ophy at Melun, which became numerously attended, and spread his name far and wide. Emboldened by success, he removed his school still nearer to Paris-to Corbeil-in order, as he frankly tells us, that he might be more importunate to his old master. But his rival was still powerful, aged in science and respect. Intense application was necessary, and in the struggle Abelard's overtasked energies gave way. He was commanded by the physicians to shut up his school, and retire into the country for repose and fresh air.

In two years he returned to Paris, and saw with delight that his reputation had not been weakened by absence, but that on the contrary his scholars were more eager than ever. His old antagonist, William de Champeaux, had renounced the world, and retired to a cloister, where he opened the school of Saint Victor, afterwards so celebrated. His great reputation, although suffering from Abelard's attacks, drew crowds. One day, when the audience was most numerous, he was startled by the appearance of Abelard among the students, come, as he said, to learn rhetoric. William was troubled, but continued his lecture. Abelard was silent until the question of "Universals" was brought forward, and then suddenly changing from a disciple to an antagonist, he harassed the old man with such rapidity and unexpectedness of assault, that William confessed himself defeated, and retracted his opinion.. That retractation was the death of his influence. His audience rapidly dwindled. No one would listen to the minor points of Dialectics from one who confessed himself beaten on the cardinal point of all. The disciples passed over to the victor. When the combat is fierce between two lordly stags, the hinds stand quietly by, watching the issue of the contest, and if their former lord and master, once followed and respected, is worsted, they all without hesitation pass over to the conqueror, and henceforth follow him. Abelard's school became acknowledged as pre-eminent; and, as if to give his triumph greater emphasis, the professor to whom William de Champeaux had resigned his chair, was either so intimidated by Abelard's

audacity, or so subjugated by his ability, that he offered his chair to Abelard, and ranged himself among the disciples.

Abelard was not content even with this victory. Although undisputed master in Dialectics, he could not hear of any other teacher without envy. A certain Anselm taught Theology at Laon with immense success; and this was enough to trouble Abelard's repose; accordingly to Laon he went, ridiculed Anselm's style, laughed at the puerile admiration of the scholars, and offered to surpass the master in the explanation of Scripture. The scholars first laughed, then listened, and admired. Abelard departed, having excited anarchy in the school, and anguish in the heart of the old man.

His career, at this period, was brilliant. His reputation had risen above that of every living man. His eloquence and subtlety charmed hundreds of serious students, who thronged beneath the shadows of the Cathedral in ceaseless disputation, thinking more of success in dispute than of the truths involved. M. Guizot estimates these students at not less than five thousand -of course not all at the same time. Amidst these crowds, Abelard might be seen moving with imposing haughtiness of carriage, not without the careless indolence which success had given; handsome, manly, gallant-looking, the object of incessant admiration. His songs were sung in the streets, his arguments were repeated in cloisters. The multitude reverentially made way for him, as he passed; and from behind their window-curtains peeped the curious eyes of women. His name was carried to every city in Europe. The Pope sent hearers to him. He reigned, and he reigned alone.*

It was at this period that the charms and helpless position of Heloise attracted his vanity and selfishness. He resolved to seduce her; resolved it, as he confesses, after mature deliberation. He thought she would be an easy victim; and he who had lived

"Cum jam me solum in mundo superesse philosophum æstimarem."— Epist. i. p. 9.

in abhorrence of libertinage-scortorum immunditiam semper abhorrebam-felt that he had now attained such a position that he might indulge himself with impunity. We are not here attributing hypothetic scoundrelism to Abelard; we are but repeating his own statements. "I thought, too," he adds, "that I should the more easily gain the girl's consent, knowing as I did to how great a degree she both possessed learning and loved it." He tells us how he "sought an opportunity of bringing her into familiar and daily intercourse with me, and so drawing her the more easily to consent to my wishes. With this view I made a proposal to her uncle, through certain of his friends, that he should receive me as an inmate of his house, which was very near to my school, on whatever terms of remuneration he chose; alleging as my reason that I found the care of a household an impediment to study, and its expense too burdensome." The uncle, Fulbert, was prompted by avarice, and the prospect of gaining instruction for his niece, to consent. He committed her entirely to Abelard's charge, "in order that whenever I should be at leisure from the school, whether by day or by night, I might take the trouble of instructing her; and should I find her negligent, use forcible compulsion. Hereupon I wondered at the man's excessive simplicity, with no less amazement than if I had beheld him intrust a lamb to the care of a famishing wolf; for in thus placing the girl in my hands for me not only to teach, but to use forcible coercion, what did he do but give full liberty to my desires, and offer the opportunity, even had it not been sought, seeing that, should enticement fail, I might use threats. and stripes in order to subdue her?"*

The crude brutality of this confession would induce us to suppose it was a specimen of that strange illusion which often makes reflective and analytic minds believe that their enthusiasms and passions were calculations, had we not sufficient evidence, throughout Abelard's life, of his intense selfishness and voracious

* See Epist. i.

vanity. Whatever the motive, the incident is curious; history has no other such example of passionate devotion filling the mind of a woman for a dialectician. It was dialectics he taught her; since he could teach her nothing else. She was a much better scholar than he; in many respects better read. She was perfect mistress of Latin, and knew enough Greek and Hebrew to form the basis of her future proficiency. He knew nothing of Greek or Hebrew, although all his biographers, except M. Rémusat, assume that he knew them both; M. Michelet, even asserting that he was the only man who did then know them.* In the study of arid dialectics, then, must we imagine Abelard and Heloise thrown together; and, in the daily communion of their minds, passion ripened, steeped in that vague, dream-like, but intense delight, produced by the contact of great intelligences; and thus, as the Spanish translator of her letters says, "buscando siempre con pretexto del estudio los parages mas retirados"-they sought in the still air and countenance of delightful studies a solitude

more exquisite than any society. "The books were open before us," says Abelard, "but we talked more of love than philosophy, and kisses were more frequent than sentences."

In spite of the prudential necessity for keeping this intrigue secret, Abelard's truly French vanity overcame his prudence. He had written love-songs to Heloise; and with the egotism of a bad poet and indelicate lover, he was anxious for these songs to be read by other eyes besides those for whom they were composed; anxious that other men should know his conquest.

His

*He knew a few terms current in the theological literature of the day, but had he known more, his ostentatious vanity would have exhibited the knowledge on all occasions. He expressly declares, moreover, that he was forced to read Greek authors in Latin versions. See Cousin's edition of the Œuvres Inédites, p. 48; also Dialectica, p. 200, where the non-existence of Latin versions is given as the reason of his ignorance of what Aristotle says in his Physics and Metaphysics.

† Epist. i. p. 11. He adds, with his usual crudity: "Et sæpius ad sinus quam ad libros reducebantur manus." Madame Guizot excellently indicates the distinction between his sensual descriptions and the chaster, though more passionate, language of Heloise: "elle rappelle, mais ne détaille point."

songs were soon bandied about the streets. All Paris was in the secret of his intrigue. That which a delicate lover, out of delicacy, and a sensible lover, out of prudence, would have hidden from the world, this coxcomb suffered to be profaned by being bawled from idle and indifferent mouths.*

At length even Fulbert became aware of what was passing under his roof. A separation took place; but the lovers continued to meet in secret. Heloise soon found herself pregnant, and Abelard arranged for her an escape to Brittany, where she resided with his sister, and gave birth to a son. When Fulbert heard of her flight, he was frantic with rage. Abelard came cringing to him, imploring pardon, recalling to him how the greatest men had been cast down by women, accused himself of treachery, and offered the reparation of marriage provided it were kept secret; because his marriage, if made known, would be an obstacle to his rising in the Church, and the mitre already glimmered before his ambitious eyes. Fulbert consented. But Heloise, with womanly self-abnegation, would not consent. She would not rob the world of its greatest luminary. "I should hate this marriage," she exclaimed, "because it would be an opprobrium and a calamity." She recalled to Abelard various passages in Scripture and ancient writers, in which wives are accursed, pointing out to him how impossible it would be for him to consecrate himself to philosophy unless he were free; how could he study amid the noises of children and domestic troubles of a household? how much more honorable it would be for her to sacrifice herself to him! She would be his concubine. The more she humiliated herself for him, the greater would be her claims upon his love; and thus she would be no obstacle to his advancement, no impediment to the free development of his genius.

* That this vanity and indelicacy are eminently French, though unhappily not exclusively French, will be admitted by all who are conversant with the Life and literature of that remarkable people. It had not escaped the piercing gaze and healthy instincts of Molière, who has an admirable passage on this national peculiarity: see Arnolphe's monologue, act. iii. scene iii. of L'Ecole des Femmes.