“That you may have no further reason to call me disobedient, your command shall bridle the words of unrestrained grief; in writing I will moderate my language, which I might be unable to do in speech. Nothing is less in our power than our heart; which compels us to obey more often than it obeys us. When our affections goad us, we cannot keep the sudden impulse from breaking out in words; as it is written, ‘From the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.’ So I will withhold my hand from writing whenever I am unable to control my words. Would that the sorrowing heart were as ready to obey as the hand that writes! You can afford some remedy to grief, even when unable to dispel it quite. As one nail driven in drives out another, a new thought pushes away its predecessor, and the mind is freed for a time. A thought, moreover, takes the mind up and leads it from others more effectually, if the subject of the thought is excellent and of great importance.”
The rest of this long letter shows Heloïse putting her principles in practice. She is forcing her mind to consider and her pen to discourse upon topics which might properly occupy an abbess’s thoughts—topics, moreover, which would satisfy Abaelard and call forth long letters in reply. Whether she cared really for these matters or ever came to care for them; or whether she turned to them to distract her mind and keep up some poor makeshift of intercourse with one who would and could no longer be her lover; or whether all these motives mingled, and in what proportion, perhaps may best be left to Him who tries the heart.
The abbess writes:
“All of us here, servants of Christ and thy daughters, make two requests of thy fathership which we deem most needful. The one is, that you would instruct us concerning the origins of the order of nuns and the authority for our calling. The other is, that you would draw up a written regula, suitable for women, which shall prescribe and set the order and usages of our convent. We do not find any adequate regula for women among the works of the holy Fathers. It is a manifest defect in monastic institutions that the same rules should be imposed upon both monks and nuns, and that the weaker sex should bear the same monastic yoke as the stronger.”
Heloïse, having set this task for Abaelard, proceeds to show how the various monastic regulae, from Benedict’s downward, failed to make suitable provision for the habits and requirements and weaknesses of women, the regulae hitherto having been concerned with the weaknesses of men. She enters upon matters of clothing and diet, and everything concerning the lives of nuns. She writes as one learned in Scripture and the writings of the Fathers, and sets the whole matter forth, in its details, with admirable understanding of its intricacies. She concludes, reminding Abaelard that it is for him in his lifetime to set a regula for them to follow forever; after God, he is their founder. They might thereafter have some teacher who would build in alien fashion; such a one might have less care and understanding, and might not be as readily obeyed as himself; it is for him to speak, and they will listen. Vale.
The first of Heloïse’s letters is a great expression of a great love; in the second, anguish drives the writer’s hand; in the third, she has gained self-control; she suppresses her heart, and writes a letter which is discursive and impersonal from the beginning to the little Vale at the end.
Abaelard returned a long epistle upon the Scriptural origin of the order of nuns, and soon followed it with another, still longer, containing instruction, advice, and rules for the nuns of the Paraclete. He also wrote them a letter upon the study of Scripture. From this time forth he proved his devotion to Heloïse and her nuns by the large body of writings which he composed for their edification. Heloïse sent him a long list of questions upon obscure phrases and knotty points of Scripture, which he answered diligently in detail.[6] He then sent her a collection of hymns written or “rearranged” by himself for the use of the nuns, accompanied by a prefatory letter: “At thy prayers, my sister Heloïse, once dear to me in the world, now most dear in Christ, I have composed what in Greek are called hymns, and in Hebrew tillim.” He then explains why, yielding to the requests of the nuns, he had written hymns, of which the Church had such a store.
Next he composed for them a large volume of sermons, which he also sent with a letter to Heloïse: “Having completed the book of hymns and sequences, revered in Christ and loved sister Heloïse, I have hastened to compose some sermons for your congregation; I have paid more attention to the meaning than the language. But perhaps an unstudied style is well suited to simple auditors. In composing and arranging these sermons I have followed the order of Church festivals. Farewell in the Lord, servant of His, once dear to me in the world, now most dear in Christ: in the flesh then my wife, now my sister in the spirit and partner in our sacred calling.”
At a subsequent period, when his opinions were condemned by the Council of Sens, he sent to Heloïse a confession of faith. Shortly afterward his stormy life found a last refuge in the monastery of Cluny. His closing years (of peace?) are described in a letter to Heloïse from the good and revered abbot, Peter the Venerable. He writes that he had received with joy the letter which her affection had dictated,[7] and now took the first opportunity to express his recognition of her affection and his reverence for herself. He refers to her keenly prosecuted studies (so rare for women) before taking the veil, and then to the glorious example of her sage and holy life in the nun’s sacred calling—her victory over the proud Prince of this World. His admiration for her was deep; his expression of it was extreme. A learned, wise, and holy woman could not be praised more ardently than Heloïse is praised by this good man. He had spoken of the advantages his monastery would have derived from her presence, and then continued:
“But although God’s providence denied us this, it was granted us to enjoy the presence of him—who was yours—Master Peter Abaelard, a man always to be spoken of with honour as a true servant of Christ and a philosopher. The divine dispensation placed him in Cluny for his last years, and through him enriched our monastery with treasure richer than gold. No brief writing could do justice to his holy, humble, and devoted life among us. I have not seen his equal in humility of garb and manner. When in the crowd of our brethren I forced him to take a first place, in meanness of clothing he appeared as the last of all. Often I marvelled, as the monks walked past me, to see a man so great and famous thus despise and abase himself. He was abstemious in food and drink, refusing and condemning everything beyond the bare necessities. He was assiduous in study, frequent in prayer, always silent unless compelled to answer the question of some brother or expound sacred themes before us. He partook of the sacrament as often as possible. Truly his mind, his tongue, his act, taught and exemplified religion, philosophy, and learning. So he dwelt with us, a man simple and righteous, fearing God, turning from evil, consecrating to God the latter days of his life. At last, because of his bodily infirmities, I sent him to a quiet and salubrious retreat on the banks of the Saone. There he bent over his books, as long as his strength lasted, always praying, reading, writing, or dictating. In these sacred exercises, not sleeping but watching, he was found by the heavenly Visitor; who summoned him to the eternal wedding-feast not as a foolish but as a wise virgin, bearing his lamp filled with oil—the consciousness of a holy life. When he came to pay humanity’s last debt, his illness was brief. With holy devotion he made confession of the Catholic Faith, then of his sins. The brothers who were with him can testify how devoutly he received the viaticum of that last journey, and with what fervent faith he commended his body and soul to his Redeemer. Thus this master, Peter, completed his days. He who was known throughout the world by the fame of his teaching, entered the school of Him who said, ‘Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart’; and continuing meek and lowly he passed to Him, as we may believe.