketch of the history of monasticism. -It is a brilliant proof of Abélard’s erudition, relatively to his -opportunities, but at the same time an illustration of the power of -constructing most adequate ‘explanations’ without any reference to -the real agencies at work.</p> - -<p>In a later letter Abélard drew up the rule of life which had -been asked. It follows the usual principles and tendencies of such -documents. It offers, however, no little psychological interest in -connection with the modifications which the abbess has desired. -The dialectician feels a logical reluctance to compromise, and the -fervent monk cannot willingly write down half measures. Yet the human -element in him has a sneaking sympathy with the plea of the abbess, -and, with much explanation and a fond acceptance of Aristotelic -theories, the compromise is effected. To the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_249">[p. 249]</span> manuscript of this letter a later -hand has added a smaller and more practical rule. This is generally -attributed to Heloise herself, and is certainly the work of some -early abbess of the Paraclete. It supplements Abélard’s scheme of -principles and general directions by a table of regulations—as to -beds, food, dress, visitors, scandals, etc.—of a more detailed -character.</p> - -<p>The closing letter of the famous series is one addressed by -Abélard to ‘the virgins of the Paraclete’ on the subject of ‘the -study of letters.’ It is from this epistle that we learn—as we -do also from a letter of Venerable Peter of Cluny—of Heloise’s -linguistic acquirements. The nuns are urged to undertake the study of -the Scriptural tongues, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and are reminded -that they have ‘a mother who is versed in these three languages.’ -There is reason to think that neither master nor pupil knew much -Greek or Hebrew.</p> - -<p>This is followed shortly by a number of hymns and sermons. Heloise -had asked him to write some hymns for liturgical use, so as to avoid -a wearisome repetition and to dispense with some inappropriate ones. -He sent ninety-three, but they are of little literary and poetic -value. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[p. 250]</span> source -of his old-time poetic faculty is dried up. A sequence for the Feast -of the Annunciation, which is attributed to him, won praise from, of -all people, Luther. But the number of hymns and songs ‘attributed’ -to Abélard is large. The sermons, of which thirty-four are to be -found in the collection of his works, are not distinguished in their -order. The abbot was not an eloquent preacher. But they are carefully -written, erudite compositions, which were delivered at St. Gildas, -or the Paraclete, or by special invitation. Some of them have much -intrinsic interest or value—those on Susannah and John the Baptist, -for instance, in connection with monastic affairs, and that on St. -Peter in connection with his rigid loyalty to Rome.</p> - -<p>A more interesting appendix to the correspondence is found in -the forty-two ‘Problems of Heloise,’ with the replies of Abélard. -Under the pretext of following out his direction, but probably with -a greater anxiety to prolong the intercourse, Heloise sent to him -a list of difficulties she had encountered in reading Scripture. -The daughters of Charlemagne had responded to Alcuin’s exhortations -with a similar list. The little treatise is not unworthy of -analysis from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[p. 251]</span> -the historico-theological point of view, but such a task cannot be -undertaken here. The problems are, on the whole, those which have -presented themselves to every thoughtful man and woman who has -approached the Bible with the strictly orthodox view; the answers -are, generally speaking, the theological artifices which served that -purpose down to the middle of the wayward nineteenth century.</p> - -<p>With this mild outbreak of rationalism Heloise passes out of -the pages of history, save for a brief reintroduction in Abélard’s -closing year. The interest and the force of her personality have -been undoubtedly exaggerated by some of the chief biographers of -Abélard, but she was assuredly an able, remarkable, and singularly -graceful and interesting woman. Cousin once suddenly asked in the -middle of a discourse: ‘Who is the woman whose love it would have -been sweetest to have shared?’ Many names were suggested, though -there must have been a strong anticipation that he would name Mme. de -Longueville, for he laboured at that very time under his posthumous -infatuation for the sister of Condé. But he answered, Heloise, -‘that noble creature who loved like a St. Theresa, wrote sometimes -like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[p. 252]</span> Seneca, -and who must have been irresistibly charming, since she charmed -St. Bernard himself.’ It was a fine phrase to deliver impromptu, -but an uncritical estimate. It is a characteristic paradox to say -that she loved like a St. Theresa, and an exaggeration to say that -she ever wrote like Seneca. As to her charming St. Bernard—the -‘pseudo-apostle,’ as she ungraciously calls him,—they who read the -one brief letter he wrote her will have a new idea of a charmed man. -Yet with her remarkable ability, her forceful and exalted character -in the most devitalising circumstances, and her self-realisation, she -would probably have written her name in the annals of France without -the assistance of Abélard. It must be remembered that she had a very -singular reputation, for her age, before she met Abélard. She might -have been a St. Theresa to Peter of Cluny, or, as is more probable, a -Montmorency in the political chronicle of France.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[p. 253]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER XII - A RETURN TO THE ARENA">CHAPTER XII</h2> - <p class="subh2">A RETURN TO THE ARENA</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">The</span> literary and personal -activity described in the preceding chapter, together with the -elaboration of a new ‘theology,’ of which we shall read presently, -brings the story of Abélard’s life down to 1135 or 1136. His -movements during the three or four years after his flight from -St. Gildas are very obscure. St. Bernard seems to speak of his -presence in Paris at one time, though the passages can, and perhaps -should, be explained away. Heloise speaks of his visits to the -Paraclete. On the whole he probably remained in Brittany, at Nantes -or Pallet, and devoted his time to literary work. But in 1136 we -find him in Paris once more. Whether the monks succeeded in making -Brittany too insecure for him, or the count failed to guarantee his -income, or a natural disgust with the situation and longing for the -intellectual arena impelled him to return, we<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_254">[p. 254]</span> cannot say. It is only known that in -1136 he was once more quickening the scholastic life of Europe from -the familiar slope of St. Genevieve.</p> - -<p>So swift and eventful has been the career of the great teacher -that one realises with difficulty that he is now almost an old man, -a man in his fifty-seventh or fifty-eighth year. It is twenty years -since the grim termination of his early Parisian activity, and a new -generation fills the schools. The ideas with which he first startled -and conquered the intellectual world have been made familiar. The -vigour, the freshness, the charming pertinacity of youth have -departed. Yet there is no master in Christendom, young or old, that -can restrain the flood of ‘barbarians’ when ‘Li mestre’ reappears -at Paris. John of Salisbury was amongst the crowd. It is from his -<i>Metalogicus</i> that we first learn of Abélard’s return to the arena, -and the renewal of his old triumph. St. Bernard fully confirms the -story, after his fashion. Indeed, in one sense Abélard’s triumph was -greater than ever, for he gathered a notable group of followers about -him on St. Genevieve. There was Arnold of Brescia, the scourge of the -Italian clergy, the ‘gad-fly’ of the hierarchy. There was Gilbert de -la Porée, a dreaded dialec<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[p. -255]</span>tician and rationalistic theologian. There was Hyacinth, -the young deacon and noble from Rome, afterwards a power in the -sacred college. There was Bérenger, the caustic critic, who gave -Bernard many an unpleasant quarter of an hour. There were future -bishops and theologians in remarkable numbers.</p> - -<p>However, we have no information of a definite character until five -years afterwards. In fact John of Salisbury complicates the situation -by stating that Abélard withdrew shortly after 1136. Deutsch thinks -that Abélard left Paris for a few years; Hausrath, on the contrary, -conjectures that he merely changed the locality of his school. John -of Salisbury would, in that case, have followed his lectures in the -cloistral school in 1136, and would have remained faithful to the -abbey, following Abélard’s successor, a Master Alberic, when Abélard -was, for some unknown reason, constrained to move his chair to the -chapel of St. Hilary, also on the slope of St. Genevieve. According -to the <i>Historia Pontificalis</i> it was at St. Hilary that Bernard -visited him in 1141. It is an ingenious way of keeping Abélard in -Paris during the five years, as most historians would prefer to do. -Its weak point is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[p. 256]</span> -the supposition that John of Salisbury would continue to attend at -the abbey of St. Genevieve with Abélard teaching a few yards away.</p> - -<p>The difficulty may be gladly left to the chronologist. The first -great fact in Abélard’s career after his return to Paris is that St. -Bernard begins to take an active interest in his teaching in the -spring of 1141. Ten short weeks afterwards the prestige of the great -teacher was shattered beyond recall, and he set out upon his pathetic -journey to the tomb. It was a tense, a titanic struggle, on the side -of Bernard.</p> - -<p>According to the religious story-books the episode is very clear -and highly honourable to Bernard. Abbot Abélard had rewritten, -with what he thought to be emendations, the theological treatise -which had been burnt at Soissons. Under the title of the <i>Theologia -Christiana</i>, this rationalistic exposition and defence of the dogmas -of the faith, especially of the Trinity, had ‘crossed the seas and -leaped over the Alps,’ in Bernard’s vivid phraseology. With it -travelled also an <i>Introductio ad theologiam</i>, which was written -soon after it, and his <i>Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans</i>, -of earlier date. The books we have previously mentioned, the <i>Sic -et Non</i>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[p. 257]</span> and -the <i>Ethics</i> or <i>Know Thyself</i>, had a more limited and secluded -circulation. The theological work which has the title of <i>Epitome -Theologiae Christianae</i> or <i>Sententiae Petri Abaelardi</i> is -considered by most experts to be a collection of his opinions drawn -up by some other masters for scholastic use.<a id="FNanchor_25" -href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> - -<p>The story runs that these works chanced to intrude on the pious -meditations of a mystic theologian of the name of William of St. -Thierry. William was very nearly a saint, and the new theology -shocked him inexpressibly. He had been abbot of St. Thierry at -Rheims, but had been elevated from the Benedictine level to the -Cistercian under Bernard’s influence, and was peacefully composing -a commentary on the highly mystical ‘Song of Songs,’ in the -Cistercian monastery at Signy, when Abélard’s heresies reached him.<a -id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> In his -horror he selected thirteen definite heretical<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_258">[p. 258]</span> statements from the books, and sent -them, with the treatises, to his pious and powerful friend, Bernard -of Clairvaux, with a pressing request to examine them and take -action. Bernard replied that a cursory perusal of the books seemed -to justify his follower’s zeal. He would put the matter aside until -after Holy Week, then talk it over with William. In the meantime -William must bear patiently with his inactivity, since he ‘had -hitherto known little or nothing of these things.’ Easter over, and -the conference having presumably taken place, Bernard was convinced -of Abélard’s errors. Faithful to Christ’s direction, he went up -to Paris, and personally reproved his erring brother, without -witnesses. Bernard’s biographer (and secretary-monk) assures that -Abélard promised to amend his ways. The amendment not taking place, -Bernard paid him a second brotherly visit, and, as he refused to -comply, Bernard followed out the evangelical direction of reproving -him before others. He attacked him in the presence of his students, -warning the latter that they must burn his heretical writings -forth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[p. 259]</span>with. It -is one of the scenes in Abélard’s career which it would have been -interesting to have witnessed.</p> - -<p>However, we must defer for a moment the continuation of the -Bernardist version of the encounter, and examine the course of events -more critically.</p> - -<p>The theory that St. Bernard had not occupied himself with the -errors of Abélard until William of St. Thierry drew his attention -to them is a very poor and foolish composition. We could as well -imagine that Newman knew ‘little or nothing’ of Dr. Arnold’s views -in the early thirties. Bernard and Abélard had been for many -years the supreme representatives of the new ‘High’ and ‘Broad’ -movements of the twelfth century; and Bernard had a far more intense -dread of rationalism than Newman. Scarcely an event of moderate -importance occurred in Church, school, or state, in France at least, -that escaped the eye of the abbot of Clairvaux in those days. He -was ‘acting-Pope’ to the Church of Christ, and he felt all the -responsibility. And, amongst the multitudinous cares of his office, -none gave him greater concern than the purity of the faith and the -purification of the disquieting scholastic activity of the day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[p. 260]</span></p> - -<p>We have seen in a former chapter how largely antithetic his -position was to that of Abélard, and that he was a man who could not -doubt for a moment the truth of his own conception of religion. There -was the same marked antithesis at the very bases of their theological -conceptions, in the mental soil in which those conceptions took -root. Bernard was more authoritative than Anselm of Laon, more -mystic than Anselm of Canterbury. He had gone further than Anselm -on the theory that ‘faith precedes reason’; Abélard had gone beyond -Roscelin with the inverse proposition. Perhaps Bernard’s commentary -on the ‘Song of Songs’ furnishes the best illustration of his frame -of mind and his outlook. Towards the close of his life he devoted -himself to long and profound meditation on that beautiful piece of -Oriental literature. We must not forget, of course, that the Church -is largely responsible for his extravagance on this point. It has -indeed taken the civilisation of the West more than two thousand -years to discover that its glowing verses are inspired only by the -rounded limbs and sweet breath of a beautiful woman; and its most -erotic passages are still solemnly applied to the Mother of Christ on -her annual festivals. But Bernard revelled in<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_261">[p. 261]</span> its ‘mystic’ phrases. Day by day, for -more than a year, he gathered his monks about him in the <i>auditorium</i> -at Clairvaux, and expounded to them the profound spiritual meanings -of the ‘Song.’ Eighty-three long sermons barely exhausted the first -two chapters. In the end he devoted three lengthy discourses, on -successive days, to the elucidation of the words: ‘In my bed at night -I have longed for him whom my soul loveth.’</p> - -<p>This mystic and unreasoning attitude brought him into fundamental -antagonism with Abélard. To him faith was the soul’s first duty; -reason might think itself fortunate if there were crumbs of knowledge -in the accepted writings which it could digest. To reason, to ask -a question, was honestly incomprehensible and abhorrent to him. He -insisted that the rationalist told God he would not accept what he -could not understand; whereas the rationalist was prevented by his -own logic from questioning the veracity of the Infinite, and merely -insisted that, in a world of hallucination and false pretence, it -were well to make sure that the proposition in question really did -come from God. Bernard thought reasoning about the Trinity implied -irreverence or incredulity; Abélard felt it to be a high service -to divine truth, in pre<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[p. -262]</span>paring it for minds which were not blessed with the mystic -sense. Bernard believed Christ died purely and crudely to make amends -to the Father; Abélard thought this would impute vindictiveness to -God. And so on through a long list of dogmatic points which were of -unspeakable importance in the eyes of the twelfth century.</p> - -<p>A conflict was inevitable. In Bernard’s thought Abélard was -employing an extraordinary ability to the grave prejudice of the -honour of God, the safety of the Church, and the supreme interest of -humanity. Bernard would have deserted his principles and his clear -subjective duty if he had remained silent. If he had ‘a quick ear’ to -catch ‘the distant thunder roll of free inquiry,’ as Cotter Morison -says, and no one questions, he must have turned his zealous attention -to Abélard long ago, as we have already seen. But the rationalist had -been rendered powerless in Brittany for some years. Now that he was -teaching with great effectiveness at Paris once more, Bernard could -not but take action.</p> - -<p>However, it is a task of extreme difficulty for an impartial -student to trace with confidence the early stages of that memorable -conflict. We have seen the Bernardist version; the version of<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[p. 263]</span> some of the recent -biographers of Abélard is very different. Deutsch and Hausrath, able -and critical scholars, believe that the letter from William of St. -Thierry had been written, wholly or in part, by Bernard himself; -that Bernard’s reply was part of a comedy of intrigue; that a timid -and treacherous conventicle of the Cistercian monks, including -Bernard, had deliberately drawn up in advance this equivocal plan of -campaign. Now, if the Catholic enthusiast is incapable of dealing -quite impartially with such a problem, it is equally certain that the -heretic has a similar disturbing element in his natural predilection -for picking holes in the coats of the canonised. The evidence must be -examined very carefully. The presumption is that a man of the exalted -idealism and stern self-discipline of St. Bernard would not lend -himself to such manœuvres. Yet these things are not inconsistent with -the dignity of canonisation; moreover, the object was a great and -holy one—and Bernard had a mortal dread of the dialectician.</p> - -<p>In the first place, then, it is impossible to credit Bernard -with the whole of the letter which bears the name of William of -St. Thierry. Much of it is by no means Bernardesque in style and -manner;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[p. 264]</span> and -there are passages which it is quite impossible, on moral grounds, -to conceive as having been written by Bernard himself. At the same -time much of it does certainly seem to have been written by Bernard. -There are few better judges of such a point than Deutsch. The -contention that William would not have dared to address such a demand -simultaneously to Bernard and Geoffrey without instructions is more -precarious.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, the letter seems in many respects to support -the idea of a diplomatic arrangement. It is addressed to Bernard and -to Geoffrey of Chartres, and opens as follows: ‘God knows that I am -filled with confusion, my lords and fathers, when I am constrained -to address you, insignificant as I am, on a matter of grave urgency, -since you and others whose duty it is to speak remain silent.’ -After a little of this strain he recounts how he ‘lately chanced -to read a certain work’ of the dreadful heretic he has named—the -<i>Theology of Peter Abélard</i>. From it he selects thirteen heretical -propositions (we shall meet them later), which he submits to their -judgment. If they also condemn, he calls for prompt and effective -action. ‘God knows that I too have loved him’ [Abélard], he says, -‘and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[p. 265]</span> would remain -in charity with him, but in such a cause as this I know no friend or -acquaintance.’ Finally, he says: ‘There are, I am told, other works -of his, the <i>Sic et Non</i> and the <i>Scito te Ipsum</i>, and others ... but -I am told that they shun the light, and cannot be found.’</p> - -<p>Without straining an impressionist argument, it may be at -once pointed out that the letter betrays itself. Several of the -propositions in the list are not found in either of Abélard’s -theologies; they are taken from the works which William affirms he -has never seen. An intrigue is revealed; some other person, not at -Signy, has had an important share in the epistle, if not in the -actual writing of it. Again, as Neander says in his <i>Life of St. -Bernard</i>, the passage about his affection cannot be taken seriously; -he had been passionately devoted to Bernard for some years. The -letter is evidently written for use or publication, and reveals a -curious piece of acting.</p> - -<p>Bernard’s reply is also clearly ‘part of the comedy,’ as -Hausrath says. Bernard is much addicted to <i>tutoyer</i> his friends, -even his lady friends.<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" -class="fnanchor">[27]</a> His previous letters to William, written -before he was a ‘son of religion’ and a devoted<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_266">[p. 266]</span> follower, are written in that familiar -style. But in this brief note ‘thou’ and ‘thine’ become ‘you’ and -‘your.’ ‘I consider your action both just and necessary. The book -itself, betraying the mouth of those that speak iniquity, proves that -it was not idle.... But since I am not accustomed, as you know well, -to trust my own judgment, especially in matters of such moment,’ it -must wait a little. He will see William about it after Easter. ‘In -the meantime be not impatient of my silence and forbearance in these -matters; most of them, indeed nearly all of them, were not known to -me before (cum horum plurima et pene omnia hucusque nescierim).’</p> - -<p>The letter is almost incomprehensible, coming from such a man. -<i>He</i> take the first discovery of so influential a heretic so calmly; -<i>he</i> not trust his own judgment in such matters! Save for the -literary form, which is unmistakable, the letter is wholly out of -place in the bulky volume of Bernard’s correspondence. It is part -of the play; and its brevity and vagueness seem to indicate an -unwillingness or ethical discomfort on the part of the writer.</p> - -<p>The closing sentence in it has given trouble even to Bernard’s -biographers, and must discon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[p. -267]</span>cert every admirer of the great uplifter of the twelfth -century. Cotter Morison says ‘he must refer to the special details’ -of Abélard’s teaching. It is impossible to acquit the words of the -charge of evasiveness and a half-conscious inaccuracy, even if they -be so interpreted. We have already given the general considerations -which compel us to think Bernard made himself fully acquainted with -Abélard’s opinions. We have already discussed the probability of his -share in the driving of Abélard into Brittany. Other indications -are not wanting. In 1132 Bernard was sent on a papal mission into -Burgundy; his companion was Joscelin, Abélard’s early rival. Bernard -attacks with some spirit the errors of an unnamed master in his -<i>Treatise on Baptism</i>; these errors are the opinions of Abélard. On -one occasion, indeed, they had a direct controversy. Bernard had -visited the Paraclete, and had criticised the way in which the nuns, -following Abélard’s direction, recited the Lord’s Prayer. Abélard had -inserted ‘supersubstantial’ for ‘daily.’ Heloise duly reported the -criticism, and Abélard flew to arms. The letter was characteristic. A -sweet and genial prelude, a crushing argumentative onslaught, and an -ironical inversion of the charge. ‘But let each<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_268">[p. 268]</span> do as he pleases,’ the rhetorician -concluded; ‘I do not wish to persuade any man to follow me in this. -He may change the words of Christ as he likes.’</p> - -<p>However, we need not strain detailed indications. It is impossible -to think that Bernard was unacquainted with ‘novelties’ that -the echo of a great name had borne to the ends of the earth.<a -id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> When -we have seen the whole story of Bernard’s share in the struggle, it -will be easier to understand this letter. It is puerile to think -that we detract anything from the moral and spiritual greatness of -St. Bernard in admitting an occasional approach to the common level -of humanity. And there was present in strength that delusive ideal -which has led so many good men into fields that were foreign to their -native grandeur—the good of the Church.</p> - -<p>There is no record of a conference with William of St. Thierry -after Easter. The pupil has played his part, and he now vanishes -completely from the theatre. But from the subsequent report which -was sent to the pope, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[p. -269]</span> from the <i>Life of St. Bernard</i>, written by his admiring -secretary, we learn that Bernard visited Abélard in private, and -admonished him of his errors. The scene is unfortunately left to -the imagination; though the report we have mentioned speaks of a -‘friendly and familiar admonition.’ Bernard’s biographer would have -us believe that Abélard was quite subdued—the ‘rhinoceros’ was -tamed again—by Bernard’s brotherly address, and promised to retract -his errors. It is possible that Abélard put him off with amiable -generalities, but quite incredible that he made any such promise. We -need not speculate, with Hausrath, on the probability of interference -from his more ardent students. The episcopal report to the pope -does not mention any broken promise. It could have used such a -circumstance with great effect.</p> - -<p>Then followed Bernard’s second visit and warning. It would be -difficult to say which dreaded the other more in these curious -interviews, but Bernard had convinced himself of his duty to -crush Abélard, and he was following out a very correct and -excellently-devised scheme. The Gospel required a twofold personal -correction of an erring brother, before he was denounced<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[p. 270]</span> to the synagogue. The -second one was to have witnesses. Bernard therefore boldly admonished -Abélard in the presence of his students, and bade them burn the works -of their master. It is a thousand pities we have no Abélardist record -of these proceedings.</p> - -<p>If Abélard said little during the conferences, he must have known -that he was rapidly approaching another, perhaps a supreme, crisis -in his life. He knew his Gospel, and he knew Bernard. The next step -was the denunciation to the synagogue. He had had an experience of -such denunciation, and he would certainly not expect a less insidious -attack from the abbot of Clairvaux, who had avoided his dialectical -skill so long. He determined to checkmate the Cistercians. Very -shortly afterwards Bernard was dismayed to receive a letter from the -Archbishop of Sens, in which he was invited to meet the redoubtable -dialectician at Sens in a few weeks’ time, and discuss the right -and wrong of their quarrel before the whole spiritual and temporal -nobility of France.</p> - -<p>It was now a question of dialectics and rhetoric versus diplomacy; -though indeed we must credit Abélard—or his ‘esquire,’ as Bernard -calls Arnold of Brescia—with a fine diplomatic move in claim<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[p. 271]</span>ing the discussion. -There are several reasons for thinking that the Bishop of Paris -was in Rome at the time, or the discussion should have been sought -at Notre Dame. The next <i>instantia</i> was the Archbishop of Sens, -and Abélard continued to assail that prelate until he was forced -to accept the petition. Not improbably it appealed to the sporting -instinct of old ‘Henry the Boar,’ a man of noble extraction, and of -extremely worldly life before he fell under the influence of the -ubiquitous Bernard. The quarrel of the two great luminaries of France -was now notorious. He could not well refuse to open the lists for a -superb trial by combat.</p> - -<p>But Bernard had an entirely different theory of the condemnation -of a heretic. He trusted to his personal influence and immense -epistolary power. Abélard’s works were available, and were sufficient -for the grounding of a condemnation, he said. He was not merely -impatient of the implied doubt of the infallibility of his judgment; -he shrank nervously from the thought of such an encounter. He did not -conceal for a moment his dread of Abélard’s power. ‘I am a boy beside -him,’ he pleaded, ‘and he is a warrior from his youth.’ On the other -hand, if it became a ques<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[p. -272]</span>tion of a diplomatic struggle for a condemnation of the -books at Rome, the positions would be exactly reversed. He refused to -enter the lists with Abélard.</p> - -<p>In the meantime the day which the Archbishop of Sens had -appointed was rapidly approaching. It was the Octave of, or -eighth day after, Pentecost. On the Sunday after Whitsunday, -now dedicated to the Trinity, there was to be a brilliant -religious function in the cathedral at Sens. It was customary to -expose the relics to veneration on that day, and as Sens, the -metropolitan church of Paris<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" -class="fnanchor">[29]</a> and other important towns, had a very -valuable collection of relics, the ceremony attracted a notable -gathering of lords, spiritual and temporal. Louis <small>VII.</small> -was to be there, with the usual escort of French nobles: the -curiously compounded monarch had a profound veneration for relics, -and something like a passion for the ceremonies that accompanied -their translation, veneration, and so forth. All the suffragans of -the archbishop would be present, with a number of other bishops, -and abbots, clerics, and masters innumerable. Quite apart<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[p. 273]</span> from the duel between -the greatest thinker and the greatest orator in Europe, there would -be a very important and weighty gathering at the cathedral on that -day. Abélard willingly assented. Bernard is fond of repeating in his -later letters that Abélard set to work ‘to summon his friends and -followers from all parts.’ We shall see that the only noteworthy -supporters of Abélard at Sens were pupils or masters from Paris, -which lay at a convenient distance. Bernard was shortly to lose his -serenity in a sea of rhetoric.</p> - -<p>There is a minor quarrel as to whether Bernard reversed his -decision, and intimated his acceptance to the archbishop before -the day arrived. Father Hefele thinks he did so. It is, however, -clear that, in his letter to the pope afterwards, Bernard wishes to -convey the impression that he held out until the last moment, and -only yielded to the entreaties of his friends in actually presenting -himself.</p> - -<p>We shall refer to this letter to Pope Innocent shortly, but it -is worth while to notice now the edifying picture he draws of his -own preparation in contrast with that of ‘the dragon.’ Abélard is -represented as feverishly whipping up his supporters, whilst Bernard -refuses to hear of such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[p. -274]</span> an encounter, not only on account of Abélard’s -world-famed skill in debate, but also because he thinks it improper -to discuss sacred things in this fashion. But friends represent that -the Church will suffer, and the enemies of Christ triumph. Wearily -and ‘without preparation’—trusting wholly in the divine promise -of inspiration—he presents himself on the appointed day before -‘Goliath.’</p> - -<p>In point of historical fact there is no reason for thinking that -Abélard made any effort to gather supporters. The few we read of -accompanied him from Paris. He had scarcely a single friend in the -ranks of his ‘judges.’ On the other hand we <i>do</i> know that Bernard -himself sent out a strong and imperious ‘whip’ to his episcopal -supporters. There is a brief letter, contained in the <i>Migne</i> -collection, which was despatched to all the French bishops on whom -Bernard could rely for sympathy and support. They have heard, he -says, of his summons to appear at Sens on the Octave of Pentecost. -‘If the cause were a personal one,’ he goes on, ‘the child of -your holiness could perhaps not undeservedly look to your support -[patrocinium]. But it is your cause, and more than yours; and so I -admonish you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[p. 275]</span> -the more confidently and entreat you the more earnestly to prove -yourselves friends in this necessity—friends, I should say, not -of me, but of Christ.’ And he goes on to prejudge the case in the -mind of the official judges with his rhetorical denunciation of -Abélard’s heresies. ‘Be not surprised,’ he concludes, ‘that I summon -you so suddenly and with so brief a notice; this is another ruse -of our cunning adversary, so that he might meet us unprepared and -unarmed.’</p> - -<p>The consequence of the sending of this whip will be apparent when -we come to examine the composition of the gathering at Sens. It marks -the beginning of a period of most remarkable intrigue. The idyllic -picture of the poor abbot making his way at the last moment to the -assembly with a sublime trust in Providence and the righteousness of -his cause must be regarded again at the close of the next chapter.</p> - -<p>Whether Bernard formally accepted the summons or not, therefore, -authentic information was conveyed to both sides that the debate -would take place. It will be readily imagined how profoundly stirred -the kingdom of France would be over such an expectation. The bare -qualities of the antagonists put the discussion leagues above<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[p. 276]</span> any remembered or -contemporary event in the scholastic world; the object of the -debate—the validity of the new thought that was rapidly infecting -the schools—was a matter of most material concern. Deutsch has -a theory of the conflict which seems to be only notable as an -illustration of the profundity of the Teutonic mind. He opines -there may have been a political struggle underlying the academic -demonstration. Louis was just beginning his struggle with Rome over -the vexed question of investitures, and it is conceivable that the -Abélardists leaned to the side of the king, in opposition to Bernard -and the ‘ultramontanes.’ It is conceivable, but not at all probable. -Abélard’s sermon on St. Peter indicates a really ultramontane -sentiment; moreover, he has ever kept aloof from the political side -of life. His follower, Arnold of Brescia, would be likely enough -to fall in with any such regal design. Arnold was a young Luther, -of premature birth. Born in Italy at the beginning of the twelfth -century, he had travelled to France, and studied under Abélard, at -an early age. He returned to Italy, and assumed the monastic habit. -An enthusiastic idealist and a man of proportionate energy and -audacity, he soon entered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[p. -277]</span> upon a fiery crusade against the sins of the monks, the -clergy, and the hierarchy. He was driven from Italy in 1139, then -from Switzerland, and he had just taken refuge in Paris when Bernard -started his campaign. Since one of his most prominent theories was -that the higher clergy should be stripped of all temporal privileges -and possessions, his place is easily determined on the question -of investitures. However, it is most unlikely that he should have -dragged Abélard into these semi-political and dangerous questions. -And although Bernard most sedulously urges the association of the -hated Arnold with Abélard in his letters to Rome, he never mentions -a suspicion of such a coalition as Deutsch suggests; nor, in fine, -does the conduct of the secular arm give the least countenance to the -theory.</p> - -<p>The conflict was inevitable, without the concurrence of -any political intrigue. Abélard and Bernard were the natural -representatives of schools which could no longer lie down in peace -in the fold of the Church. Abélard foresaw disaster to the Church -in the coming age of restless inquiry unless its truths could be -formulated in his intellectual manner. Bernard was honestly convinced -that Abélard was ‘preparing the way for<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_278">[p. 278]</span> Anti-Christ.’ And it followed as a -further consequence that Bernard should wish to avoid the discussion -to which Abélard looked for salvation from the menace of the mystical -school.</p> - -<p>It will appear presently that Bernard was less concerned with the -details of Abélard’s teaching than with his spirit. He, however, -dwells on them for controversial purposes, and they are certainly -full of interest for the modern mind. The point will be more fully -developed in a supplementary chapter. For the moment a brief glance -at them will be instructive enough. They differ a little in Bernard’s -letter from the list given by William of St. Thierry, but one cannot -even glance at them without noticing how remarkably this thinker -of the twelfth century anticipated the judgment of the nineteenth -century. His theses, like the theses of the advanced theology of -these latter days, indicate two tendencies—an intellectual tendency -to the more rational presentment of dogma, and an ethical tendency to -the greater moralisation of ancient dogma.</p> - -<p>We have already seen a good illustration of this anticipation -of modern tendencies in Abélard’s treatment of the traditional -doctrines of heaven and hell respectively, and we shall see more -later<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[p. 279]</span> on. Of the -fourteen specific points (thirteen in William’s letter) contained -in the present indictment, we may pass over most of those which -refer to the Trinity as without interest. Abélard’s phrases were -new, but he cordially rejected the Arianism, Nestorianism, and so -forth, with which Bernard insisted on crediting him. In the ninth -proposition, that the species of bread and wine remain in the air -after transubstantiation, and that adventurous mice only eat the -species, not the Body of Christ, Abélard enunciated an opinion which -has been widely adopted by modern Catholic theologians. In his second -proposition, that the Holy Ghost was the Platonic <i>anima mundi</i>, -Abélard was merely trying to save Plato from the damnation of the -Bernardists.</p> - -<p>On the ethical side, Abélard’s theses (in their context in his -works) are truly remarkable. Thus the third, ‘That God can only -do those things which He actually does, and in the way and at the -time that He does them,’ and the seventh, ‘That God is not bound to -prevent evil,’ are obviously indications of an ethical attempt to -save the sanctity of the Infinite in view of the triumph of evil. -‘That Christ did not become Man for the purpose of saving us from -the yoke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[p. 280]</span> of the -devil’ is an early formulation of the familiar modern conception of -the Incarnation. ‘That God does not do more for the elect, before -they accept his grace, than for the damned,’ and ‘That we have -shared the punishment but not the guilt of Adam,’ are further clear -anticipations of the refined theology of modern times. ‘No man can -sin before he exists,’ said Abélard, to Bernard’s mighty indignation. -‘That God alone remits sin’ is heretical to the modern Catholic, but -the dogma was not completely born until the following century;<a -id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> ‘that -evil thoughts, and even pleasure, are not of themselves sinful, but -only the consent given to them,’ and ‘that the Jews who crucified -Christ in ignorance did not sin, that acts which are done in -ignorance cannot be sinful,’ express the universal opinion of even -modern Catholic theologians, in the sense in which Abélard held -them.</p> - -<p>And ‘these,’ wrote Bernard, with fine contempt, to his friend, -Pope Innocent, ‘are the chief errors of the theology, or rather the -stultilogy, of Peter Abélard.’</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[p. 281]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER XIII - THE FINAL BLOW">CHAPTER XIII</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE FINAL BLOW</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">On the</span> 4th of June 1141, -the cathedral at Sens was filled with one of the strangest throngs -that ever gathered within its venerable walls. Church and state and -the schools had brought their highest representatives and their -motley thousands to witness the thrilling conflict of the two first -thinkers and orators of France. On the previous day the magnificent -ceremony of the veneration of the relics had taken place. At that -ceremony the abbot of Clairvaux had discoursed of the meaning and -potency of their act. And when the vast crowds of gentle and simple -folk had quickened and sobbed and enthused at his burning words, -he had ventured to ask their prayers for the conversion of an -unbeliever, whom he did not name.</p> - -<p>Now, on the Monday morning, the great concourse had streamed -into the cathedral once<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[p. -282]</span> more, an intense eagerness flashing from the eyes of the -majority. The red Mass of the Holy Spirit had been chanted by the -clerics, and the clouds of incense still clung about the columns and -the vaulted roof of the church. King Louis sat expectant, and stupid, -on the royal throne; the Count de Nevers and a brilliant group of -nobles and knights standing beside and behind him. Opposite them -another gaily apparelled group presented Henry, Archbishop of Sens, -with five of his suffragan bishops; beside him sat Samson, Archbishop -of Rheims, with three suffragans. Mitred abbots added to the -splendour with their flash of jewels. Shaven monks, with the white -wool of Cîteaux or the black tunic of St. Benedict, mingled with the -throng of canons, clerics, scholastics, wandering masters, ragged, -cosmopolitan students, and citizens of Sens and Paris in their gay -holiday attire.</p> - -<p>It was, at first sight, just such an assembly as Abélard had -dreamed of when he threw down the gauntlet to the Cistercian. But he -must have looked far from happy as he stood in the midst of his small -band of followers. As he passed into the cathedral, he had noticed -Gilbert de la Porée in the crowd, the brilliant master who was<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[p. 283]</span> to be Bernard’s next -victim, and he whispered smilingly the line of Horace:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">‘It is thy affair when thy neighbour’s house is on fire.’</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="ti0">With Abélard were the impetuous young master, Bérenger -of Poitiers; the stern, ascetic, scornful young Italian, Arnold of -Brescia, flashing into the eyes of the prelates the defiance that -brought him to the stake fourteen years afterwards; and the young -Roman noble, Hyacinth, who afterwards became cardinal.</p> - -<p>Beside these, and a host of admiring nonentities, Abélard almost -looked in vain for a friendly face amidst the pressing throng. The -truth was that, as Rémusat says, ‘if Bernard had not prepared for -debate, he had made every preparation for the verdict.’ The whole -cathedral was with him. After his discourse of the preceding day, and -the rumours that had preceded it, the priest-ridden citizens of Sens -were prepared to stone the heretic, as the people of Soissons had -threatened to do. The students would be divided, according to their -schools. The monks longed to see the downfall of their critic. The -king—the man who was to bear to his grave ‘the curse of Europe and -the blessing of St. Bernard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[p. -284]</span>’—was not likely to hesitate. The Count de Nevers was a -pious, credulous noble, who afterwards became a Cistercian monk. Otto -of Freising says Count Theobald of Champagne was present, though -the report does not mention him; in any case he had fallen largely -under Bernard’s influence since his sister had gone down in the -<i>White Ship</i> in 1120. The clergy of Sens were with Bernard; their -motto was: ‘The church of Sens knows no novelties.’ Of the judges -proper, Geoffrey, Bishop of Chartres, was almost the only one who -could be termed neutral; and even he had now become greatly amenable -to Bernard’s influence. Archbishop Henry was completely in the hands -of Bernard, his converter, who scolded him at times as if he were -a boy. Archbishop Samson of Rheims owed his pallium to Bernard, in -the teeth of the king’s opposition; he was deprived of it some years -afterwards. Hugo of Mâcon, the aged Bishop of Auxerre, was a relative -of Bernard’s and a fellow-monk at Cîteaux. Joscelin of Vieri, Bishop -of Soissons, was the former teacher of Goswin, and the associate of -Bernard on a papal mission a few years before. Geoffrey, Bishop of -Châlons, Abélard’s former friend at St. Médard, had since been helped -to a bishopric<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[p. 285]</span> by -Bernard. Hatto, Bishop of Troyes, had been won to Bernard. Alvise, -Bishop of Arras, is said to have been a brother of Abbot Suger and -friend of Goswin. Of the only two other bishops present, Helias of -Orleans and Manasses of Meaux, we have no information.</p> - -<p>In such an assembly the nerve of the boldest speaker might well -fail. Bernard had preached during the Mass on the importance of -the true faith. Then when the critical moment came, he mounted the -pulpit with a copy of the writings of Abélard, and the dense crowd, -totally ignorant, most probably, of previous events, which were known -only to the intimate friends of each combatant, held its breath for -the opening of the struggle. The frail, worn, nervous figure in the -flowing, white tunic began to read the indictment, but suddenly -Abélard stepped forth before the astonished judges, and, crying out: -‘I will not be judged thus like a criminal; I appeal to Rome,’ turned -his back on them and strode out of the cathedral.</p> - -<p>Chroniclers have left to our imagination the confusion that -followed, and we may leave it to that of the reader. Although the -bishops afterwards made a show of disputing it, the appeal<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[p. 286]</span> was quite canonical, -and was admitted at Rome. But it was a course which had not -entered into the thoughts of the most astute of them, and which -completely upset their plans. They could not now touch the person -of Abélard. Bernard, indeed, did not deprive the great audience of -the discourse he had ‘not prepared,’ although it was now quite safe -from contradiction. We have it, some say, in his later letter to the -pope, a most vehement denunciation and often perversion of Abélard’s -teaching. He gained an easy victory, as far as Sens was concerned. -The next day the prelates met together, condemned Abélard’s teaching -as heretical, and forwarded a report, submitting his person and his -works, to Rome.</p> - -<p>The question why Abélard behaved in so extraordinary a manner has -had many answers. The answer of the godly, given by Bernard’s monkish -biographer, is of the transcendental order. Brother Geoffrey relates -that Abélard confessed to his intimate friends that he mysteriously -lost the use and control of his mind when Bernard began. Bishop -Otto of Freising says that he feared ‘a rising of the people.’ He -would be more likely to provoke one by thus affronting their great -cathedral and prelates. The true interpretation is that the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[p. 287]</span> assembly was a play, -covering an unworthy intrigue, and he had been secretly informed of -it. The bishops had drawn up their verdict, over their cups, on the -preceding day.</p> - -<p>Desperate efforts are made, of course, to destroy an -interpretation which does not leave the discredit on Abélard, but it -has now been based on incontrovertible evidence. In the first place -the bishops ingenuously confess it themselves in their eagerness to -evade a different accusation. In order to influence the judgment, or -rather the decision, of the pope, they told him that they had found -Abélard’s teaching to be heretical. How, then, were they to reconcile -this with the notice of Abélard’s appeal to Rome? ‘We had,’ they say -in their report, ‘already condemned him on the day before he appealed -to you.’ It matters little who wrote this report—whether Bernard<a -id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> or -Henry’s secretary—because it was signed by the bishops. They reveal -their secret conclave of the Sunday evening. Henry was particularly -anxious to justify them, at all costs, on the charge of<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[p. 288]</span> disregarding the -appeal, because he had been suspended by Innocent for that offence a -few years previously.</p> - -<p>Again, in the <i>Historia Pontificalis</i>, attributed to John of -Salisbury, there is an account of Bernard’s attempt to secure the -condemnation of that other brilliant dialectician, Gilbert de la -Porée, in 1148. It is expressly stated that Bernard called the chief -personages together the night before the synod, and was leading them -to pronounce on Gilbert’s ‘errors,’ when an archdeacon of Châlons -spoiled his strategy. Further, the writer goes on to say that the -cardinals—there were a number present for the synod—were greatly -incensed with Bernard, and ‘said that Abbot Bernard had beaten Master -Abélard by a similar stratagem.’ It is not unlikely that they learned -the story from Hyacinth, the young Roman.</p> - -<p>The classical witness to this over-night conclave is Abélard’s -pupil, Bérenger of Poitiers. Unfortunately, his narrative is marred -by obvious exaggerations and a careless, heated temper. It occurs -in an apology for Abélard, or an ‘open letter’ to Bernard, which he -wrote some months afterwards. After reminding Bernard of some of -the frivolities of his early youth, and much<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_289">[p. 289]</span> sarcastic comment on his actual -reputation, he gives what purports to be a detailed description of -the secret meeting. No one who reads it will take it literally. Yet -when, in later years, he was run down, like Gilbert and Arnold, by -the relentless sleuthhound, he made a partial retractation. What he -has written as to the person of ‘the man of God’ must, he says, be -taken as a joke. But a few lines previously he has appealed to this -very narrative in justification of his abuse of Bernard: ‘Let the -learned read my “Apology,” and they may justly censure me if I have -unduly blamed him [Bernard].’ It is not impossible that Bérenger -merely retracts such remarks as that about Bernard’s juvenile -‘cantiunculas.’ In any case, we may justly transcribe a portion of -the narrative, after these qualifications.</p> - -<p>‘At length, when the dinner was over, Peter’s work was brought in, -and some one was directed to read it aloud. This fellow, animated -with a hatred of Peter, and well watered with the juice of the grape, -read in a much louder voice than he had been asked to do. After a -time you would have seen them knock their feet together, laugh, and -crack jokes; you would think they were honouring Bacchus rather than -Christ. And all the time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[p. -290]</span> the cups are going, the wine is being praised, the -episcopal throats are being moistened. The juice of the lethal drink -had already buried their hearts.... Then, when anything unusually -subtle and divine was read out, anything the episcopal ears were not -accustomed to, they hardened their hearts and ground their teeth -against Peter. “Shall we let this monster live?” they cried.... The -heat of the wine at length relaxed the eyes of all in slumber. The -reader continues amidst their snoring. One leans on his elbow in -order to sleep. Another gets a soft cushion. Another slumbers with -his head resting on his knees. So when the reader came to anything -particularly thorny in Peter, he shouted in the deaf ears of the -pontiffs: “Do you condemn?” And some of them just waking up at the -last syllable, would mutter: “We condemn.”’</p> - -<p>It is not difficult to take off the due and considerable discount -from the youthful extravagance of Master Bérenger. Bernard’s -followers (in the <i>Histoire littéraire de la France</i>) say he had ‘too -noble a soul and too elevated a sentiment to stoop to the refutation -of such a work.’ He has never, at all events, essayed to rebut the -charge of procuring a verdict against Abélard on the day before<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[p. 291]</span> the synod. Even in our -own days it is a familiar source of merriment in ecclesiastical and -monastic circles to see a group of prelates fervently following the -red Mass of the Holy Ghost as a preliminary to a discussion of points -which they have notoriously settled over their cups the night before. -Such a meeting of the bishops on the Sunday would be inevitable. -Bernard would inevitably be present, and Abélard infallibly excluded. -In any case, the evidence is too precise and substantial to be -rejected. Indeed, the story fully harmonises with our knowledge of -Bernard’s earlier and subsequent conduct. It is not ours to inquire -minutely how far Bernard was consistent with himself and his lofty -ideals in acting thus.</p> - -<p>Bernard was defeated for the moment by the unexpected appeal from -the verdict of the unjust judges. But he knew well that Abélard had -avoided Scylla only to plunge into Charybdis. Abélard’s knowledge -of the curia was restricted to a few days’ acquaintance with it in -a holiday mood at Morigni. Arnold of Brescia probably urged his -own acquaintance with it in vain. Moreover many years had elapsed -since his name was inscribed by the side of that of Bernard in the -chronicle of Morigni. Bernard, the secluded<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_292">[p. 292]</span> contemplative, knew the curia well. He -hastened home, told his secretary to prepare for a journey across the -Alps, and sat down to write a batch of extremely clever epistles. The -battle was fought and won before Abélard had covered many leagues in -the direction of Italy.</p> - -<p>The first document that Bernard seems to have written is the -report upon the synod which was sent to Innocent <small>II.</small> -in the name of the Archbishop of Rheims and his suffragans. Hausrath, -who is the least restrained by considerations of Bernard’s official -sanctity of all Abélard’s apologists, and others, hold that both -the reports of the proceedings, that of Samson and that of Henry -(for the two archbishops, with their respective suffragans, reported -separately to the pope), were written by Bernard. It is at least -clear that the Rheims report was drawn up by him. Mr. Poole says -this is admitted even by Father Hefele. Bernard’s style is indeed -unmistakable.</p> - -<p>In this official document, therefore, the pope is informed, not -so much that a dispute about Abélard’s orthodoxy is referred to his -court, as that ‘Peter Abélard is endeavouring to destroy the merit -of faith, in that he professes himself able to comprehend by his -human reason the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[p. 293]</span> -whole being of God.’ From this gross calumny<a id="FNanchor_32" -href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> the writer passes on -to assure the pope that Abélard ‘is a great man in his own eyes, -ever disputing about the faith to its undoing, walking in things -that are far above him, a searcher into the divine majesty, a -framer of heresies.’ He goes on to recount that Abélard’s book had -been condemned and burnt once before, at Soissons, ‘because of the -iniquity that was found in it’; whereas every scholar in France knew -that it was condemned on the sole ground that it had been issued -without authorisation. ‘Cursed be he who has rebuilt the walls of -Jericho,’ fulminates the abbot of Clairvaux. Finally, he represents -Abélard as boasting of his influence at Rome. ‘This is the boast -of the man,’ he says, ‘that his book can find wherein to rest its -head in the Roman curia. This gives strength and assurance to his -frenzy.’ The sole object of his appeal is ‘to secure a longer -immunity for his iniquity. You must needs apply a swift remedy to -this source of contagion.’ And the monstrous epistle closes with a -trust that Innocent will do his part, and that swiftly, as they had -done theirs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[p. 294]</span> Thus -was the pope introduced, in a handwriting he had so many reasons to -respect, to Abélard’s appeal for consideration.</p> - -<p>The second report, which is signed by Archbishop Henry and his -suffragans, and which may not have been drawn up by Bernard, is -more free from diplomatic turnings, but also gravely unjust to the -appellant. It gives the pope a lengthy account of the order of events -since the receipt of the letter of William of St. Thierry. From it -we have quoted the words in which the bishops themselves confess -the secret conclave on the Sunday. The bishops were affronted, it -says, by Abélard’s appeal, which was ‘hardly canonical,’ but they -were content with an examination of his doctrines (consisting of -Bernard’s vehement harangue) and found them to be ‘most manifestly -heretical.’ They therefore ‘unanimously demand the condemnation of -Abélard.’ To put the point quite explicitly, the pope is clearly to -understand that the Church of France has already dealt with Abélard. -It is not quite so insidious as the report which Bernard wrote, and -to which—sad sign of the growing quality of the Church—even Geoffrey -of Chartres lent his venerable name.</p> - -<p>Bernard’s official task seemed to be at an end<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[p. 295]</span> with the despatch of -the report. His profound and generous trust in the Holy Spirit would -lead one to expect a complete withdrawal from the quarrel into which -he had been so unwillingly forced. But Bernard’s conception of the -activity of the Holy Spirit, though equal in theoretical altitude, -was very different in practice from that of a Francis of Assisi. We -have amongst his works no less than three epistles that he wrote at -the time to Pope Innocent in his own name. One of them consists of -a few prefatory remarks to the list of Abélard’s errors. The two -others are of a much more personal and interesting character. It is -difficult to say whether, and if so, why, the two letters were sent -to the pope, but it is not necessary to determine this. Both were -certainly written by Bernard for the purpose.</p> - -<p>The first letter is addressed ‘to his most loving father and -lord, Innocent, Sovereign Pontiff by the grace of God, from Brother -Bernard, called the abbot of Clairvaux.’ From the first line he aims -at determining the case in the pope’s mind. ‘It is necessary that -there be scandals amongst us—necessary, but assuredly not welcome.’ -Hence have the saints ever longed to be taken from this troubled -world. Bernard is equally tired of life.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_296">[p. 296]</span> He knows not whether it be expedient -that he die, yet ‘the scandals and troubles’ about him are -pressing his departure. ‘Fool that I was to promise myself rest if -ever the Leonine trouble<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" -class="fnanchor">[33]</a> was quelled and peace was restored to the -Church. That trouble is over, yet I have not found peace. I had -forgotten that I still lingered in the vale of tears.’ His sorrow and -his tears have been renewed. ‘We have escaped the lion [Pierleone], -only to meet the dragon [Abélard], who, in his insidious way, is -perhaps not less dangerous than the lion roaring in high places. Did -I say insidious? Would indeed that his poisoned pages did lurk in -the library, and were not read openly in the streets. His books fly -in all directions; whereas they, in their iniquity, once shunned the -light, they now emerge into it, thinking the light to be darkness.... -A new gospel is being made for the nations, a new faith is put before -them.’ After Pierleone it is useful to remind Innocent of his second -great <i>bête noire</i>. ‘The Goliath [Abélard] stalks along in his -greatness, girt about with that noble panoply of his, and preceded by -his weapon-bearer, Arnold of Brescia. Scale is<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_297">[p. 297]</span> joined to scale, so closely that not -a breath can get between.<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" -class="fnanchor">[34]</a> For the French bee [Abeille-ard] has -hummed its call to the Italian bee; and they have conspired together -against the Lord and his anointed.’ He must even deny them the merit -of their notoriously ascetic lives: ‘Bearing the semblance of piety -in their food and clothing, but void of its virtue, they deceive -many by transforming themselves into angels of light—whereas they -are devils.’ The pope must not be misled by rumours of Abélard’s -present fervour of life; he is ‘outwardly a Baptist, but inwardly a -Herod,’ Bernard assures him. Then follows a passage we have already -quoted. He tells the pope the edifying story of the archbishop’s -summons, his refusal, the entreaties of his friends, the gathering -of Abélard’s supporters, and his final resolve to go: ‘Yielding to -the counsel of my friends, I presented myself at the appointed time -and place, unprepared and unequipped, save that I had in mind the -monition: “Take ye no thought what and how ye shall speak.”’ Then -‘when his books had begun to be read [he does not say by whom], he -would not listen, but went out, appealing from the judges he had -chosen. These things I tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[p. -298]</span> thee in my own defence, lest thou mayst think I have -been too impetuous or bold in the matter. But thou, O successor of -Peter, thou shalt decide whether he who has assailed the faith of -Peter should find refuge in the see of Peter.’ In other words, do not -allow Abélard to come to Rome, but condemn him unheard, on my word. -He ends with a final diplomatic <i>argumentum ad invidiam</i>. ‘Hyacinth -has done me much injury, but I have thought well to suffer it, seeing -that he did not spare you and your court when he was at Rome, as my -friend, and indeed yours, Nicholas, will explain more fully by word -of mouth.’</p> - -<p>The second letter runs so largely on the same lines that it -is thought by some to have been sent to the pope instead of the -preceding, in which the reference to Hyacinth and the curia may have -been impolitic. ‘Weeping has the spouse of Christ wept in the night,’ -it begins, ‘and tears are upon her cheeks; there is none to console -her out of all her friends. And in the delaying of the spouse, to -thee, my lord, is committed the care of the Shunammite in this land -of her pilgrimage.’ Abélard is a ‘domestic enemy,’ an Absalom, a -Judas. There is the same play upon the lion and the dragon, and upon -the scaly monster formed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[p. -299]</span> of Abélard and Arnold. ‘They have become corrupt and -abominable in their aims, and from the ferment of their corruptions -they pervert the faith of the simple, disturb the order of morals, -and defile the chastity of the Church.’ Moreover Abélard ‘boasts that -he has opened the founts of knowledge to the cardinals and priests of -the Roman curia, and that he has lodged his books and his opinions -in the hands and hearts of the Romans; and he adduces as patrons of -his error those who should judge and condemn him.’ He concludes with -an apostrophe to Abélard, which was well calculated to expel the -last lingering doubt from the mind of the pope. ‘With what thoughts, -what conscience, canst thou have recourse to the defender of the -faith—thou, its persecutor? With what eyes, what brow, wilt thou -meet the gaze of the friend of the Spouse—thou, the violator of His -bride? Oh, if the care of the brethren did not detain me! If bodily -infirmity did not prevent it! How I should love to see the friend of -the Spouse defending the bride in His absence!’</p> - -<p>The third letter, a kind of preface to Bernard’s list of errors -and commentary thereon, is of the same unworthy temper, tortuous, -diplomatic,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[p. 300]</span> -misleading, and vituperative. It is not apparent on what ground -Hausrath says this commentary represents Bernard’s speech at Sens; -if it does so, we have another curious commentary on Bernard’s -affirmation that he went to the synod unprepared. However that may -be, the letter is a singular composition, when we remember that it -accompanied an appeal to a higher court, to which the case had been -reserved. It opens with a declaration that ‘the see of Peter’ is the -due and natural tribunal to which to refer ‘all scandals that arise -in the Kingdom of God’; a declaration which is hardly consistent with -the assurance, when it is necessary to defend their condemnation of -Abélard, that his appeal ‘seems to us wonderful.’ Then follows the -familiar caricature. ‘We have here in France an old master who has -just turned theologian, who has played with the art of rhetoric from -his earliest years and now raves about the Holy Scriptures [Abélard -had been teaching Scripture and theology for the last twenty-six -years]. He is endeavouring to resuscitate doctrines that were -condemned and buried long ago, and to these he adds new errors of his -own. A man who, in his inquiries into all there is in heaven above -or earth below, is ignorant of nothing save the word “I do<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[p. 301]</span> not know.” He lifts his -eyes to the heavens, and peers into the hidden things of God, then -returns to us with discourse of things that man is not permitted to -discuss.’ This last sentence, considered as a charge by Bernard of -Clairvaux against others, is amusing. Bernard spent half his time in -searching the hidden things of God, and the other half in discoursing -of them. But Abélard conceived them otherwise than he.</p> - -<p>Thus was the supreme judge instructed in his part, whilst the -foolish Abélard lingered idly in Paris, not improbably, as Bernard -says, boasting of his friends at the curia. It was very possible -that he had friends at Rome. Deutsch suspects the existence of a -faction in the sacred college, which was opposed to Innocent and the -Chancellor Haymerick, and would be favourable to Abélard. Bernard was -not the man to leave a single risk unchallenged—or to the care of the -Holy Ghost.</p> - -<p>In the first place, therefore, he wrote a circular letter ‘to -all my lords and fathers, the venerable bishops and cardinals of -the curia, from the child of their holiness.’ His secretary was to -deliver a copy to each. ‘None will doubt,’ he says, ‘that it is your -especial duty to remove all scandals from the kingdom of God.’ The -Roman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[p. 302]</span> Church is -the tribunal of the world: ‘to it we do well to refer, not questions, -but attacks on the faith and dishonour of Christ: contumely and -contempt of the fathers: present scandals and future dangers. The -faith of the simple is derided, the hidden things of God are dragged -forth, questions of the most sublime mysteries are rashly debated, -insults are offered to the fathers.’ They will see this by the -report. ‘And if you think there is just ground for my agitation, be -ye also moved’—and moved to take action. ‘Let him who has raised -himself to the heavens be crushed down to hell; he has sinned in -public, let him be punished in public.’ It is the fulmination of the -prophet of the age on the duty of the curia.</p> - -<p>Then came eight private letters to cardinals of his acquaintance, -an interesting study in ecclesiastical diplomacy. To the chancellor -of the curia, Haymerick, he speaks chiefly of Abélard’s boast -of friends at court. He transcribes the passage from his letter -to Innocent; and he adds the earlier allusion to the Roman -deacon, Hyacinth, who was evidently a thorn in the side of the -officials of the curia. To Guido of Castello, afterwards Celestine -<small>II.</small>, who was known to be<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_303">[p. 303]</span> a friend of Abélard, he writes in -an entirely new strain. ‘I should do you wrong,’ he begins, ‘if I -thought you so loved any man as to embrace his errors also in your -affection.’ Such a love would be animal, earthly, diabolical. Others -may say what they like of Guido, but Bernard is a man who ‘never -judges anybody without proof,’ and he will not believe it. He passes -to a mild complaint that ‘Master Peter introduces profane novelties -in his books’; still ‘it is not I that accuse him before the Father, -but his own book.’ But he cannot refrain from putting just a little -<i>venenum in cauda</i>: ‘It is expedient for you and for the Church -that silence be imposed on him whose mouth is full of curses and -bitterness and guile.’</p> - -<p>Cardinal Ivo, on the other hand, belongs to the loyal group. -‘Master Peter Abélard,’ he is told, ‘a prelate without dependency, -observes no order and is restrained by no order.... He is a Herod -in his soul, a Baptist in outward appearance.’ However, that is not -my business, says the diplomatist, ‘every man shall bear his own -burden.’ Bernard is concerned about his heresies, and his boast that -he will be protected by a certain faction in the curia. Ivo must do -his duty ‘in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[p. 304]</span> -freeing the Church from the lips of the wicked.’ A young unnamed -cardinal is appealed to for support. ‘Let no man despise thy youth,’ -begins the man who calls Abélard a ‘slippery serpent’; ‘not grey hair -but a sober mind is what God looks to.’ Another cardinal, who had -a custom of rising when any person entered his room, is playfully -approached with a reminder of this: ‘If thou art indeed a son of -the Church,’ the note ends, ‘defend the womb that has borne thee -and the breasts that have suckled thee.’ Guido of Pisa receives a -similar appeal: ‘If thou art a son of the Church, if thou knowest -the breast of thy mother, desert her not in her peril.’ The letter -to another Cardinal Guido is particularly vicious and unworthy. ‘I -cannot but write you,’ it begins, ‘of the dishonour to Christ, the -trials and sorrows of the Church, the misery of the helpless, and -groans of the poor.’ What is the matter? This: ‘We have here in -France a monk who observes no rule, a prelate without care, an abbot -without discipline, one Peter Abélard, who disputes with boys and -busies himself with women.’ There is a nasty ambiguity in the last -phrase. Again, ‘We have escaped the roar of the lion [Pierleone] only -to hear the hissing of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[p. -305]</span> dragon Peter.... If the mouth of the wicked be not -closed, may He who alone regards our works consider and condemn.’ -A similar letter is addressed to Cardinal Stephen of Praeneste. ‘I -freely write to you, whom I know to be a friend of the spouse, of the -trials and sorrows of the spouse of Christ.’ Abélard is ‘an enemy -of Christ,’ as is proved, not only by his works, but by ‘his life -and actions.’ He has ‘sallied forth from his den like a slippery -serpent’; he is ‘a hydra,’ growing seven new heads where one has been -cut off. He ‘misleads the simple,’ and finally ‘boasts that he has -inoculated the Roman curia with the poison of his novelty.’</p> - -<p>A ninth letter is addressed to an abbot who was in Rome at the -time, and who is drawn into the intrigue with many holy threats. -‘If any man is for the Lord let him take his place. The truth is -in danger. Peter Abélard has gone forth to prepare the way for -Anti-Christ.... May God consider and condemn, if the mouth of the -wicked be not closed forthwith.’</p> - -<p>These letters were handed over, for personal delivery, to -Bernard’s monk-secretary, Nicholas; in many of them it is expressly -stated that the bearer will enlarge upon the text more freely -by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[p. 306]</span> word of -mouth. We know enough about this monk to be assured of the more than -fidelity with which he accomplished his task. Enjoying the full -confidence of Bernard at that time, a very able and well-informed -monk, Nicholas de Montier-Ramey was a thorough scoundrel, as Bernard -learned to his cost a few years afterwards. He had to be convicted -of forging Bernard’s seal and hand for felonious purposes before the -keen scent of the abbot discovered his utter unscrupulousness.</p> - -<p>With Abélard lingering at Paris in his light-hearted way, the -violence and energy of Bernard swept away whatever support he might -have counted on at Rome. Throughout the curia Bernard had scattered -his caricature of Abélard: a lawless monk, an abbot who neglected his -abbey, a man of immoral life, an associate of the recognised enemies -of the papacy, already condemned for heresy, a reviver of Arius and -Nestorius and Pelagius, a teacher without reverence, a disturber of -the faith of the simple. The pope did not hesitate a moment; the -letters sent to him are masterpieces of diplomatic correspondence. -The waverers in the curia were most skilfully worked. In mere secular -matters such an attempt to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[p. -307]</span> corrupt the judges would be fiercely resented. Bernard -lived in a transcendental region, that Hegelian land in which -contradictions disappear.</p> - -<p>It was on the 4th of June that Abélard appealed to Rome. There -were no Alpine tunnels in those days, and the journey from Paris -to Rome was a most formidable one. Yet Bernard’s nervous energy -had infused such spirit into the work, and he had chosen so able a -messenger, that the whole case was ended in less than seven weeks. -There cannot have been a moment’s hesitation at Rome. On the 16th -of July the faithful of Rome gathered about the door of St. Peter’s -for the solemn reading of the decree of excommunication. The pope -was there, surrounded by his cardinals, and it was announced, with -the usual impressive flourishes, that Abélard’s works were condemned -to the flames and his person to be imprisoned by the ecclesiastical -authorities. Rome has not been a model of the humane use of power, -but she has rarely condemned a man unheard. On the sole authority -of Bernard the decree recognised in Abélard’s ‘pernicious doctrine’ -the already condemned errors of the early heresiarchs. Arnold of -Brescia, who had not been officially indicted, was included in -the condemnation. It was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[p. -308]</span> Bernard’s skilful use of his association with Abélard -which chiefly impelled the pope. Innocent replies to Bernard’s -appeal by sending back to him the decree of the condemnation of his -antagonist, with a private note to the effect that it must not be -published until after it has been read at an approaching synod.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[p. 309]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER XIV - CONSUMMATUM EST">CHAPTER XIV</h2> - <p class="subh2">CONSUMMATUM EST</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">It was</span> well for Bernard’s -cause that he succeeded in obtaining the decree without delay. He had -carefully represented that the whole of France supported him in his -demand. It does seem as if some of Abélard’s friends were puzzled -for a time by his appeal, but before long there came a reaction in -his favour, just as had happened after his condemnation at Soissons. -Bernard himself may have been perfectly self-justified in his -determined effort to prevent Abélard from having a fair chance of -defending himself, but there are two ways of regarding his conduct.<a -id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> -Abélard’s followers naturally adopted the view<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_310">[p. 310]</span> which was less flattering to Bernard’s -reputation, and they seem to have had some success in enforcing it. -In a letter of Bernard’s to a certain cardinal we find him defending -himself against the charge of ‘having obtained the decree by improper -means [<i>subripere</i>] from the pope.’</p> - -<p>One of the chief instruments in the agitation on the Abélardist -side was the apology of Bérenger of Poitiers, which we have quoted -previously. Violent and coarse as it was, it was known to have a -foundation of fact; and, in the growing unpopularity of Bernard, it -had a wide circulation. It was not answered, as the Benedictines say; -yet we may gather from Bérenger’s qualified withdrawal of it, when -he is hard pressed, that it gave Bernard and the Cistercians a good -deal of annoyance. Arnold of Brescia was, meanwhile, repeating his -fulminations at Paris against the whole hierarchical system. He had -taken Abélard’s late chair in the chapel of St. Hilary on the slope -of St. Genevieve, and was sustaining the school until the master -should return from Rome in triumph. But Arnold had no hope of any -good being done at Rome, and rather preached rebellion against the -whole of the bejewelled prelates. Sternly ascetic in his life and -ideals—St. Bernard scoffingly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[p. -311]</span> applies to him the evangelical description of the -Baptist: ‘He ate not, neither did he drink’—he was ever contrasting -the luxurious life of the pastors of the Church with the simple -ideal of early Christianity. He had not such success in France as -elsewhere, and Bernard secured his expulsion a few years later. But -the same stern denunciation was on his noble lips when the savage -flames sealed them for ever, under the shadow of St. Peter’s, in -1155.</p> - -<p>Abélard himself seems to have taken matters with a fatal -coolness, whilst his adversary was moving heaven and earth to -destroy him. He allowed a month or two to elapse before he turned -in the direction of Rome.<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" -class="fnanchor">[36]</a> Secure in the consciousness of the -integrity of his cause and his own power of pleading, and presuming -too much of Rome’s proud boast that it ‘condemned no man unheard,’ -he saw no occasion for hurry. Late in the summer he set out upon -his long journey. It was his purpose to travel through Burgundy and -Lyons, and to cross the Alps by the pass which was soon to bear -the name of his energetic enemy. After the fashion of all<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[p. 312]</span> travellers of the -time he rested at night in the monastery nearest to the spot where -he was overtaken. Thus it came to pass that, when he arrived in -the neighbourhood of Mâcon, he sought hospitality of the great and -venerable Benedictine abbey at Cluny.</p> - -<p>Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, was the second monk in France -at that time. A few degrees lower in the scale of neural intensity -than his canonised rival, he far surpassed him in the less exalted -virtues of kindliness, humanity, and moderation. ‘The rule of St. -Benedict,’ he once wrote to Bernard, ‘is dependent on the sublime -general law of charity’; that was not the route to the honour of -canonisation. He belonged by birth to the illustrious family of the -Montboissiers of Auvergne, and was a man of culture, fine and equable -temper, high principle, gentle and humane feeling, and much practical -wisdom. He had had more than one controversy with the abbot of -Clairvaux, and his influence was understood to counterbalance that of -Bernard at times in the affairs of the Church and the kingdom.</p> - -<p>It was, therefore, one of the few fortunate accidents of his -career that brought Abélard to Cluny at that time. Abbot Peter knew -that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[p. 313]</span> Bernard -had actually in his possession the papal decree which ordered the -imprisonment of Abélard and the burning of his books. He had a deep -sympathy for the ageing master who was seeking a new triumph in Rome -under such peculiarly sad circumstances. Peter knew well how little -the question of heresy really counted for in the matter. It was a -question of Church politics; and he decided to use his influence -for the purpose of securing a tranquil close for the embittered -and calumniated life. Abélard was beginning to feel the exactions -of his journey, and remained some days at the abbey. The abbot, as -he afterwards informs the pope, spoke with him about his purpose, -and at length informed him that the blow had already fallen. It -was the last and decisive blow. The proud head never again raised -itself in defiance of the potent ignorance, the crafty passion, and -the hypocrisy that made up the world about him. He was too much -enfeebled, too much dispirited, even to repeat the blasphemy of his -earlier experience: ‘Good Jesus, where art thou?’ For the first and -last time he bowed to the mystery of the triumph of evil.</p> - -<p>Abbot Peter then undertook the task of avert<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_314">[p. 314]</span>ing the consequence of Bernard’s -triumph, and found little difficulty in directing the fallen man. -It was imperative, in the first place, to effect some form of -reconciliation between the great antagonists, so as to disarm the -hostility of Bernard. We shortly find Raynard, the abbot of Cîteaux, -at Cluny, and Abélard accompanies him back to his abbey. Peter has -obtained from him a formal promise to correct anything in his works -that may be ‘offensive to pious ears,’ and on this basis Bernard is -invited to a reconciliation at Cîteaux. A few days afterwards Abélard -returns to Cluny with the laconic reply that they ‘had had a peaceful -encounter,’ as the abbot informs the pope, to whom he immediately -writes for permission to receive Abélard into their community at -Cluny, adding, with a calm contempt of the accusation of heresy, -that ‘Brother Peter’s knowledge’ will be useful to the brethren. The -abbot of Cluny had claims upon the pope’s consideration. Although the -anti-pope, Anacletus, had been a monk of Cluny, Peter had been the -first to meet Innocent when he came to France for support. In pointed -terms he begged that Abélard ‘might not be driven away or troubled by -the importunity of any persons.’ His request<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_315">[p. 315]</span> was granted; and thus the broken spirit -was spared that ‘public humiliation’ in France that Bernard had -demanded.</p> - -<p>The basis of reconciliation with Bernard was probably a second and -shorter apology which Abélard wrote at Cluny. It was convenient to -regard this at the time as a retractation. In reality it is for the -most part a sharp rejection of Bernard’s formulation of his theses -and a new enunciation of them in more orthodox phraseology. His frame -of mind appears in the introductory note.</p> - -<p>‘There is a familiar proverb that “Nothing is said so well that it -cannot be perverted,” and, as St. Jerome says, “He who writes many -books invites many judges.” I also have written a few things—though -little in comparison with others—and have not succeeded in escaping -censure; albeit in those things for which I am so gravely charged -I am conscious of no fault, nor should I obstinately defend it, -if I were. It may be that I have erred in my writings, but I call -God to witness and to judge in my soul that I have written nothing -through wickedness or pride of those things for which I am chiefly -blamed.’</p> - -<p>Then, warmly denying Bernard’s charge that<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_316">[p. 316]</span> he has ever taught a secret doctrine, -he passes to a detailed profession of faith on the lines of Bernard’s -list of errors. With regard to the Trinity he denies all the heresies -ascribed to him; this he could do with perfect justice. On the other -points he makes distinctions, adds explanations and qualifications, -and even sometimes accepts Bernard’s thesis without remark, though -one can generally see a reserve in the background. Thus, on the -question of sin committed in ignorance, he makes the familiar modern -distinction between culpable and inculpable ignorance: he admits -that we have inherited Adam’s sin, but adds ‘because his sin is the -source and cause of all our sins.’ On the question of the prevention -of evil by God, he merely says, ‘Yes, He often does’; and so forth. -The only sentence which looks like a real retractation is that in -which he grants ‘the power of the keys’ to all the clergy. In this -he clearly dissociates himself from Arnold of Brescia, and perplexes -his friends. But his earlier teaching on the point is by no means -so clear and categorical as that of Arnold. There is nothing either -very commendable or very condemnable about the document. It probably -represents a grudging concession to the abbot<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_317">[p. 317]</span> of Cluny’s friendly pressure and -counsel to withdraw from what was really only a heated quarrel -with as little friction as possible. That Abélard was not in the -penitent mood some writers discover in the letter is clear from the -peroration. ‘My friend [!] has concluded his list of errors with the -remark: “They are found partly in Master Peter’s book of theology, -partly in his <i>Sentences</i>, and partly in his <i>Scito te Ipsum</i>.” But I -have never written a book of <i>Sentences</i>, and therefore the remark is -due to the same malice or ignorance as the errors themselves.’</p> - -<p>However, the document had a sufficient air of retractation about -it to allow Bernard to withdraw. In substance and spirit it was, as -its name indicated, an apology, not a retractation. In fact Bernard’s -zealous secretary and an unknown abbot attacked the apology, but -Abélard made no reply, and the discussion slowly died away. Bernard -had won a political triumph, and he showed a becoming willingness -to rest content with empty assurances. Abélard’s personal force was -dead; little eagerness was shown to pursue the seminal truths he had -left behind, and which were once thought so abhorrent and pernicious. -Later Benedictines virtually admit the justice of this.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[p. 318]</span> Mabillon says: ‘We do -not regard Abélard as a heretic; it is sufficient for the defence of -Bernard to admit that he erred in certain things.’ And the historian -Noël Alexandre also says, ‘He must not be regarded as a heretic.’ -Indeed, Bernard was strongly condemned at the time by English -and German writers. Otto of Freising reproves his action in the -cases of both Abélard and Gilbert, and attributes it to defects of -character. John of Salisbury severely criticises him in the <i>Historia -Pontificalis</i>; and Walter Map, another English writer, voices the -same widespread feeling.</p> - -<p>Another document that Abélard sent out from Cluny forms the last -page of his intercourse with Heloise. If he had wearily turned away -from the strange drama of life, his affection for her survives the -disillusion in all its force. There is a welcome tenderness in -his thought of her amidst the crushing desolation that has fallen -upon him. <i>She</i> shall not be hurt by any unwilling impression of -persistent calumny. He writes to her a most affectionate letter, -and in the sanctuary of their love makes a solemn profession of the -purity of his faith.</p> - -<p>‘My sister Heloise, once dear to me in the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_319">[p. 319]</span> world, and now most dear in Christ, -logic has brought the enmity of men upon me. For there are certain -perverse calumniators, whose wisdom leads to perdition, that say I -take pre-eminence in logic but fail egregiously in the interpretation -of Paul; commending my ability, they would deny me the purity of -Christian faith.... I would not rank as a philosopher if it implied -any error in faith; I would not be an Aristotle if it kept me away -from Christ. For no other name is given to me under heaven in which I -may find salvation. I adore Christ, sitting at the right hand of the -Father.’ Then follows a brief confession of faith on the chief points -of Christian belief—the Trinity, the Incarnation, baptism, penance, -and the resurrection. ‘And that all anxiety and doubt may be excluded -from thy heart,’ he concludes, ‘do thou hold this concerning me, I -have grounded my conscience on that rock on which Christ has built -His Church.’</p> - -<p>It was Abélard’s farewell to her who had shared so much of the joy -and the bitterness of his life. But what a different man it recalls -through the mists of time from the ‘dragon’ of Bernard’s letters! One -contrast at least we cannot fail to note between the saint and the -sinner. We have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[p. 320]</span> -seen Bernard’s treatment of Abélard; in this private letter, -evidently intended for no eye but that of his wife, we have the sole -recorded utterance of Abélard on the man who, for so little reason, -shattered the triumph and the peace of his closing years.</p> - -<p>For if there is a seeming peace about the few months of life that -still remained to the great teacher, it is the peace of the grave—the -heavy peace that shrouds a dead ambition and a broken spirit, not the -glad peace that adorns requited labour and successful love. Abélard -enters upon a third stage of his existence, and the shadow of the -tomb is on it. He becomes a monk; he centres all his thought on the -religious exercises that, like the turns of the prayer wheel, write -the long catalogue of merit in heaven.</p> - -<p>In the abbey of Cluny, under the administration of Peter the -Venerable, he found all that his soul desired in its final stage. -The vast monastery had a community of four hundred and sixty monks. -Older than its rival, Cîteaux, possessed of great wealth and one of -the finest churches in France, it was eagerly sought by monastic -aspirants. When Innocent <small>II.</small> came to France for -support, Cluny sent sixty horses and mules<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_321">[p. 321]</span> to meet him, and entertained him and -all his followers for eleven days. At an earlier date it had lodged -pope, king, and emperor, with all their followers, without displacing -a single monk. Yet with all its wealth and magnitude the abbey -maintained a strict observance of the rule of St. Benedict. Peter was -too cultured and humanistic<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" -class="fnanchor">[37]</a> for the Cistercians, who often criticised -the half-heartedness of his community. In point of fact a strict -order and discipline were maintained in the abbey, and Abélard -entered fervently into its life. From their beds of straw the monks -would rise at midnight and proceed to the church, where they would -chant their long, dirge-like matins, and remain in meditation until -dawn. Work, study, and prayer filled up the long hours; and at night -they would cast themselves down, just as they were, on the bags of -straw, to rise again on the morrow for the same task. Such monks—they -are rare now, though far from extinct—must be men of one idea—heaven. -To that stage had Abélard sunk.</p> - -<p>Years afterwards the brothers used to point out to visitors—for -Abélard had left a repute<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[p. -322]</span> for sanctity behind him—a great lime-tree under which -he used to sit and read between exercises. Peter had gone so far as -to make him prior of the studies of the brethren, so lightly did -he hold the charge of heresy. The abbot has given us, in a later -letter to Heloise, an enthusiastic picture, drawn from the purely -Buddhist point of view, of Abélard’s closing days. With a vague -allusion to this letter certain ecclesiastical writers represent -Abélard as a sinner up to the time of the Council of Sens, and a -convert and penitent in the brief subsequent period. In point of -fact there was little change in the soul of the fallen man, beyond -a weary resignation of his hope of cleansing the Church, involving, -as this did, a more constant preoccupation with the world to come. -The abbot says, in support of his declaration, that Abélard had -cast a radiance on their abbey, that ‘not a moment passed but he -was either praying or reading or writing or composing’; and again: -‘If I mistake not I never saw his equal in lowliness of habit and -conduct, so much so that Germain did not seem more humble nor Martin -poorer than he to those who were of good discernment.’ The ‘good -discernment’ reminds us that we must not take at too literal a value -this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[p. 323]</span> letter of -comfort to the widowed abbess. Abélard had been an ascetic and a -devout man since his frightful experience at Paris twenty-five years -previously. With the fading of his interest in the things of earth, -and in his sure consciousness of approaching death, his prayers would -assuredly be longer and his indifference to comfort and honour more -pronounced.</p> - -<p>But we have a clear indication that there was no change in his -thoughts, even in that last year, with regard to the great work of -his life and the temper of his opponents. During the quiet months of -teaching at Cluny, a certain ‘Dagobert and his nephew’ asked him for -a copy of his dialectical treatise, one of his earliest writings. It -is impossible to say whether this Dagobert was his brother at Nantes -(where Astrolabe also seems to have lived) or a monastic ‘Brother -Dagobert.’ Most probably it was the former, because he speaks of the -effort it costs him, ill and weary of writing as he is, to respond -to their ‘affection.’ He does not copy, but rewrites his dialectics, -so that we have in the work his last attitude on his studies and his -struggles. It is entirely unchanged. Jealousy, hatred, and ignorance -are the sole sources of the hostility to his<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_324">[p. 324]</span> work. They say he should have confined -himself to dialectics (as Otto von Freising said later); but he -points out that his enemies quarrelled even with his exclusive -attention to dialectics, firstly because it had no direct relation to -faith, and secondly because it was indirectly destructive of faith. -He has still the old enthusiasm for reason and for the deepening and -widening of our natural knowledge. Both knowledge and faith come from -God, and cannot contradict each other. It was the last gleam of the -dying light, but it was wholly unchanged in its purity.</p> - -<p>With the approach of spring the abbot sent the doomed man to a -more friendly and familiar climate. Cluny had a priory outside the -town of Chalon-sur-Saône, not far from the bank of the river. It -was one of the most pleasant situations in Burgundy, in the mild -valley of the Seine, which Abélard had learned to love. But the last -struggle had exhausted his strength, and the disease, variously -described as a fever and a disease of the skin, met with little -resistance. He died on the 21st of April 1142, in the sixty-third -year of his age.</p> - -<p>How deeply he had impressed the monks of St. Marcellus during -his brief stay with them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[p. -325]</span> becomes apparent in the later history, which recalls the -last chapter in the lives of some of the most popular saints. It will -be remembered that Abélard had, in one of his letters to Heloise, -asked that his body might be buried at the Paraclete, ‘for he knew no -place that was safer or more salutary for a sorrowing soul.’ Heloise -informed the abbot of Cluny of the request, and he promised to see -it fulfilled. But he found that the monks of St. Marcellus were -violently opposed to the idea of robbing them of the poor body that -had been hunted from end to end of France whilst the great mind yet -dwelt in it. There have often been such quarrels, sometimes leading -to bloodshed, over the bodies of the saints. However, the abbot found -a means to steal the body from the monastery chapel in the month of -November, and had it conveyed secretly, under his personal conduct, -to the Paraclete.</p> - -<p>We have a letter which was written by the abbot about this time -to Heloise. I have already quoted the portion in which he consoles -her with a picture of the edifying life and death of her husband. The -first part of the letter is even more interesting in its testimony to -the gifts and character of the abbess herself. Peter the Vener<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[p. 326]</span>able was, it will be -remembered, a noble of high origin, an abbot of great and honourable -repute, a man of culture and sober judgment.</p> - -<p>‘For in truth,’ he says, after an allusion to some gifts—probably -altar-work—that she had sent him, ‘my affection for thee is not of -recent growth, but of long standing. I had hardly passed the bounds -of youth, hardly come to man’s estate, when the repute, if not yet -of thy religious fervour, at least of thy becoming and praiseworthy -studies, reached my ears. I remember hearing at that time of a -woman who, though still involved in the toils of the world, devoted -herself to letters and to the pursuit of wisdom, which is a rare -occurrence.... In that pursuit thou hast not only excelled amongst -women, but there are few men whom thou hast not surpassed.’ He passes -to the consideration of her religious ‘vocation,’ in which, of -course, he discovers a rich blessing. ‘These things, dearest sister -in the Lord,’ he concludes, ‘I say by way of exhortation, not of -flattery.’ Then, after much theological and spiritual discussion, he -says: ‘It would be grateful to me to hold long converse with thee -on these matters, because I not only take pleasure in thy renowned -erudi<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[p. 327]</span>tion, but I -am even more attracted by that piety of which so many speak to me. -Would that thou didst dwell at Cluny!’</p> - -<p>This is the one woman (and wife, to boot) to whom Bernard could -have referred in justification of his equivocal remark to a stranger -that Abélard ‘busied himself with women.’ We have, however, little -further record of the life of the unfortunate Heloise. Shortly -after the body of her husband has been buried in the crypt of their -convent-chapel, we find her applying to Peter of Cluny for a written -copy of the absolution of Abélard. The abbot sent it; and for long -years the ashes of the great master were guarded from profanation by -this pitiful certificate of his orthodoxy. In the same letter Heloise -thanks the abbot for a promise that the abbey of Cluny will chant -the most solemn rites of the Church when her own death is announced -to them; she also asks Peter’s favourable influence on behalf of -Astrolabe, her son, who has entered the service of the Church.</p> - -<p>Heloise survived her husband by twenty-one years. There is a -pretty legend in the Chronicle of the Church of Tours that the tomb -of Abélard was opened at her death and her remains laid in<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[p. 328]</span> it, and that the arms -of the dead man opened wide to receive her whose embrace the hard -world had denied him in life. It seems to have been at a later date -that their ashes were really commingled. At the Revolution the -Paraclete was secularised, and the remains of husband and wife began -a series of removals in their great sarcophagus. In 1817 they found a -fitting rest in Père Lachaise.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[p. 329]</span></p> - <h2 title="CHAPTER XV - THE INFLUENCE OF ABÉLARD">CHAPTER XV</h2> - <p class="subh2">THE INFLUENCE OF ABÉLARD</p> -</div> - -<p class="ti0"><span class="smcap">If the</span> inquirer into the -influence of the famous dialectician could content himself with -merely turning from the study of Abélard’s opinions to the towering -structure of modern Catholic theology, he would be tempted to -exclaim, in the words of a familiar epitaph, ‘Si monumentum quaeris, -circumspice.’ Abélard’s most characteristic principles are now -amongst the accepted foundations of dogmatic theology; most, or, at -all events, a large number, of the conclusions that brought such -wrath about him in the twelfth century are now calmly taught in the -schools of Rome and Louvain and Freiburg. Bernardism has been almost -banished from the courts of the temple. The modern theologian could -not face the modern world with the thoughts of the saint whose bones -are treasured in a thousand jewelled reliquaries; he must speak the -thoughts of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[p. 330]</span> -heretic, who lies by the side of his beloved, amidst the soldiers -and statesmen, the actresses and courtesans, of Paris. The great -political organisation that once found it expedient to patronise -Bernardism has now taken the spirit of Abélard into the very heart of -its official teaching.</p> - -<p>There are few in England who will read such an assertion without -a feeling of perplexity, if not incredulity. Far and wide over -the realm of theology has the spirit of Abélard breathed; and -ever-widening spheres of Evangelicalism, Deism, Pantheism, and -Agnosticism mark its growth. But it is understood that Rome has -resisted the spirit of rationalism, and to-day, as ever, bids human -reason bow in submission before the veiled mysteries of ‘the deposit -of revelation.’</p> - -<p>Yet the assertion involves no strain or ingenuity of -interpretation of Catholic theology. The notion that Rome rebukes the -imperious claims of reason is one of a number of strangely-enduring -fallacies concerning that Church. The truth of our thesis can be -swiftly and clearly established. The one essential source of the -antagonism of St. Bernard and Abélard was the question of the -relations of faith and reason. ‘Faith precedes intellect,’ said the -Cistercian; ‘Reason precedes faith,’ said the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_331">[p. 331]</span> Benedictine. All other quarrels were -secondary and were cognate to their profound and irreconcilable -opposition on this point. M. Guizot adds a second fundamental -opposition on the ethical side. This, however, was certainly of a -secondary importance. Few historians hesitate to regard the famous -struggle as being in the main a dispute over the rights and duties of -reason.</p> - -<p>Turn then from the pontificate of Innocent <small>II.</small> -to that of Pius <small>IX.</small> and of Leo <small>XIII.</small> -Towards the close of the last century, Huet, Bishop of Avranches, -began to meet rationalistic attacks with a belittlement of human -reason. The idea found favour with a class of apologists. De Bonald, -Bonetty, Bautain, and others in France, and the Louvain theologians -in Belgium, came entirely to repudiate the interference of reason -with regard to higher truths, saying that their acceptance was solely -a matter of faith and tradition. Well, the Church of Rome (to which -all belonged) descended upon the new sect with a remarkable severity. -Phrases that were purely Bernardist in form and substance were -rigorously condemned. The French ‘Traditionalists’ were forced to -subscribe to (amongst others) the following significant proposition: -‘The use of reason<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[p. -332]</span> precedes faith, and leads up to it, with the aid of -revelation and grace.’ It was the principle which Abélard’s whole -life was spent in vindicating. The Louvain men wriggled for many -months under the heel of Rome. They were not suffered to rest until -they had cast away the last diluted element of their theory.</p> - -<p>The episode offers a very striking exhibition of the entire -change of front of Rome with regard to ‘the rights of reason.’ There -are many other official utterances in the same sense. An important -provincial council, held at Cologne in 1860, and fully authorised, -discussed the question at length. ‘We have no faith,’ it enacted, -‘until we have seen with our reason that God is worthy of credence -and that He has spoken to us’; and again, ‘The firmness of faith -... requires that he who believes must have a preliminary <i>rational -certitude</i> of the existence of God and the fact of a revelation -having come from Him, and he must have no prudent doubt on the -matter.’ In the Encyclical of 1846 even Pius <small>IX.</small> -insisted on the same principle: ‘Human reason, to avoid the danger -of deception and error, must diligently search out the fact of a -divine revelation, and must attain a <i>certainty</i> that the message -comes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[p. 333]</span> from -God, so that, as the Apostle most wisely ordains, it may offer Him -a “reasonable service.”’ The Vatican Council of 1870 was equally -explicit. The modern Catholic theologian, in his treatise on faith, -invariably defines it as an intellectual act, an acceptance of truths -after a satisfactory rational inquiry into the authority that urges -them. It is official Catholic teaching that faith is impossible -without a previous rational certitude. Moreover, the theologian -admits that every part and particle of the dogmatic system must meet -the criticism of reason. In the positive sense it is indispensable -that reason prove the existence of God, the authority of God, and the -divinity of the Scriptures. In the negative sense, no single dogma -must contain an assertion which is clearly opposed to a proved fact -or to a clear pronouncement of human reason or the human conscience. -These are not the speculations of advanced theologians, but the -current teaching in the Roman schools and manuals<a id="FNanchor_38" -href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> of dogmatic -theology.</p> - -<p>Thus has history vindicated the heretic. The multiplication -of churches has made the Bernardist<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_334">[p. 334]</span> notion of faith wholly untenable and -unserviceable to Rome. Reason precedes faith; reason must lead men to -faith, and make faith acceptable to men. That is the gospel that now -falls on the dead ear of the great master.</p> - -<p>And when we pass from this fundamental principle or attitude to -a consideration of special points of dogma we again meet with many -a triumph. We have already seen how Abélard’s ‘novelties’ may be -traced to a twofold criticism—ethical and intellectual—of the form in -which Christian dogmas were accepted in his day. Without explicitly -formulating it, Abélard proceeded on the principle which is now -complacently laid down by the Catholic theologian, and was accepted -by the Christian world at large a century or half a century ago: -the principle that what is offered to us as revealed truth must be -tested by the declarations of the mind and of the conscience. The -intellectual criticism led him to alter the terms of the dogmas of -the Trinity, the Incarnation, the Eucharist, and others; the ethical -criticism led him to modify the current theories of original sin, the -atonement, penance, and so forth.</p> - -<p>Now, even if we confine our attention to Roman theology, we find a -large adoption of Abélard’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[p. -335]</span> singularly prophetic conclusions. As to the Trinity, -it is now a universal and accepted practice to illustrate it by -analogies derived from purely natural phenomena, which are always -heretical if taken literally. One of the proudest achievements of -St. Thomas and the schoolmen was the construction of an elaborate -analogical conception of the Trinity. On the equally important -question of Scripture Abélard’s innovation proved prophetic. In -that age of the doctrine of verbal inspiration he drew attention -to the human element in the Bible. Even the Catholic Bible is no -longer a monochrome. Abélard’s speculation about the ‘accidents’ in -the Eucharist—that they are based on the substance of the air—is -now widely and freely accepted by theologians. His moral principles -relating to sins done in ignorance and to ‘suggestion, delectation, -and consent’—both of which were condemned, at Bernard’s demand—are -recognised to be absolutely sound by the modern casuist. His notion -of heaven is the current esoteric doctrine in Rome to-day; his theory -of hell is widely held, in spite of a recent official censure; his -pleading for Plato and his fellow-heathens would be seconded by the -average Catholic theologian of to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[p. 336]</span></p> - -<p>It is hardly necessary to point out how entirely the non-Roman -theology of the nineteenth century has accepted Abélard’s spirit -and conclusions. The broadest feature of the history of theology -during the century has been the resumption and the development -of the modifying process which was started by Abélard eight -centuries ago. The world at large has taken up his speculations -on the Incarnation, the atonement, original sin, responsibility, -inspiration, confession, hell and heaven, and so many other points, -and given them that development from which the dutiful son of the -Church inconsistently shrank.<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" -class="fnanchor">[39]</a> A curious and striking proof of this -may be taken from Tholuck’s dissertation on ‘Abélard and Aquinas -as interpreters of Scripture.’ The dis<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_337">[p. 337]</span>tinguished German theologian, who is the -author of a well-known commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, says -that when he read Abélard’s commentary on that Epistle, in preparing -his own work, he seriously hesitated whether it would not suffice to -republish the forgotten work of Abélard instead of writing a new one. -When one recollects what an epitome of theology such a commentary -must be, one can appreciate not only the great homage it involves to -the genius of the man whom Bernard scornfully calls a ‘dabbler in -theology,’ but the extent to which Abélard anticipated the mature -judgment of theological science.</p> - -<p>It seems, however, a superfluous task to point out the acceptance -of Abélard’s spirit, method, and results by theology in general. The -more interesting and important question is the acceptance of his -ideas by the Church of Rome. That we have abundantly established, and -we may now proceed to inquire whether, and to what extent, Abélard -had a direct influence in the abandonment of the mystic attitude and -the adoption of one which may be fairly entitled ‘rationalistic.’</p> - -<p>Here we have a much more difficult problem to deal with. It may -at once be frankly avowed that there is little evidence of a direct -transition of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[p. 338]</span> -Abélard’s ideas into the accepted scheme of theology. Some of the -most careful and patient biographers of Abélard, as a theologian, -say that we cannot claim for him any direct influence on the course -of theological development. Deutsch points out that his works must -have become rare, and the few copies secretly preserved, after their -condemnation by the pope; certainly few manuscripts of them have -survived. He had formed no theological school (as distinct from -philosophical), or the beginning of one must have been crushed at -Sens. His Roman pupils and admirers were probably not men who would -cultivate loyalty under unfavourable circumstances. The schoolmen -of the following century only know Abélard from passages in Hugh of -St. Victor and others of his enemies. The first to reproduce what -Deutsch takes to be the characteristic spirit or method of Abélard -is Roger Bacon; it is extremely doubtful if he had any acquaintance -whatever with Abélard. The world was prepared to receive the ideas of -Abélard with some respect in the thirteenth century, but it had then -a task which was too absorbing to allow a search for the manuscripts -of ‘a certain Abélard,’ as one later theologian put it. The Arabians -and Jews had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[p. 339]</span> -reintroduced Aristotle into Europe. He had come to stay; and the -schoolmen were engrossed in the work of fitting him with garments of -Christian theology.</p> - -<p>On the other hand there are historians, such as Reuter, who grant -Abélard a large measure of direct influence on the development -of theology. It is pointed out that a very large proportion of -the masters of the next generation had studied under Abélard. -Reuter instances Bernard Sylvester of Chartres and William of -Conches, as well as Gilbert de la Porée. Clearer instances of -direct influence are found in the case of Master Roland of Bologna -(afterwards to ascend the papal throne under the name of Alexander -<small>III.</small>) and Master Omnebene of the same city. It is, in -any case, quite clear that Abélard was pre-eminently a teacher of -teachers. On the other hand it would be incorrect to lay too much -stress on the condemnation by Pope Innocent. All the world knew -that Bernard had prudently kept the unexecuted Bull in his pocket, -and that Abélard was teaching theology at Cluny, with the pope’s -approval, a few months after the condemnation.</p> - -<p>It is best to distinguish once more between the spirit or method -of Abélard and his particular<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[p. -340]</span> critical conclusions. His conclusions, his suggestions -for the reconstruction of certain dogmas, were lost to theological -science. The cruder notions of the earlier age and of Bernard -continued to be regarded as <i>the</i> truth for many centuries. Even the -masters, such as Roland of Bologna, who did found their theology -more conspicuously on that of Abélard, prudently deviated from his -opinions where they were ‘offensive to pious ears.’ His treatment -of the Trinity is, perhaps, an exception. Not that Abélard’s -favourite analogies—that of the seal and its impression, and so -forth—were retained, but he had set an example in the rationalistic -or naturalistic illustration of the mystery which persisted in the -schools. All the great schoolmen of the following century accepted -the Abélardist notion of a rationalistic illustration and defence -of the Trinity. They constructed an elaborately meaningless analogy -of it, and invented a ‘virtual’ distinction—a mental distinction -which might be taken to be objective for apologetic purposes—between -the essence and the personalities. But Abélard’s penetrating and -reconstructive criticisms of the current dogmas of original sin, the -Incarnation, responsibility, reward and punishment, inspiration, -omnipotence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[p. 341]</span> -etc., degenerated into, at the most, obscure heresies—sank back into -the well of truth until long after a rebellious monk had broken the -bonds which held the intellect of Europe.</p> - -<p>It was far otherwise with the spirit of Abélard, the fundamental -principle or maxim on which all else depended. The thirteenth -century cordially accepted that principle, and applied itself to the -rationalisation of theology. It wholly abandoned the mysticism of -Bernard and the school of St. Victor. The Cistercian had summed up -Abélard’s misdeeds thus in his letter to the pope: ‘He peers into -the heavens and searches the hidden things of God, then, returning -to us, he holds discourse on ineffable things of which a man may -not speak.’ In the very sense in which this was said of Abélard, -it may be urged as a chief characteristic of the saintly schoolmen -of the thirteenth century. Even St. Bonaventure was no mystic in -the anti-rational sense of Bernard; simply, he applied to theology -the reason of Plato instead of the reason of Aristotle. Archbishop -Roger Vaughan, in his <i>Life of St. Thomas</i>, says that the schoolmen -owed the ‘<i>probatur ratione</i>’ in their <i>loci theologici</i> to Abélard. -That is already a most striking vindication of Abélard’s<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[p. 342]</span> characteristic teaching -as to the function of reason, for we know how important the ‘proofs -from reason’ were in the scheme of Aquinas and Scotus. But they -really owe far more than this to Abélard. If they have deserted the -dreamy, rambling, fruitless, and fantastic speculation of the mystic -school for a methodical and syllogistic inquiry concerning each point -of faith, it is largely due to the example of Abélard. The schoolmen -notoriously followed Peter the Lombard. From the <i>Sentences</i> of -Peter the Lombard to the <i>Sic et Non</i> of Peter Abélard—through -such works as the <i>Sentences</i> of Roland and Omnebene of Bologna -and the so-called <i>Sentences of Peter Abélard</i>—is a short and easy -journey. No doubt we must not lose sight of that other event which -so powerfully influenced the theology of the thirteenth century: -the invasion of the Arab and Jew philosophers. Theirs is the only -influence of which the schoolmen show any consciousness in their -elaborate fortification of dogma to meet the criticism of reason and -conscience—except for the avowed influence of the Lombard; and along -that line we may trace the direct influence of Abélard.</p> - -<p>In the circumstances it makes little difference<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[p. 343]</span> to the prestige of -Abélard whether we succeed in proving a direct influence or no. -There are few who will think less of him because he was beaten by -St. Bernard in diplomatic manipulation of the political force of the -Church. The times were not ripe for the acceptance of his particular -criticisms, and the mystic school was the natural expression of this -conservatism. We may even doubt if Deutsch is correct in saying that -the thirteenth century was prepared to receive them, but that its -attention was diverted to Spain. Renan has said that they who study -the thirteenth century closely are astonished that Protestantism did -not arise three hundred years earlier. That is the point of view of -a logician. The Reformation was not in reality, though it seems such -in theory to the student of the history of ideas, an intellectual -development. No doubt it could not have succeeded without this -development to appeal to, but it was a moral and political revolt. -How little the world was prepared for such a revolt at the end of the -thirteenth century may be gathered from a study of the life of that -other rebellious monk, William Occam. This success the Anselms and -Bernards achieved: they spread, with a moral renovation, a spirit -of docility and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[p. 344]</span> -loyalty to the Church. The subtlety and intellectual activity they -could not arrest came to be used up in an effort to restate the older -dogmas in terms which should be at once conservative and acceptable -to the new rational demand.</p> - -<p>It is equally difficult and more interesting to determine how far -Abélard himself was created by predecessors. Nowadays no thought is -revolutionary; but some notions are more rapid in their evolution -than others. To what extent Abélard’s ideas were thus borrowed -from previous thinkers it is not easy to determine with precision. -He was far from being the first rationalist of the Middle Ages. -Scotus Erigena and Bérenger (of anti-sacramental fame) were well -remembered in his day. He himself studied under a rationalistic -master—Jean Roscelin, canon of Compiègne,—in his early years. We -do not know with certainty at what age he studied under Roscelin, -and cannot, therefore, determine how great an influence the older -master exercised over him. But there can be little doubt that Abélard -must be credited with a very large force of original genius. At -the most, the attitude of his mind towards dogma was determined -by outward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[p. 345]</span> -influences, concurring with his own temperament and character -of mind. It is more than probable that this attitude would have -been adopted by him even had there been no predisposing influence -whatever. His rationalism flows spontaneously and irresistibly from -his type of mind and character. In the development of the rationalist -principle we see the exclusive action of his own intelligence. -To most of us in this generation such dogmatic reconstruction as -Abélard urged seems obvious enough; yet one needs little imagination -to appreciate the mental power or, rather, penetration, which was -necessary to realise its necessity in the twelfth century.</p> - -<p>One is tempted at times to speculate on the probable development -of Abélard’s thoughts if that great shadow had not fallen on his life -at so early a period. There are two Abélards. The older theologian, -who is ever watchful to arrest his thoughts when they approach -clear, fundamental dogmas, is not the natural development of the -freethinking author of the <i>Sic et Non</i>. With the conversion to the -ascetic ideal had come a greater awe in approaching truths which -were implicitly accepted as divine. Yet we may well doubt if Abélard -would ever have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[p. 346]</span> -advanced much beyond his actual limits. Starting from the world of -ideas in which he lived, he would have needed an exceptional strength -to proceed to any very defiant and revolutionary conclusions. He was -not of the stuff of martyrs, of Scotus Erigena, or Arnold of Brescia. -He had no particle of the political ability of Luther. But such as -he is, gifted with a penetrating mind, and led by a humanist ideal -that touched few of his contemporaries, pathetically irresolute and -failing because the fates had made him the hero of a great drama and -ironically denied him the hero’s strength, he deserves at least to -be drawn forth from the too deep shadow of a crude and unsympathetic -tradition.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Index"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[p. 347]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak g2">INDEX</h2> -</div> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Abélard</span>, origin of name, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> -<li>Aboilar, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> -<li>Adam, Abbot of St. Denis, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> -<li>Adam of the Little Bridge, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> -<li>Alberic of Rheims, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> -<li>Alvise, Bishop of Arras, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> -<li><i>Anima mundi</i> and the Holy Ghost, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.</li> -<li>Anselm Beessus, Canon of Laon, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Laon, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li> -<li>—— St., <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> -<li>Antagonism of Abélard and St. Bernard, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>.</li> -<li>Anti-pope, the, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> -<li>Apology of Abélard, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> -<li>Appeal to Rome, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>-<a href="#Page_287">87</a>.</li> -<li>Arabic, study of, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li>Argenteuil, nunnery of, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> -<li>Aristotle, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> -<li>Arnold of Brescia, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> -<li>Asceticism, Heloise on, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> -<li>Astrolabe, son of Abélard, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>.</li> -<li>Attempts on Abélard’s life, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> -<li>Aventinus, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Bacon</span>, Roger, and Abélard, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.</li> -<li>Bajolard, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> -<li>Baldwin, monk, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li>Bayle on Heloise, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> -<li>Bec, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> -<li>Bede, Venerable, on St. Denis, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> -<li>Benedictines, the, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> -<li>Bérenger, father of Abélard, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Poitiers, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.</li> -<li>—— pupil of Abélard, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>-<a href="#Page_290">90</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.</li> -<li>Bernard of Chartres, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Clairvaux, St., <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>-<a href="#Page_196">96</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>-<a href="#Page_278">78</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>-<a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>-<a href="#Page_318">18</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Cluny (quoted), <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> -<li>Bible, Abélard’s opinion concerning, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>.</li> -<li>Boetius, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> -<li>Breviary, Roman, the, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> -<li>Brittany, people of, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> -<li>Buchanan’s (Robert) <i>New Abailard</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li>Burchard, Bishop of Meaux, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> -<li>Burglary, a mediæval, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li> -<li>Burning of Abélard’s works, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.</li> -<li>Bussy-Rabutin on Heloise, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Calixtus</span>, Pope, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li> -<li>Calumniation of Abélard, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>-<a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> -<li>Cambridge, founding of University of, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> -<li>Canonesses, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> -<li>Canons, regular, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> -<li>—— secular, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> -<li>Cathedral of Paris, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> -<li>Celibacy, law of, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</li> -<li>Cells, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> -<li>Cemetery of Père Lachaise, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.</li> -<li><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[p. 348]</span>Century of iron, the, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> -<li>Challenge of Bernard, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> -<li>Charlemagne, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> -<li>Chartres, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li>Chateaubriand on Heloise, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> -<li>Church, service to, of Abélard, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> -<li>Cistercians, the, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.</li> -<li>Clairvaux, abbey of, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li> -<li>Cluny, abbey of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.</li> -<li>Colardeau on Heloise, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> -<li>Cologne, Council of, on reason, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.</li> -<li><i>Commentary on Epistle to the Romans</i>, Abélard’s, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>.</li> -<li>Compayré (quoted), <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> -<li>Conceptualism, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> -<li>Condemnation of Abélard, first, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— second, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— at Rome, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.</li> -<li>Confession, Abélard’s opinion concerning, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> -<li>—— Champeaux’s opinion concerning, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Abélard, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— Augustine, and Rousseau compared, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> -<li>Conon, Bishop of Praeneste, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>-<a href="#Page_160">60</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</li> -<li>—— Duke of Brittany, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> -<li>Conversion of Abélard, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.</li> -<li>Corbeil, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> -<li>Corruption of monasteries, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> -<li>—— of nunneries, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> -<li>—— of the clergy, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> -<li>Cotter Morison on Abélard, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> -<li>Cousin (quoted), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> -<li>—— on Heloise, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> -<li>Crevier (quoted), <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> -<li>Crusades, the, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Dagobert</span>, brother of Abélard, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>.</li> -<li>Dark Ages, the, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> -<li>Death of Abélard, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>.</li> -<li>Denis, St., controversy about, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> -<li>Denyse, sister of Abélard, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li> -<li>Deutsch (quoted), <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.</li> -<li>Development of Abélard’s ideas, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>.</li> -<li><i>Dialectics</i> of Abélard, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>.</li> -<li>—— study of, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> -<li><i>Dialogue</i>, the, of Abélard, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> -<li>Dubois on the corruption of the clergy, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> -<li>Duboulai (quoted), <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">End</span> of the world, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> -<li>Episcopal Schools, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>Eremetical life of Abélard, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> -<li>Ethical opinions of Abélard, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.</li> -<li><i>Ethics</i>, the, of Abélard, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> -<li>Étienne de Garlande, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li> -<li>Eucharist, opinion of Abélard concerning, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>.</li> -<li>Eudes of Orleans, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>Evil, Abélard’s opinion concerning, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> -<li>Expulsion of canons, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.</li> -<li>—— of monks, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> -<li>—— of nuns, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> -<li>Ezechiel, Abélard’s lectures on, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Faith</span>, Abélard’s opinions on, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>.</li> -<li>Feast of Fools, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> -<li>Flight from St. Denis, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> -<li>—— from St. Gildas, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> -<li>Fontevraud, abbey of, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> -<li>Fulbert, Canon, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> -<li>Fulques, Prior, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Galo</span>, Bishop of Paris, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> -<li>Galton, Mr. (quoted), <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li> -<li>Games of Students, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> -<li>Gaufridus Vindoniencensis, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> -<li>Genera and species, question of, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> -<li>Geoffrey, Bishop of Chartres, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</li> -<li>—— of the Stag’s Neck, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> -<li>Gervaise, Dom. (quoted), <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> -<li><span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[p. 349]</span>Gilbert de la Porée, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.</li> -<li>Gilbert, Bishop of Paris, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> -<li>Goswin, St., <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</li> -<li>Grammar, study of, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li>Gréard’s translation of the <i>Letters</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> -<li>Great Bridge, the, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li> -<li>Greek, Abélard’s knowledge of, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> -<li>—— Heloise’s knowledge of, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> -<li>—— thought, influence on mediæval, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> -<li>Guido of Castello, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> -<li>Guizot, Mme. (quoted), <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Hallam</span> (quoted), <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li>Hatton, Bishop of Troyes, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> -<li>Hausrath (quoted), <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> -<li>Haymerick, Roman Chancellor, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> -<li>Hebrew, Abélard’s knowledge of, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> -<li>—— Heloise’s knowledge of, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> -<li>—— study of, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li>Hefele, Father (quoted), <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> -<li>Helias, Bishop of Orleans, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> -<li>Heloise, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>-<a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>-<a href="#Page_123">23</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>-<a href="#Page_213">13</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>-<a href="#Page_252">52</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>-<a href="#Page_328">28</a>.</li> -<li>—— home of, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> -<li>Henry the Boar, Archbishop of Sens, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> -<li>Hilary, pupil of Abélard, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> -<li>Hoel, Duke of Brittany, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.</li> -<li>Honorius, Pope, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> -<li>Hugo, Bishop of Auxerre, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> -<li>Hyacinth, pupil of Abélard, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> -<li>Hymns of Abélard, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Incarnation</span>, Abélard’s opinion concerning, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.</li> -<li>Influence of Abélard, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>.</li> -<li>Innocent <small>II.</small>, Pope, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>-<a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.</li> -<li>Intolerance of Christian nations, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> -<li><i>Introductio ad theologiam</i>, the, of Abélard, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> -<li>Investitures, question of, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> -<li>Ivo, Bishop of Chartres, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>—— Cardinal, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Jacques</span> de Vitry, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> -<li>Jews, the, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>John of Salisbury, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> -<li>Johnson (quoted), <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li>Joscelin the Red, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><i>Know Thyself</i>, Abélard’s, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Lalanne</span> on the <i>Letters</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li>Lanfranc, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> -<li>Laon, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</li> -<li>Latin Quarter, the, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> -<li>Latinity of Abélard, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Heloise, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> -<li>Learning of Abélard, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Heloise, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> -<li>—— of women in twelfth century, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> -<li>Letter of Abélard to Abbot Adam, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— to St. Bernard, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— to Roscelin, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.</li> -<li>—— of St. Bernard to French bishops, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— to St. Thierry, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Peter the Venerable to Heloise, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Roscelin to Abélard, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> -<li>—— of St. Thierry to Bernard, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>-<a href="#Page_265">65</a>.</li> -<li>Letters of Abélard and Heloise, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>-<a href="#Page_249">49</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— —— authenticity of, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li>—— of St. Bernard to the Pope, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>-<a href="#Page_299">99</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— to the Roman cardinals, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>-<a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> -<li>Letter-writing in the twelfth century, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> -<li>Lex talionis, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> -<li>Liaison of Abélard and Heloise, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>-<a href="#Page_119">19</a>.</li> -<li><span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[p. 350]</span>Licence to teach, when necessary, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> -<li>Licentiousness of Abélard, alleged, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> -<li>Lisiard de Crespy, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> -<li>Little Bridge, the, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> -<li>Locmenach, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.</li> -<li>Lotulphe of Novare, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.</li> -<li>Louis, King, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>.</li> -<li>Lucan (quoted), <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> -<li>Lucia, Abélard’s mother, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Mabillon</span> on Abélard’s orthodoxy, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> -<li>Maisoncelle, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> -<li>Manasses, Bishop of Meaux, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> -<li>Manegold of Alsace, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> -<li>Map, Walter, on St. Bernard, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> -<li>Marianne Alcoforado and Heloise, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> -<li>Marriage of Abélard and Heloise, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li> -<li>Married priests, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.</li> -<li>Mathematics, not studied by Abélard, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.</li> -<li>Melun, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> -<li>Metellus, Hugo, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> -<li>Miracles exposed by Abélard, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li>Monasteries, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> -<li>Monastic festivals, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> -<li>—— life, history of, by Abélard, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> -<li>—— rule, by Abélard and Heloise, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> -<li>—— spirit, the, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li> -<li>Moors, the, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> -<li>Moral classification, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> -<li>—— codes, divergence of, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li> -<li>Morals of the twelfth century, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li> -<li>Moriacum, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</li> -<li>Morigni, abbey of, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.</li> -<li>Muratori (quoted), <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> -<li>Music, Abélard’s knowledge of, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li>Mutilation of Abélard, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Nations</span> at Paris, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> -<li>Neander (quoted), <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> -<li>Nevers, Count de, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> -<li>Newman, Cardinal, on Abélard, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> -<li>Nicholas de Montier-Ramey, St. Bernard’s Secretary, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> -<li>Nobles of France and the King, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> -<li>Noël Alexandre on Abélard, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> -<li>Nogent-sur-Seine, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> -<li>Nominalism, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> -<li>Norbert, St., <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li>Notre Dame, cathedral of, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— cloistral school of, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> -<li>Number of Abélard’s pupils, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li> -<li>Nunneries, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Occam</span>, William, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.</li> -<li>Omnebene of Bologna, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.</li> -<li>Ordeal, the, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> -<li>Orelli on the <i>Letters</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li>Original sin, Abélard’s view of, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> -<li>Otto von Freising (quoted), <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Palace</span> school, the, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> -<li>Pallet, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> -<li>Papal court in France, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.</li> -<li>—— schism, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.</li> -<li>Paraclete, the, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.</li> -<li>Parentage of Abélard, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Heloise, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> -<li>Paris, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> -<li>Paschal, Pope, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> -<li>Peter the Eater, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> -<li>—— the Lombard, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>—— the Venerable, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.</li> -<li>Philip, King, death of, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— palace of, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.</li> -<li>Philippe Auguste, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> -<li>Pius <small>IX.</small> on reason, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.</li> -<li>Plato, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</li> -<li>Poetry of Abélard, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> -<li>Poison, attempts on life of Abélard by, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> -<li>Poole, Mr. (quoted), <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>.</li> -<li><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[p. 351]</span>Pope’s <i>Heloise</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> -<li>Porphyry, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> -<li><i>Portuguese Letters</i>, the, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> -<li>Pré-aux-clercs, the, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> -<li>Predecessors of Abélard, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.</li> -<li>Predestination, Abélard’s opinion on, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.</li> -<li>Prémontré, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li>Premonstratensians, the, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li>Priest, Abélard as a, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> -<li>Priories, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> -<li>Priscian, mediæval study of, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> -<li><i>Problems of Heloise</i>, the, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> -<li>Profession, religious, of Heloise, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.</li> -<li>Pupils of Abélard, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Quadrivium</span>, the, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>Quarrel over Abélard’s body, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Ralph</span> of Laon, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> -<li>—— the Green, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> -<li>Rashdall (quoted), <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> -<li>Rationalism of Abélard, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.</li> -<li>Raynard, Abbot of Cîteaux, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> -<li>Realism, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> -<li>Reason and faith, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>.</li> -<li>Reconciliation of Abélard and St. Bernard, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> -<li>Reformation, the, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.</li> -<li>Rémusat (quoted), <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> -<li>Reuter on Abélard, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.</li> -<li>Rhetoric, study of, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</li> -<li>Rhuys, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li> -<li>Robert of Arbrissel, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Melun, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> -<li>Roland of Bologna, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li><i>Roman de la Rose</i>, the, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li> -<li>Rome, Abélard’s respect for, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> -<li>—— avarice and corruption of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> -<li>Rome and reason, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>-<a href="#Page_333">33</a>.</li> -<li>Roscelin, Jean, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.</li> -<li>Rousseau and Abélard, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> -<li>Rousseau’s <i>Nouvelle Heloïse</i>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> -<li>Rousselot, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Sabellianism</span>, charge of, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li> -<li>Samson, Archbishop of Rheims, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> -<li>Saracens, the, in Spain, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>Scholastic philosophy, the, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> -<li>Scholasticus, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> -<li>School life, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</li> -<li>Schoolmen and Abélard, the, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>Schools of France, the, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> -<li>—— Paris, the, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> -<li>Scotus Erigena, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>.</li> -<li>—— J. Duns, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>Sens, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> -<li>—— Council of, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>-<a href="#Page_286">86</a>.</li> -<li><i>Sententiae Abaelardi</i>, the, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>Sermons of Abélard, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> -<li>Sexual ideas in twelfth century, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> -<li><i>Sic et Non</i>, the, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>Simony, prevalence of, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> -<li>Sins committed in ignorance, Abélard’s opinion on, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>.</li> -<li>Soissons, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> -<li>—— Council of, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> -<li><i>Song of Songs</i> in Middle Ages, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> -<li>St. Denis, abbey of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>-<a href="#Page_129">29</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li> -<li>—— Genevieve, abbey of, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> -<li>—— Germain of Auxerre, abbey of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> -<li>—— Germain of the Meadow, abbey of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> -<li>—— Gildas, abbey of, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>-<a href="#Page_206">6</a>.</li> -<li>—— Martin in the Fields, abbey of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> -<li>—— Médard, abbey of, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> -<li>—— Hilary, church of, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> -<li>—— Genevieve, hill of, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li> -<li>—— Landry, port of, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> -<li>—— Ayoul, priory of, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> -<li>—— Marcellus, priory of, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>.</li> -<li><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[p. 352]</span>St. Victor, priory of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.</li> -<li>—— —— school of, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>.</li> -<li>Stephen of Praeneste, Card., <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> -<li><i>Story of my calamities</i>, the, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.</li> -<li>Students’ life, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> -<li>Suger, Abbot, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Teaching</span> of Abélard, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li> -<li>Theobald of Champagne, Count, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> -<li><i>Theologia Christiana</i>, the, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> -<li>Theological opinions of Abélard, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>-<a href="#Page_280">80</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>.</li> -<li>Theology, teaching of, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</li> -<li>Tholuck on Abélard as theologian, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>.</li> -<li>Thomas of Aquin, St., <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.</li> -<li>Tirricus, Master, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> -<li>Tournai, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>Traditionalism, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.</li> -<li>Travelling in the twelfth century, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> -<li><i>Treatise on Baptism</i>, the, of St. Bernard, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> -<li>Trinity, Abélard’s works on the, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>.</li> -<li>—— statue of, at the Paraclete, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> -<li>Tri-theism, charge of, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> -<li>Trivium, the, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>Turlot (quoted), <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Universals</span>, problem of, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> -<li>University of Paris, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Vatican</span> Council, the, on reason, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>.</li> -<li>Vaughan, Roger, on Abélard, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>.</li> -<li>Violence of the twelfth century, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> -<li>Vitalis the Norman, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<ul class="IX"> -<li><span class="smcap">Weakness</span> of Abélard, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> -<li>William of Canterbury, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Champeaux, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> -<li>—— of Dijon, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> -<li>—— of St. Thierry, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> -<li>Women and saints, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</li> -<li>—— disguised as monks, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> -<li>—— school for, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> -<li>Works of Abélard, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> -</ul> - - -<div class="aftit"> - <hr class="print" /> - <p class="small">Printed by T. and A. <span class="smcap">Constable</span>, (late) Printers to Her Majesty<br /> - at the Edinburgh University Press</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<p class="xl centra">FOOTNOTES</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_1"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_1">[1]</a></span> I am thinking, of course, of -the thousands of simple folk who rushed blindfold into the fatal -procession towards Jerusalem, setting their children on their rude -carts, and asking naïvely, at each tower that came in sight in their -own France, if that was the Holy City: those whose bones marked -the path to Palestine for later Crusaders. As to the professional -warriors, there is surely more humour than aught else in the picture -of the King of France and his like setting forth to ‘do penance’ for -their vice and violence by a few months of adventure, carnage, and -pillage.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_2"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_2">[2]</a></span> Locmenach = <i>locus monachorum</i>, -‘the place of the monks.’ The older name was Moriacum. It is now -called Locminé, and lies a few miles to the east of Vannes.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_3"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_3">[3]</a></span> The name occurs in a dozen -different forms in the ancient records. I adopt the form which -is generally used by modern French writers. D’Argentré and other -historians of Brittany say that it was not unknown about Nantes in -those days. We must remember that it was the period when nicknames, -trade-names, etc., were passing into surnames. Another pun on the -name, which greatly tickled the mediæval imagination, was ‘Aboilar,’ -supposed to convey the idea that he was a dog who barks at heaven -(<i>aboie le ciel</i>). It was perpetrated by Hugo Metellus, a rival -master.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_4"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_4">[4]</a></span> This and other details I gather -from fragments of the minor poets of the time.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_5"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_5">[5]</a></span> The Notre Dame of to-day, like the -earlier Louvre, dates from the end of the twelfth century.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_6"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_6">[6]</a></span> Lest there be a suspicion of -caricature, or of ignorance (though I too have sat in the chair of -scholastic philosophy, and held grave discourse on <i>genera</i> and -<i>species</i>), let me remind the reader of the theological import which -was read into the problem.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_7"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_7">[7]</a></span> The reader would probably not be -grateful for a long explanation of the meaning of the change. It -amounted to a considerable approach of William’s position towards -that of Abélard.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_8"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_8">[8]</a></span> To transfer a chair was frequently -a physical operation in those days. There is, in one of the old -records, a story of a dissatisfied master and his pupils removing -their chair to another town, higher up the river. They were not -welcome, it seems, and their chair was pitched into the river to find -its way home.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_9"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_9">[9]</a></span> Until a comparatively recent date -‘aller sur le Pré’ meant, in the language of the Latin Quarter, to -settle an affair of honour.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_10"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_10">[10]</a></span> As a mere illustration of -the times—no one would think of taking it seriously—we may quote -the passage referring to him in Dubois’s <i>Historia Ecclesiæ -Parisiensis</i> (also found in Lobineau). A monk and bishop, Gaufridus -Vindoniencensis, writes to remonstrate with Robert for ‘inventing -a new kind of martyrdom’ ... ‘inter feminas et cum ipsis noctu -frequenter cubare. Hinc tibi videris, ut asseris, Domini Salvatoris -digne bajulare crucem, cum extinguere conaris male accensum carnis -ardorem.’ Later he complains of Robert’s partiality, treating some -nuns with unusual sweetness and others with excessive acrimony; and -amongst the punishments inflicted on the latter he mentions the -penance of ‘stripping.’</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_11"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_11">[11]</a></span> It will interest many, however, -to learn (from the pages of Du Boulai’s <i>Historia Universitatis -Parisiensis</i>) that he is charged by the querulous Gaufridus -Vindoniencensis with teaching that only the gravest sins were matter -for obligatory confession. These particularly grave transgressions -are heresy, schism, paganism, and Judaism—all non-ethical matters!</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_12"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_12">[12]</a></span> When Anselm’s guilt was -ultimately proved, people were somewhat troubled as to the -ill-success of their Providential detective service, until they heard -that the goldsmith, in accusing the canon, had broken faith with -him.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_13"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_13">[13]</a></span> Luckily the citizen-parents were -wiser than their Solomon for once. They proposed that the process -should commence with the seven treasurers. In spite of preliminary -experiments in private the canon was convicted. But the reader must -go to the pious Geoffroy’s narrative (<i>Migne</i>, vol. 156, col. 1011) -to read how the burglar was tortured, how he obtained release for -a time by trickery, and how, being unable to sleep at night for a -miraculous dove, he finally confessed and restored.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_14"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_14">[14]</a></span> The Count of Anjou had just -invented them to hide the enormity of his bunions. Flattering -courtiers found them excellent. The English king’s jester had -exaggerated the turned-up points, and the nobles were driving the -practice to death, as is the aristocratic wont.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_15"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_15">[15]</a></span> The condition of monasteries will -be found treated more fully on <a href="#Page_125">p. 125</a>; that -of nunneries on <a href="#Page_209">p. 209</a>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_16"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_16">[16]</a></span> Not a single one of Abélard’s -songs has come down to us. A few songs are to be found which bear his -name, but they are not genuine. It is an unfortunate loss, since the -religious hymns of his later years convey no better impression of his -true and unspoiled poetic faculty than the moonlight does of the rays -of the sun.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_17"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_17">[17]</a></span> This detail is found in Abélard’s -second letter to Heloise. It is characteristic of Mr. Cotter -Morison’s ‘sketch’ of Abélard that he should have missed it, and -thought fit to deny it. Deutsch reads him a severe lesson on the duty -of accuracy in his <i>Peter Abälard</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_18"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_18">[18]</a></span> A prior is the second in command -in an abbey, or the head of a priory; a priory was a small branch -monastery, in those days, though it may now, as with the Dominicans, -be a chief house.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_19"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_19">[19]</a></span> This is erroneous; Calixtus -<small>II.</small> filled the papal chair at the time.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_20"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_20">[20]</a></span> The statue was preserved in a -neighbouring church until the eighteenth century. It was destroyed at -the Revolution.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_21"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_21">[21]</a></span> Mr. Leslie Stephen has kindly -drawn my attention to Elwin’s theory (Pope’s Works) that he -followed the translation of J. Hughes, author of the <i>Siege of -Damascus</i>. Hughes’s ‘translation’ was little more faithful than -the current French versions; it is largely a work of imagination. -Careful comparison does seem to show that Pope used this version, -but he seems also to have used some of the very misleading French -paraphrases. Elwin himself thinks Pope did not look at the original -Latin.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_22"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_22">[22]</a></span> I hardly like to speak of the -feeble creation of Robert Buchanan in such a company, but his ‘New -Abélard’ is a further illustration. His pitiful Mr. Bradley has no -earthly resemblance to Abélard, except in a most superficial sense. -It is grotesque to compare him to Abélard for his ‘heresy’; and -to say that he recalls Abélard in his weakness (to the extent of -bigamously marrying and blasting the life of a noble woman) is deeply -unjust. Abélard was not a cad.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_23"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_23">[23]</a></span> The one from which the nuns had -been driven ‘on account of the enormity of their life.’</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_24"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_24">[24]</a></span> At a later date one of the -censures passed by the doctors of the Sorbonne on this classic sinner -of the twelfth century is that he finds a shade of sin in legitimate -conjugal relations.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_25"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_25">[25]</a></span> It is quite beside the writer’s -purpose, and probably the reader’s pleasure, to give an analysis of -these works. I shall presently treat the specific points that have -relation to his condemnation, and I add a supplementary chapter on -his teaching in general. Deutsch may be read by the curious, and Herr -Hausrath gives a useful shorter analysis.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_26"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_26">[26]</a></span> A good idea of the man, and of -the rapidly growing school he belonged to, will be formed from the -opening sentence of one of his treatises: ‘Rotting in the lake of -misery and in the mire of filth, and stuck in the mud of the abyss -that has no substance, and from the depths of my grief, I cry out -to Thee, O Lord.’ He was in the midst of a similar Bernardesque -composition when he received Abélard’s works.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_27"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_27">[27]</a></span> Witness his genial letter to our -English Matilda.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_28"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_28">[28]</a></span> <i>Fas est et ab hoste doceri.</i> -The Benedictine defenders of Bernard (in <i>Migne</i>) say, in another -connection: ‘Was there a single cardinal or cleric in Rome who was -unacquainted with his dogmas?’</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_29"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_29">[29]</a></span> The see of Paris was not elevated -into an archbishopric until a much later date.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_30"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_30">[30]</a></span> And the thesis is rejected in -Abélard’s <i>Apology</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_31"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_31">[31]</a></span> It is singular that Mr. Poole, -who credits Bernard with writing the report, should speak of the -words as a deliberate ‘lie of excuse,’ especially as he adopts the -witness of Bérenger to a previous condemnation. We are not only -compelled by independent evidence to take them as correct, but one -imputes a lesser sin to Bernard (from the Catholic point of view) in -doing so.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_32"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_32">[32]</a></span> Abélard explicitly and very -emphatically rebukes such pretension in the very books which Bernard -is supposed to have read.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_33"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_33">[33]</a></span> The reference is to the -anti-pope, a Pierleone. It is a subtle reminder of what Pope Innocent -owes to Bernard.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_34"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_34">[34]</a></span> Recalling some of the zoology of -the Old Testament.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_35"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_35">[35]</a></span> I abstain from commenting on St. -Bernard’s conduct, or making the ethical and psychological analysis -of it, which is so imperfectly done by his biographers at this -period, because they do not fully state the facts, or not in their -natural order. It would be a fascinating task, but one beside the -purpose of the present work and not discreet for the present writer. -I have let Bernard speak for himself.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_36"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_36">[36]</a></span> He did, however, write an -‘apology’ or defence, but only a few fragments of it survive.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_37"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_37">[37]</a></span> Amongst other humane -modifications we may note that he raised the age of admission to the -abbey to twenty-one.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_38"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_38">[38]</a></span> One of the most widely-used -of these manuals at present is that of the learned Jesuit, Father -Hurter. On p. 472 of the first volume one finds the Bernardist -notions of faith sternly rejected, and variously attributed to -‘Protestants,’ ‘Pietists,’ and ‘Kantists.’</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p id="Footnote_39"><span class="label"><a -href="#FNanchor_39">[39]</a></span> A typical illustration of the -perplexity and inconsistency which resulted from the conflict of -Abélard’s critical moral sense with apparently fixed dogmas is seen -in his treatment of original sin in the <i>Commentary on the Epistle -to the Romans</i>. He finds two meanings for the word sin—guilt and -punishment; and he strains his conscience to the point of admitting -that we may inherit Adam’s sin in the latter sense. Then comes the -question of unbaptized children—whom Bernard calmly consigned to -Hades—and he has to produce the extraordinary theory that the Divine -Will is the standard of morality, and so cannot act unjustly. But -his conscience asserts itself, and he goes on to say that their -punishment will only be a negative one—the denial of the sight of -God—and will only be inflicted on those children who, in the divine -prescience, would have been wicked had they lived!</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="transnote" id="tnote"> - <p class="tnotetit">Transcriber’s note</p> - <ul> - <li>The book cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</li> - <li>Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.</li> - <li>Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made consistent when a predominant - usage was found.</li> - <li>Blank pages have been skipped.</li> - <li>Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end of the book.</li> - </ul> -</div> -</div> - - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pg" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER ABéLARD***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 51862-h.htm or 51862-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/8/6/51862">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/6/51862</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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