Medieval Sourcebook:
Peter Abelard: Historia Calamitatum [The Story of My Misfortunes]
Peter Abelard (1079-1142) was one of the great intellectuals
of the 12th century, with especial importance in the field of
logic. His tendency to disputation is perhaps best demonstrated
by his book Sic et Non, a list of 158 philosophical and
theological questions about which there were divided opinions.
This dialectical method of intellectual reflection - also seen
in Gratian's approach to canon law - was to become an important
feature of western education and distinguishes it sharply from
other world cultures such as Islam and the Confucian world. Abelard's
mistake was to leave the questions open for discussion and so
he was repeatedly charged with heresy. For a long period all his
works were included in the later Iindex of Forbidden Books. The
text here gives a good account of Abelard's pugnaciousness.
He is perhaps as famous today for his love affair with Heloise
(1100/01-1163/4) and its disastrous consequences, which resulted
in her giving birth to son (called Astrolabe), to Abelard's castration
by Heloise's angry relatives, and to both their retreats to monastic
life. Heloise was one of the most literate women of her time,
and an able administrator: as a result her monastic career was
notably successful. Abelard, a intellectual jouster throughout
his life was notably less happy as a monk. He incurred the displeasure
and enmity of abbots, bishops, his own monks, a number of Church
councils and St. Bernard of Clairvaux . The last months of his
life were spent under the protection of Peter the Venerable of
Cluny, where he died. The tomb of Abelard and Heloise can now
be visited in the Pére Lachaise cemetery in Paris.
The Historia Calamitatum, although in the literary form
of a letter, is a sort of autobiography, with distinct echoes
of Augustine's Confessions. It is one of the most readable
documents to survive from the period, and as well as presenting
a remarkably frank self-portrait, is a valuable account of intellectual
life in Paris before the formalization of the University, of the
intellectual excitement of the period, of monastic life and of
a love story that in some respects deserves its long reputation.
EXTRACTS
CHAPTER II: OF THE PERSECUTIONHE HAD FROM HIS MASTER WILLIAM OF CHAMPEAUX
I CAME at length to Paris, where above all in those days the-art
of dialectics was most flourishing, and there did I meet William
of Champeaux, my teacher, a man most distinguished in his science
both by his renown and by his true merit. With him I remained
for some time, at first indeed well liked of him; but later I
brought him great grief, because I undertook to refute certain
of his opinions, not infrequently attacking him in disputation,
and now and then in these debates I was adjudged victor. Now this,
to those among my fellow students who were ranked foremost, seemed
all the more insufferable because of my youth and the brief duration
of my studies.
Out of this sprang the beginning of my misfortunes, which have
followed me even to the present day; the more widely my fame was
spread abroad, the more bitter was the envy that was kindled against
me. It was given out that I, presuming on my gifts far beyond
the warranty of my youth, was aspiring despite my tender years
to the leadership of a school; nay, more, that I was making ready
the very place in which I would undertake this task,, the place
being none other than the castle of Melun, at that time a royal
seat.
CHAPTER IV: OF THE PERSECUTION HE HAD FROM HIS TEACHER ANSELM
NOW this venerable man of whom I have spoken was acutely smitten
with envy, and straightway incited, as I have already mentioned,
by the insinuations of sundry persons, began to persecute me for
my lecturing on the Scriptures no less bitterly than my former
master, William, had done for my work in philosophy. At that time
there were in this old man's school two who were considered far
to excel all the others: Alberic of Rheims and Lotulphe the Lombard.
The better opinion these two held of themselves,, the more they
were incensed against me. Chiefly at their suggestion, as it afterwards
transpired, yonder venerable coward had the impudence to forbid
me to carry on any further in his school the work of preparing
glosses which I had thus begun. The pretext he alleged was that
if by chance in the course of this work I should write anything
containing blunders-as was likely enough in view of my lack of
training-the thing might be imputed to him. When this came to
the ears of his scholars, they were filled with indignation at
so undisguised a manifestation of spite, the like of which had
never been directed against any one before. The more obvious this
rancour became, the more it redounded to my honour, and his persecution
did nought save to make me more famous.
CHAPTER VI: OF HOW, BROUGHT LOW BY HIS LOVE FOR HELOISE, HE WAS WOUNDED IN BODY AND SOUL
NOW there dwelt in that same city of Paris a certain young girl
named Heloise, the neice of a canon who was called Fulbert. Her
uncle's love for her was equalled only by his desire that she
should have the best education which he could possibly procure
for her. Of no mean beauty, she stood out above all by reason
of her abundant knowledge of letters. Now this virtue is rare
among women, and for that very reason it doubly graced the maiden,
and made her the most worthy of renown in the entire kingdom.
It was this young girl whom I, after carefully considering all
those qualities which are wont to attract lovers, determined to
unite with myself in the bonds of love, and indeed the thing seemed
to me very easy to be done. So distinguished was my name, and
I possessed such advantages of youth and comeliness, that no matter
what woman I might favour with my love, I dreaded rejection of
none. Then, too, I believed that I could win the maiden's consent
all the more easily by reason of her knowledge of letters and
her zeal therefor; so, even if we were parted, we might yet be
together in thought with the aid of written messages. Perchance,
too, we might be able to write more boldly than we could speak,
and thus at all times could we live in Joyous intimacy.
Thus, utterly aflame with my passion for this maiden, I sought
to discover means whereby I might have daily and familiar speech
with her, thereby the more easily to win her consent. For this
purpose I persuaded the girl's uncle, with the aid of some of
his friends to take me into his household-for he dwelt hard by
my school-in return for the payment of a small sum. My pretext
for this was that the care of my own household was a serious handicap
to my studies, and likewise burdened me with an expense far greater
than I could afford. Now, he was a man keen in avarice, and likewise
he was most desirous for his niece that her study of letters should
ever go forward, so, for these two reasons' I easily won his consent
to the fulfillment of my wish, for he was fairly agape for my
money, and at the same time believed that his niece would vastly
benefit by my teaching. More even than this, by his own earnest
entreaties he fell in with my desires beyond anything I had dared
to hope, opening the way for my love; for he entrusted her wholly
to my guidance, begging me to give her instruction whensoever
I might be free from the duties of my school, no matter whether
by day or by night, and to punish her sternly if ever I should
find her negligent of her tasks. In all this the man's simplicity
was nothing short of astounding to me; I should not have been
more smitten with wonder if he had entrusted a tender lamb to
the care of a ravenous wolf. When he had thus given her into my
charge, not alone to be taught but even to be disciplined, what
had he done save to give free scope to my desires, and to offer
me every opportunity, even if I had not sought it, to bend her
to my will with threats and blows if I failed to do so with caresses?
There were, however, two things which particularly served to allay
any foul suspicion: his own love for his niece, and my former
reputation for continence.
Why should I say more? We were united first in the dwelling that
sheltered our love, and then in the hearts that burned with it.
Under the pretext of study we spent our hours in the happiness
of love, and learning held out to us the secret opportunities
that our passion craved. Our speech was more of love than of the
books which lay open before us; our kisses far outnumbered our
reasoned words. Our hands sought less the book than each other's
bosoms.- love drew our eyes together far more than the lesson
drew them to the pages of our text. In order that there might
be no suspicion, there were, indeed, sometimes blows, but love
gave them, not anger; they were the marks, not of wrath, but of
a tenderness surpassing the most fragrant balm in sweetness. What
followed? No degree in love's progress was left untried by our
passion, and if love itself could imagine any wonder as yet unknown,
we discovered it. And our inexperience of such delights made us
all the more ardent in our pursuit of them, so that our thirst
for one another was still unquenched.
In measure as this passionate rapture absorbed me more and more,
I devoted ever less time to philosophy and to the work of the
school. Indeed it became loathsome to me to go to the school or
to linger there; the labour, moreover, was very burdensome, since
my nights were vigils of love and my days of study. My lecturing
became utterly careless and lukewarm; I did nothing because of
inspiration, but everything merely as a matter of habit. I had
become nothing more than a reciter of my former discoveries, and
though I still wrote poems, they dealt with love, not with the
secrets of philosophy. Of these songs you yourself well know how
some have become widely known and have been sung in many lands,
chiefly, methinks, by those who delighted in the things of this
world. As for the sorrow, the groans, the lamentations of my students
when they perceived the preoccupation, nay, rather the chaos,
of my mind, it is hard even to imagine them.
A thing so manifest could deceive only a few, no one, methinks,
save him whose shame it chiefly bespoke, the girl's uncle, Fulbert.
The truth was often enough hinted to him, and by many persons,
but he could not believe it, partly, as I have said, by reason
of his boundless love for his niece, and partly because of the
well-known continence of my previous life. Indeed we do not easily
suspect shame in those whom we most cherish, nor can there be
the blot 'of foul suspicion on devoted love. Of this St. Jerome
in his epistle to Sabinianus (Epist- 48) says: "We are wont
to be the last to know the evils of our own households, and to
be ignorant of the sins of our children and our wives, though
our neighbours sing them aloud." But no matter how slow a
matter may be in disclosing itself, it is sure to come forth at
last, nor is it easy to hide from one what is known to all. So,
after the lapse of several months, did it happen with us. Oh,
how great was the uncle's grief when he learned the truth, and
how bitter was the sorrow of the lovers when we were forced to
part! With what shame was I overwhelmed, with what contrition
smitten because of the blow which had fallen on her I loved, and
what a tempest of misery burst over her by reason of my disgrace!
Each grieved most, not for himself, but for the other. Each sought
to allay, not his own sufferings, but those of the one he loved.
The very sundering of our bodies served but to link our souls
closer together; the plentitude of the love which was denied to
us inflamed us more than ever. Once the first wildness of shame
had passed, it left us more shameless than before, and as shame
died within us the cause of it seemed to us ever more desirable.
And so it chanced with us as, in the stories that the poets tell,
it once happened with Mars and Venus when they were caught together.
It was not long after this that Heloise found that she was pregnant,
and of this she wrote to me in the utmost exultation, at the same
time asking me to consider what had best be done. Accordingly,
on a night when her uncle was absent, we carried out the plan
we had determined on, and I stole her secretly away from her uncle's
house, sending her without delay to my own country. She remained
there with my sister until she gave birth to a son,, whom she
named Astrolabe. Meanwhile her uncle after his return, was almost
mad with grief; only one who had then seen him could rightly guess
the burning agony of his sorrow and the bitterness of his shame.
What steps to take against me, or what snares to set for me, he
did not know. If he should kill me or do me some bodily hurt,
he feared greatly lest his dear-loved niece should be made to
suffer for it among my kinsfolk. He had no power to seize me and
imprison me somewhere against my will, though I make no doubt
he would have done so quickly enough had he been able or dared,
for I had taken measures to guard against any such attempt.
At length, however, in pity for his boundless grief, and bitterly
blaming myself for the suffering which my love had brought upon
him through the baseness of the deception I had practiced, I went
to him to entreat his forgiveness, promising to make any amends
that he himself might decree. I pointed out that what had happened
could not seem incredible to any one who had ever felt the power
of love, or who remembered how, from the very beginning of the
human race, women had cast down even the noblest men to utter
ruin. And in order to make amends even beyond his extremest hope,
I offered to marry her-whom I had seduced, provided only the thing
could be kept secret, so that I might suffer no loss of reputation
thereby. To this he gladly assented, pledging his own faith and
that of his kindred, and sealing with kisses the pact which I
had sought of him-and all this that he might the more easily betray
me.
CHAPTER VIII: OF THE SUFFERING OF HIS BODY-OF HOW HE BECAME A MONK IN THE MONASTERY OF ST. DENIS AND HE'LOISE A NUN AT ARGENTEUIL
WHEN morning came the whole city was assembled before my dwelling.
It is difficult, nay, impossible, for words of mine to describe
the amazement which bewildered them,, the lamentations they uttered,
the uproar with which they harassed me, or the grief with which
they increased my own suffering. Chiefly the clerics, and above
all my scholars, tortured me with their intolerable lamentations
and outcries, so that I suffered more intensely from their compassion
than from the pain of my wound. In truth I felt the disgrace more
than the hurt to my body, and was more afflicted with shame than
with pain. My incessant thought was of the renown in which I had
so much delighted, now brought low, nay, utterly blotted out,
so swiftly by an evil chance. I saw, too, how justly God had punished
me in that very part of my body-,whereby I had sinned. I perceived
that there was indeed justice in my betrayal by him whom I had
myself already betrayed; and then I thought how eagerly my rivals
would seize upon this manifestation -of justice, how this disgrace
would bring bitter and enduring grief to my kindred and my friends,
and how the tale of this amazing outrage would spread to the very
ends of the earth.
What path Jay open to me thereafter? How could I ever again hold
up my head among men, when every finger should be pointed at me
in scorn, every tongue speak my blistering shame, and when I should
be a monstrous spectacle to all eyes? I was overwhelmed by the
remembrance that, according to the dread letter of the law, God
holds eunuchs in such abomination that men thus maimed are forbidden
to enter a church, even as the unclean and filthy; nay, even beasts
in such plight were not acceptable as sacrifices. Thus in Leviticus
(xxii, 24) is it said: "Ye shall not offer unto the Lord
that which hath its stones bruised, or crushed, or broken, or
cut." And in Deuteronomy (xxiii, 1), "He that is wounded
in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter
into the congregation of the Lord."
I must confess that in my misery it was the overwhelming sense
of my disgrace rather than any ardour for conversion to the religious
life that drove me to seek the seclusion of the monastic cloister.
Heloise had already, at my bidding, taken the veil and entered
a convent. Thus it was that we both put on the sacred garb, I
in the abbey of St. Denis, and she in the convent of Argenteuil,
of which I have already spoken. She, I remember well, when her
fond friends sought vainly to deter her from submitting her fresh
youth to the heavy and almost intolerable yoke of monastic life,
sobbing and weeping replied in the words of Cornelia:
O husband most noble
Who ne'er shouldst have shared my couch! Has fortune such power
To smite so lofty a head? Why then was I wedded
Only to bring thee to woe? Receive now my sorrow,
The price I so gladly pay."
(Lucan, "Pharsalia," viii, 94.)
With these words on her lips did she go forthwith to the altar,
and lifted therefrom the veil, which had been blessed by the bishop,
and before them all she took the vows of the religious
life. For my part, scarcely had I recovered from my wound when
clerics sought me in great numbers, endlessly beseeching both
my abbot and me myself that now, since I was done with learning
for the sake of Pain or renown, I should turn to it for the sole
love of God. They bade me care diligently for the talent which
God had committed to my keeping (Matthew, xxv, 15), since surely
He would demand it back from me with interest. It was their plea
that, inasmuch as of old I had laboured chiefly in behalf of the
rich, I should now devote myself to the teaching of the poor.
Therein above all should I perceive ho it was the hand of God
that had touched me, when I should devote my life to the study
of letters in freedom from the snares of the flesh and withdrawn
from the tumultuous life of this world. Thus, in truth, should
I become a philosopher less of this world than of God.
The abbey, however, to which I had betaken myself was utterly
worldly and in its life quite scandalous. The abbot himself was
as far below his fellows in his way of living and in the foulness
of his reputation as he was above them in priestly rank. This
intolerable state of things I often and vehemently denounced,
sometimes in private talk and sometimes publicly, but the only
result was that I made myself detested of them all. They gladly
laid hold of the daily eagerness of my students to hear me as
an excuse whereby they might be rid of me; and finally, at the
insistent urging of the students themselves, and with the hearty
consent of the abbot and the rest of the brotherhood, I departed
thence to a certain hut, there to teach in my wonted way. To this
place such a throng of students flocked that the neighbourhood
could not afford shelter for them, nor the earth sufficient sustenance.
Here, as befitted my profession, I devoted myself chiefly to lectures
on theology, but I did not wholly abandon the teaching of the
secular arts, to which I was more accustomed, and which was particularly
demanded of me. I used the latter, however, as a hook, luring
my students by the bait of learning to the study of the true philosophy,
even as the Ecclesiastical History tells of Origen, the greatest
of all Christian philosophers. Since apparently the Lord had gifted
me with no less persuasiveness in expounding the Scriptures than
in lecturing on secular subjects, the number of my students in
these two courses began to increase greatly, and the attendance
at all the other schools was correspondingly diminished. Thus
I aroused the envy and hatred of the other teachers. Those way
took who sought to belittle me in every possible advantage of
my absence to bring two principal charges against me: first, that
it was contrary to the monastic profession to be concerned with
the study of secular books; and, second, that I had presumed to
teach theology without ever having been taught therein myself.
This they did in order that my teaching of every kind might be
prohibited, and to this end they continually stirred up bishops,
archbishops, abbots and whatever other dignitaries of the Church
they could reach.
CHAPTER IX: OF HIS BOOK ON THEOLOGY AND HIS PERSECUTION AT THE HANDS OF HIS FELLOW STUDENTS OF THE COUNCIL AGAINST HIM
IT SO happened that at the outset I devoted myself to analysing
the basis of our faith through illustrations based on human understanding,
and I wrote for my students a certain tract on the unity and trinity
of God. This I did because they were always seeking for rational
and philosophical explanations, asking rather for reasons they
could understand than for mere words, saying that it was futile
to utter words which the intellect could not possibly follow,
that nothing could be believed unless it could first be understood,
and that it was absurd for any one to preach to others a thing
which neither he himself nor those whom he sought to teach could
comprehend. Our Lord Himself maintained this same -thing when
He said: "They are blind leaders of the blind" (Matthew,
XV I4).
Now, a great many people saw and read this tract, and it became
exceedingly popular, its clearness appealing particularly to all
who sought information on this subject. And since the questions
involved are generally considered the most difficult of all,,
their complexity is taken as the measure of the subtlety of him
who succeeds in answering them. As a result, my rivals became
furiously angry, and summoned a council to take action against
me, the chief instigators therein being my two intriguing enemies
of former days, Alberic and Lotulphe. These two, now that both
William and Anselm, our erstwhile teachers, we're dead, were greedy
to reign in their stead, and, so to speak, to succeed them as
heirs. While they were directing the school at Rheims, they managed
by repeated hints to stir up their archbishop, Rodolphe, against
me, for the purpose of holding a meeting, or rather an ecclesiastical
council, at Soissons, provided they could secure the approval
of Conon, Bishop of Praeneste, at that time papal legate in France.
Their plan was to summon me to be present at this council, bringing
with me the famous book I had written regarding the Trinity. In
all this, indeed, they were successful, and the thing happened
according to their wishes.
Before I reached Soissons, however, these two rivals of mine
so foully slandered me with both the clergy and the public that
on the day of my arrival the people came near to stoning me and
the few students of mine who had accompanied me thither. The cause
of their anger was that they had been led to believe that I had
preached and written to prove the existence of three gods. No
sooner had I reached the city, therefore, than I went forthwith
to the legate; to him I submitted my book for examination and
judgment, declaring that if I had written anything repugnant to
the Catholic faith, I was quite ready to correct it or otherwise
to make satisfactory amends. The legate directed me to refer my
book to the archbishop and to those same two rivals of mine, to
the end that my accusers might also be my judges. So in my case
was fulfilled the saying: "Even our enemies are our judges"
(Deut. xxxii, 31).
These three, then, took my book and pawed it over and examined
it minutely, but could find nothing therein which they dared to
use as the basis for a public accusation against me. Accordingly
they put off the condemnation of the book until the close of the
council, despite their eagerness to bring it about. For my part,
every day before the council convened I publicly discussed the
Catholic faith in the light of what I had written, and all who
heard me were enthusiastic in their approval alike of the frankness
and the logic of my words. When the public and the clergy had
thus learned something of the real character of my teaching, they
began to say to one another: "Behold, now he speaks openly,
and no one brings any charge against him. And this council, summoned,
as we have heard, chiefly to take action upon his case is drawing
toward its end. Did the judges realize that the error might be
theirs rather than his?"
As a result of all this, my rivals grew more angry day by day.
On one occasion Alberic, accompanied by some of his students,
came to me for the purpose of intimidating me, and, after a few
bland words, said that he was amazed at something he had found
in my book, to the effect that, although God had begotten God,
I denied that God had begotten Himself, since there was only one
God. I answered unhesitatingly: "I can give you an explanation
of this if you wish it." "Nay," he replied, "I
care nothing for human explanation or reasoning in such matters,
but only for the words of authority." "Very well, I
said; "turn the pages of my book and you will find the authority
likewise." The book was at hand, for he had brought it with
him. I turned to the passage I had in mind, which he had either
not discovered or else passed over as containing nothing injurious
to me. And it was God's will that I quickly found what I sought.
This was the following sentence, under the heading "Augustine,
On the Trinity, Book I": "Whosoever believes that it
is within the power of God to beget Himself is sorely in error;
this power is not in God, neither is it in any created thing,
spiritual or corporeal. For there is nothing that can give birth
to itself."
When those of his followers who were present heard this, they
were amazed and much embarrassed. He himself, in order to keep
his countenance, said: "Certainly, I understand all that."
Then I added: "What I have to say further on this subject
is by no means new, but apparently it has nothing to do with the
case at issue, since you have asked for the word of authority
only, and not for explanations. If, however, you care to consider
logical explanations, I am prepared to demonstrate that, according
to Augustine's statement, you have yourself fallen into a heresy
in believing that a father can possibly be his own son."
When Alberic heard this he was almost beside himself with rage,
and straightway resorted to threats, asserting that neither my
explanations nor my citations of authority would avail me aught
in this case. With this he left me.
On the last day of the council, before the session convened, the
legate and the archbishop deliberated with my rivals and sundry
others as to what should be. done about me and my book, this being
the chief reason for their having come together. And since they
had discovered nothing either in my speech or in what I had hitherto
written which would give them a case against me, they were all
reduced to silence, or at the most to maligning me in whispers.
Then Geoffroi, Bishop of Chartres, who excelled the other bishops
alike in the sincerity of his religion and in the importance of
his see, spoke thus:
"You know, my lords, all who are gathered here, the doctrine
of this man, what it is, and his ability, which has brought him
many followers in every field to which he has devoted himself.
You know how greatly he has lessened the renown of other teachers)
both his masters and our own, and how he has spread as it were
the offshoots of his vine from sea to sea. Now, if you impose
a lightly considered judgment on him, as I cannot believe you
will, you well know that even if mayhap you are in the right there
are many who will be angered thereby and that he will have no
lack of defenders. Remember above all that we have found nothing
in this book of his that lies before us whereon any open accusation
can be based. Indeed it is true, as Jerome says: `Fortitude openly
displayed always creates rivals, and the lightning strikes the
highest peaks.' Have a care, then, lest by violent action you
only increase his fame, and lest we do more hurt to ourselves
through envy than to him through justice. A false report, as that
same wise man reminds us, is easily crushed, and a man's later
life gives testimony as to his earlier deeds. If, then, you are
disposed to take canonical action against him, his doctrine or
his writings must be brought forward as evidence, and he must
have free opportunity to answer his questioners. In that case
if he is found guilty or if he confesses his error, his lips can
be wholly sealed. Consider the words of the blessed Nicodemus,
who, desiring to free Our Lord Himself, said: 'Doth our law judge
any man before it hear him and know what he doeth? (John, vii,
51).
When my rivals heard this they cried out in protest, saying: "This
is wise counsel, forsooth, that we should strive against the wordiness
of this man, whose arguments, or rather, sophistries, the whole
world cannot resist!" And yet, methinks, it was far more
difficult to strive against Christ Himself, for Whom, nevertheless,
Nicodemus demanded a hearing in accordance with the dictates of
the law. When the bishop could not win their assent to his proposals,
he tried in another way to curb their hatred, saying that for
the discussion of such an important case the few who were present
were not enough, and that this matter required a more thorough
examination. His further suggestion was that my abbot, who was
there present, should take me back with him to our abbey, in other
words to the monastery of St. Denis, and that there a large convocation
of learned men should determine, on the basis of a careful investigation,
what ought to be done. To this last proposal the legate consented,
as did all the others.
Then the legate arose to celebrate mass before entering the council,
and through the bishop sent me the permission 'which had been
determined on, authorizing me to return to my monastery and there
await such action as might be finally taken. But my rivals, perceiving
that they would accomplish nothing if the trial were to be held
outside of their own diocese, and in a place where they could
have little influence on the verdict, and in truth having small
wish that justice should be done, persuaded the archbishop that
it would be a grave insult to him to transfer this case to another
court, and that it would be dangerous for him if by chance I should
thus be acquitted. They likewise went to the legate, and succeeded
in so changing his opinion that finally they induced him to frame
a new sentence, whereby he agreed to condemn my book without any
further inquiry, to burn it forthwith in the sight of all, and
to confine me for a year in another monastery. The argument they
used was that it sufficed for the condemnation of my book that
I had presumed to read it in public without the approval either
of the Roman pontiff or of the church, and that, furthermore,
I had given it to many to be transcribed. Methinks it would be
a notable blessing to the Christian faith if there were more who
displayed a like presumption. The legate, however, being less
skilled in law than he should have been, relied chiefly on the
advice of the archbishop, and he, in turn, on that of my rivals.
When the Bishop of Chartres got wind of this, he reported the
whole conspiracy to me, and strongly urged me to endure meekly
the manifest violence of their enmity. He bade me not to doubt
that this violence would in the end react upon them and prove
a blessing to me, and counseled me to have no fear of the confinement
in a monastery, knowing that within a few days the legate himself,
who was now acting under compulsion, would after his departure
set me free. And thus he consoled me as best he might, mingling
his tears with mine
..
STRAIGHTWAY upon my summons I went to the council, and there,
without further examination or debate, did they compel me with
my own hand to cast that memorable book of mine into the flames.
From Peter Abelard, The Story of My Misfortunes, translated
by Henry Adams Bellows, copyright 1922 [reissued by in New York
by Macmillan, 1972, with no notification of copyright renewal],
1-78
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(c)Paul Halsall Mar 1996
halsall@murray.fordham.edu
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