: HELENE 
 GINGOLD 
 
 Wl^'t^li^ditiudsi^iT.-t 
 
P.NOORDHOFF 
 BOEKH-DITGEVER 
 . GRONINGEN 
 
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Abelard and Helolse 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 THE CHILLINGFIELD CHRONICLES. 
 
 A CYCLE OF VERSE. 
 
 FLOWERS OF THE FIELD. 
 
 DENYSE. 
 
 HALF-A-DOZEN TRANSGRESSIONS. 
 
 SEVEN STORIES. 
 
 Etc., Etc. 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/abelardheloisetrOOgingrich 
 
Abelard and Heloise 
 
 a Sraaeb? in five acts 
 
 By 
 
 Helene Gingold 
 
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 London 
 
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 1906 
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 HIS MAJESTY 
 
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PREFATORY 
 
 Musing one day in Pere la Chaise, my wander- 
 ing footsteps unconsciously strayed by the resting- 
 place of Abelard and Heloise. There, in that 
 hallowed spot, rendered beautiful by its eloquence 
 in stone, Death has lost much of his aspect of 
 sorrow and of darkness. There, where all is hushed 
 in solemn silence, broken only by the music of 
 the summer birds' voices, repose the ashes of 
 some of the world's greatest and fairest lights ; 
 and, though centuries have passed, surely none 
 were more famous and beautiful than the learned 
 Abelard and the lovely Heloise. 
 
 Out in the busy life beyond the confines of this 
 God's Acre, kings and kingdoms rise and fall, 
 men and women struggle through their brief 
 roles and pass away unnoticed from the ranks of 
 life ; but the mutability of existence has no power 
 here, for all remains unchanged through every 
 vicissitude. It is governed by a tranquillity so 
 profound, that even the thrush's gay song of 
 Spring seems to have caught the infection of 
 peace, and chants a gentler and a sadder note. 
 
8 PREFATORY 
 
 Dreaming over that past in which Abelard and 
 Heloise were the principal figures, imagination 
 conjured up to me their sufferings and their 
 affliction, and, above all, their great love, which 
 is itself S5monymous with sorrow. Christ was 
 " a Man of many sorrows," inasmuch as He loved 
 mightily. " Love," Swedenborg says, " is the 
 life of man." With all his renown as a scholar, 
 the name of Abelard is handed down to posterity 
 as a famous lover ; and Heloise, fair and learned 
 above all women, is celebrated because of her 
 passion. 
 
 As history relates it, the story of the pair 
 strikes a fuller, deeper, and more tragic note 
 than that of Romeo and Juliet. The latter were 
 but boy and girl : the former a man and woman 
 of ambitions and striking personality. 
 
 I am conscious that many abler hands than 
 mine could have limned the lovers in a far nobler 
 fashion, but I also know that, with all its varied 
 errors and imperfections, none could have felt 
 a more whole-hearted enthusiasm for this work 
 than I. 
 
 HELENE GINGOLD. 
 
Dramatis Persons 
 
 Abelard, Professor of Logic, Canon of Notre Dame, and Doyen 
 of a Newer School of Thought. 
 
 Fdlbert, Archbishop of Paris, guardian and uncle of Heloise. 
 
 Philintus, Friend, sttident, and admirer of Abelard. 
 
 Bishop Anselm {afterwards Archbishop of Paris), Professor of 
 antiquated Tenets and Schools. 
 
 Ai.BERic,^ Professors and satellites of Anselm ; opposed to the ad- 
 LOTULF, J vanced viezvs of Abelard. 
 
 Prince Amadeus, betrothed to Heloise. 
 Friar Bonhomme, a priest. 
 King of France. 
 
 Heloise, an orphan^ ward and niece of Fulberf. 
 Agaton, her waiting-woman. 
 Myrtila, a friend. 
 
 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Citizens ; ist, 2nd, and 3rd Students. 
 
 Attendants, Priests, Citizens, Students, Musicia;^s, a Singer, Nuns, 
 Sisters, Courtiers, and Pages. 
 
 Epoch . . . 1 2th Century. 
 Place . . Paris. 
 
Act I 
 
Abelard and Heloise 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene i 
 
 Evening. A street in Paris. Archbishop 
 Fulbert's house, an imposing building, 
 stands at the corner of the street. Other 
 smaller dwellings adjoin : these are gaily 
 decorated with coloured lanternSy flags, and 
 hunting. 
 
 (Enter Three Citizens.) 
 
 First at. By'r Lady ! it seems as though 
 All Paris hath run mad to-day. 
 
 Second Cit. Is it not her usual state ? 
 
 First Cit. Ay. That be true enow, but, friend, 
 She does not always symbols hang 
 Out o' window her mania to proclaim, 
 For ev'ry stranger eye to ridicule. 
 Prythee, what mean these flags and lamps ? 
 
 Third Cit. Hast not heard the news ? 
 
14 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
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 First Cit. What news ? 
 
 Second Cit. Where hast been 
 
 That thou know'st not the learned Abelard 
 Hath this day outmatched professors all 
 From the globe's four quarters hailing 
 To compete with him in logic ? 
 
 First Cit. Tell me then of Abelard, for I 
 But little know of Paris news, 
 Seeing but an hour since I came 
 From Marseilles ancient port. That Abelard 
 Is learned, I have heard ; but 'tis no reason 
 Why this potent city should be deck'd 
 As though a conquering hero it acclaimed. 
 
 Second Cit. Conquering ! He is more than 
 conqueror. 
 The warrior's path is that of ruin and death, 
 While Abelard's is one of life and hope, 
 For he the fruit of knowledge ripe hath pluck' d, 
 And offers it to thee and me to eat. 
 
 Third Cit. Learning sits upon his brow 
 As lightly and becomingly as rosy wreaths 
 On beauty's forehead borne. 
 
 Second Cit. Paris has occasion to be proud 
 to-day ; 
 Not ev'ry land doth mother such a son. 
 Faith ! 'twas rare to see the learned fight 
 Amongst the sons of wisdom. First came 
 England's hope, with long and heavy face, 
 As tho' much learning him had robbed of grace. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 15 
 
 His bones were bigger than his wit ; for he 
 
 In sound did much excel, but not in sense. 
 
 Then the German, hairy as an ape, 
 
 Rose heavy to his feet. If he wisdom spake, 
 
 'Twas so disguised, that none did it recognise. 
 
 Then sprang a hot ItaHan in the breach. 
 
 And volley' d an artillery of sound 
 
 Like unto Vesuvius in eruption — 
 
 All fume and fury. The Greek philosopher 
 
 Was eloquent indeed. Alas ! his words 
 
 Pythagoras had said a thousand years agone. 
 
 After these came Abelard, and like a star 
 
 Of unmatch'd splendour 'midst a galaxy 
 
 Of earthly lamps was he. His eloquence. 
 
 All like a tide, did bear away 
 
 His audience in its flowing course. 
 
 He taught, without appearing that he taught, 
 
 How fair'st life did dwell in highest thought. 
 
 First at. Come, let's to a tavern ! 
 
 'Tis meet we drink to such a health 
 
 As Abelard's ! 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 (Enter Anselm, Alberic, and Lotulf.) 
 
 Anselm {with bitterness, pointing to the lanterns, 
 flags y and hunting). Look upon these trap- 
 pings ! 
 Are they not enow to make a man 
 Rave against these empty fools that raise 
 
i6 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 New worships in the place of ancient gods ? 
 The Idol of to-day doth e'er supplant 
 The God of yesterday : and to-morrow yet 
 Will see the sun of this one set. 
 Senseless gew-gaws ! Out on them say I ! 
 Paris in old age hath childish grown, 
 Thus to deck herself in folly's rags. 
 
 Lotulf (wrathfully). And for what, forsooth ! 
 
 Anselm. Since Abelard hath taken 
 To conjuring with his tongue. 
 
 Alberic. 'Tis truly said, most wise Anselm, 
 No better than a mountebank is he ; 
 He conjures with his words, t'other 
 With his hand-trickery. 
 
 Lotulf. The praise of fools has tum'd his brain 
 And he is drunk with adulation. 
 They call him learned ! History ne'er disclosed 
 A learned man who fell far short o' fifty, 
 So how can Abelard at thirty-eight be wise ? 
 Here am I — the youngest of us all — 
 Full forty-nine come Martinmas, 
 And but late have gain'd a name. 
 
 Alberic. Abelard hath a biting tongue. If I 
 dar'd, 
 I'd tell thee, noble Anselm, what he said. 
 
 Anselm (with affected indifference). What said 
 he? 
 
 Alberic. When thou did'st controvert his 
 heresies, 
 
A BE LARD AND HE WISE 17 
 
 I heard him utter, with a Hght, bold laugh, 
 Like some gallant, unhke a sober scholar, 
 — And I hate him more for his spirit gay — 
 *' Methinks that Anselm is the more admired 
 For wrinkl'd age than wit acquired." 
 
 Anselm. What he now learns I've long forgot. 
 
 Lotulf. At our rules and doctrines he doth 
 mock, 
 And we, the props and pillars of the schools, 
 He dubs as trees of knowledge — barren of fruit. 
 He calls us bigots, slaves to rust, 
 Whose eyes are blind with ancient dust. 
 
 Anselm. His tongue outstrips a racer's legs ; 
 Let him look to it. His present high estate 
 Will help make his fall more great. 
 
 Alberic. The stars will sooner drop, 
 Than this misplaced idol of the hour. 
 
 Anselm (warningly). Wait ! 
 
 Evil thoughts to deeds are quickly hatch'd, 
 And mischief unto fire spreads ; whilst worth — 
 Like timid snail doth keep within her doors. 
 (Significantly) When worldly idols fall and 
 
 break. 
 The world doth haste to stamp upon the pieces. 
 
 Alberic (bitterly). Who can trap a man that 
 has no vice. 
 Who's cold and hard in woman's company, 
 Who loves not wine nor sottish fellowship, 
 And books prefers to feasting ? 
 
 B 
 
i8 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Lotulf. A miracle alone can hurl him down, 
 And such are never wrought when most 
 desired. 
 
 Alberic. When I do think upon his crowd' d 
 lectures — 
 The very air being faint with scholars' breaths 
 Who come from every part — my hands 
 Do itch to strike the Canon Abelard. 
 
 Lotulf (whispering to Anselm). Why not bid 
 The hired assassin do his work ? 
 Better men than he have gone that way. 
 
 Anselm. Tush ! fool ! 
 
 No punishment 'tis for men like Abelard 
 To die a speedy death. Let him live 
 I say, but live in hell's own torments ! 
 
 Lotulf (sarcastically). My lord, thou art a 
 preacher justly famed, 
 Whose pray'rs have, doubtless, weight in 
 
 heav'n ; 
 Mayhap, if thou dost now invoke all hell, 
 Its sovereign will, with amity, respond ! 
 
 Anselm. Love is often quench'd by fate, 
 But nothing can extinguish hate : 
 Love doth come, and flies away, 
 But hatred ever comes to stay ! 
 
 (Enter Three Musicians with lutes. They 
 station themselves beneath one of the windows 
 of Archbishop Fulbert's house.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 19 
 
 Lotulf. What new madness is this ? 
 
 Anselm. There's naught new in madness. 
 
 Alberic. What want these fellows ? 
 
 Lotulf. It looks as though they want'd 
 To make music. 
 
 Anselm. On the old theme, belike — 
 In Abelard's honour. Curse Abelard ! 
 His very name doth rouse my bile. 
 
 {Goes to Musicians and addresses them.) 
 
 Knaves, tell me. 
 To whom would you address your songs ? 
 
 First Musician. To the Lady Heloise, an' it 
 
 please you, lord. 
 Anselm. Is it she whom people caU 
 The beautiful and wise ? 
 
 First Musician. The same, my lord. 
 Anselm (sneeringly). The lion roars his love 
 upon the plains, 
 The jackass brays his passion to his dear, 
 The bear doth growl his fond affections' pains. 
 The crocodile lets fall a loving tear. 
 Man alone with nature discontent, 
 Flies to art to give his feelings vent. 
 
 Lotulf. There, fellows ! Begin ! 
 
 And heav'n grant ye a quick labour 
 So we may have speedy delivery. 
 
 First Musician (to his companions). What 
 shall we sing ? 
 
20 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Second Musician. A dainty song of Abelard's, 
 That he has titled " Faded Garlands." 
 
 Anselm (to Lotulf and Alberic, with savage 
 emphasis). Do ye hear them ? Every- 
 thing is Abelard ! 
 
 The air we breathe is Abelard ! 
 
 What matters it if Fate be hard ? 
 
 We still are rich — in Abelard ! 
 
 If our fortune should be marr'd, 
 
 No matter — there is Abelard ! 
 
 The wisest man, most perfect bard, 
 
 Is no one else — save Abelard ! 
 
 First Musician (sings to the accompaniment of 
 the lute) ;— ' 
 
 fad'd garlands once so glad, 
 That 'round your sweetness spread, 
 
 1 mourn to see your beauty gone, 
 Your vari'd graces shed. 
 
 Sleep softly on, till vernal Spring 
 Shall wake the silent earth. 
 And rosy days and tender show'rs 
 Shall give your seedlings birth. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 21 
 
 When love is fad'd like the rose, 
 
 And all its perfume shed, 
 
 O ! would that Spring the charm possess' d 
 
 To wake it from the dead. 
 
 (At the finish of the song Heloise appears at 
 one of the casements. Anselm, Lotulf, 
 and Alberic watch her narrowly. Anselm 
 especially, who indulges in a gesture of 
 triumph.) 
 
 Heloise (to the Musicians). A melancholy air, 
 my friends, which yet 
 Doth meet my present mood. Something 
 In the words does haunt me. 
 Pray ye, who did author it ? 
 
 Second Musician. 'Tis from the pen of Canon 
 Abelard, lady. 
 
 Heloise (musingly). Abelard ! Abelard J 
 
 I'll not forget the name. Thanks, my friends. 
 Good-night, and thanks, and thanks again 
 
 [Closes the casement and retires. 
 
 Third Musician (enthusiastically). That smile 
 was worth a gold piece. 
 
22 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Second Musician. Wert a married man, 
 thou'dst find 
 That Beauty's smiles do feed no hungry mouths. 
 
 (Agaton comes out of the house and gives the 
 Musicians money.) 
 
 Agaton. My mistress sends you this, good 
 sirs, 
 In recognition of your music sweet. 
 
 [Re-enters house. 
 
 First Musician. My friends, it is not every- 
 where 
 One finds a lady kind as fair. 
 
 [Exeunt Musicians. 
 
 Anselm (exultantly). Did ye mark fair Heloise ? 
 Alberic. Did I mark the sun, the moon, the 
 stars ? 
 Who could help but mark her ? Nay, she 
 Does on others leave her mark, e'en 
 Upon this toughen'd heart of mine. 
 Anselm. The instrument of our revenge I see 
 in Heloise. 
 Old Fulbert prouder is of his fair niece's 
 
 learning 
 Than of all her charms. To him 
 Will I speak of Abelard's great wisdom, 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 25 
 
 And so dilate upon his rare attainments, 
 That — I know the fond old prelate well — 
 No peace will he enjoy till Heloise 
 By Abelard is school' d. 
 
 Alheric. In vain ye set a woman's trap for 
 Abelard ; 
 Eyes and hearts have wept and throbb'd for him 
 
 in vain. 
 By'r Lady, he's the coldest man in France. 
 
 Anselm. So may we all be, until we meet — 
 A Heloise ! 
 Lotulf. She is betrothed to Prince Amadeus. 
 Anselni. The better for our purpose. For he, 
 'Tis said, doth love her dearer than his soul. 
 From this small spark by me ignited 
 A mighty flame shaD burst. 
 
 Alheric. Most excellent cunning ! I see the 
 
 drift of 't. 
 Anselm. The drift will prove an avalanche 
 to Abelard. 
 I know those icy scholars ; they are flames 
 When love at last attacks them. Unconcealed 
 
 wrath 
 Is the poniard of dull fools : did not Judas 
 With the semblance of true love, commit 
 The deadliest act of treachery ? 
 But come ! I would mature my plan, 
 To set my gin and snare my man. 
 
 [Exeunt Anselm, Alberic, and Lotulf. 
 
24 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Enter Abelard and Philintus running.) 
 
 Ahelard. Are we safe now ? 
 By my faith ! the people are exceeding kind ; 
 But such applause and zeal would sure entail 
 A new cloak every time we met. 
 
 (Abelard laughingly looks at his cloak, which 
 has been torn in the frantic enthusiasm of 
 the crowd for their favourite scholar.) 
 
 Ambition is ne'er content until she lies 
 Gasping and half-stifled by the crowd's caresses ; 
 Then all ungrateful cries, as I do now, 
 " What, after all, are these whose praise 
 I so eagerly and long have laboured for ? " 
 Why, Philintus, there's not one among the 
 
 mob 
 AVho fathers a thought beyond a tavern ! 
 But tell me, are we safe ? 
 
 Philintus. For awhile 
 
 We have escaped thy friendly persecutors ; 
 But they'll be here anon, I warrant. 
 I 'faith, that was a pretty maid who came 
 Foremost in the crowd to kiss thee. 
 
 Ahelard. I did not mark her, neither did I wish 
 Her forward kisses. 
 
 Philintus. I would have had them willingly. 
 
 Ahelard. Would that thou could'st be 
 My proxy in these matters ! 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 25 
 
 Philintus. 'Tis passing strange that thou dost 
 write 
 Such tender verse on love and beauty 
 And yet hath ne'er a mistress. 
 
 Ahelard (with enthusiasm). Oh ! I have a mis- 
 tress, but she Hves in dreams'; 
 At night she comes when all the earth is 
 
 still, 
 And dewy freshness fills the moonlit air 
 With dim and mystic imagery. 
 When the wandering breezes sigh, I learn 
 The language of another world than ours ; 
 Then it is my mistress comes to me. 
 She is Goddess of the air, and Liberty 
 Hath father' d; her. ^"*^'' Her voice doth thrill my 
 
 soul, H 
 
 And hand in hand we speed thro' space, 
 Her loveliness outshining all the stars. 
 Who pale with envy at the sight of her, 
 Unto those realms of fancy where we fly. 
 We leave behind the tyranny of power ; 
 The weakness and the wickedness of kings, 
 States corrupt, the sensual sloth of men 
 Who fear to rise against the law of servitude. 
 Because, forsooth, their sires suffer'd it. There, 
 
 temporal 
 Laws no power have to mar the progress of such 
 
 thought, 
 Nor turn the minds and frames of men 
 
26 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 To be mere base machinery for the State's ad- 
 vantage, 
 And not the people's welfare ! 
 
 Philintus. And her name ? 
 
 Abelard. Her name is Freedom ! 
 
 Philintus. Give me a live woman, say I, 
 And the devil take the phantoms 
 Who destroy men's rest. 
 
 (Noise without of a clamouring crowd in the 
 
 distance.) 
 
 Hear'st thou the noisy tongue of Fame ? 
 
 Abelard (wearily). Too well ; 
 
 My heart misgives me. I am overwrought 
 To-night. 
 
 Philintus. What ails thee ? 
 
 Abelard (with a shiver). Ugh ! Were I a gude 
 wife old 
 I would now tell thee that I stood 
 Upon a spot where evil bod'd me. 
 
 Philintus. A bumper of rich Burgundy 
 
 Will drive these student fits away. 
 I warn'd thee how it would be when 
 Thy books, 'fore all things, took precedence. 
 
 Abelard. A warning's like the plague, 
 We only feel it when we catch it ! 
 
 (Hubbub of the crowd coming nearer and nearer.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 27 
 
 Abelard. The hunters are upon us, 
 Where shall we escape ? 
 
 {Enter Fulbert and Anselm.) 
 
 Anselni. Abelard' s the finest scholar of them 
 all! 
 
 (Sees Abelard.) 
 
 Why, as I live, there stands the substance 
 
 Of my commendation ! There's fate in some 
 encounters ! 
 
 {To Abelard) Graciously met ! Two such learned 
 men 
 
 Must know each other. This, Archbishop Ful- 
 bert, 
 
 Is he of whom I've spoken, brilliant Abelard. 
 Fulbert. Your fame has long preced'd 
 
 The graces of your person. Canon Abelard. 
 
 I hear the voice of Paris echoing thy praise, 
 
 Like true echo, a thousand times again. 
 
 (Clamour of crowd coming nearer.) 
 
 Abelard. My lord, 
 
 I am beholden to your graciousness 
 For your kindly words. But, truth to tell, 
 I am somewhat weary, and fain would fly 
 
28 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 From the crowd's embracement. As you came 
 Upon us, my friend and I were planning 
 An escape. 
 
 Anselm. There's fate, I know, there's fate in 
 this ; 
 For the reverend Fulbert is alike renown' d 
 For hospitality and for virtue. 
 Therefore, methinks, I read him right 
 When I do say he fain would offer you 
 The shelter of his friendly roof until 
 The crowd is past. 
 
 Fulbert. Nay, good friend, surely this is wel- 
 come scant 
 To offer this great scholar. Not alone 
 Until the crowd is past, but longer far 
 Do I entreat his goodly company. 
 Accept an old man's welcome, Abelard ; 
 It lieth more at heart than voluble expression. 
 
 Anselm {aside). Men contrive, but chance 
 determines all ! 
 
 (Fulbert goes to the house door, and fumbles 
 at the key in the door.) 
 
 Fulbert. Hands may tremble when we're old, 
 But our hearts beat steadier for that. 
 
 (Opens the door.) 
 
 Enter, great scholar, 
 And welcome from to-night be you for ever. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 29 
 
 {All enter the house hut Philintus, who stands 
 in the street watching with a whimsical ex- 
 pression the coming rush and roar of the 
 crowd. Enter Citizens a^id Students 
 shouting and clamouring.) 
 
 First Cit. Whither hath Abelard gone ? 
 Second Cit. I saw him pass this way. [Points 
 
 in one direction.) 
 Third Cit. I saw him pass that way. {Points 
 
 in another direction.) 
 Second Cit. Dog, you he ! 
 Third Cit. What ! To my face ! 
 
 {They fight. The crowd interferes, and a melee 
 
 ensues.) 
 
 Philintus. Fists fight ; throats shout ; tongues 
 wag; 
 Ye hunt the great, as ye would the stag ! 
 
 [Exit into Fulbert's house. 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 A room in Fulbert's house. 
 
 (Heloise and Myrtila seated together. Hel- 
 oise is abstractedly turning over the leaves 
 of a rich missal. Myrtila is diligently 
 sewing at an altar cloth.) 
 
 Myrtila. Here dost thou in meditation sit, 
 my Heloise, 
 
30 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 As though a sepulchre had ope'd to enfold thee 
 In lieu the arms of such a courtly gallant 
 As Prince Amadeus. Full many a maid 
 Would give her eyes for such a lover. 
 
 Heloise. I would give my eyes 
 
 If I could not see him. 
 Myrtila. But thy uncle loves and favours him. 
 Heloise. If Heloise were her uncle, and her 
 uncle Heloise, 
 Then this match would rejoice her. 
 
 Myrtila. Thou dost not surely hate him ? 
 Heloise. Hate ! Nay, I hate him not ; 
 But then I do not love him. 
 Myrtila (biting off a thread and shaking 
 her head wisely). One need not deeply 
 love to wisely wed. 
 Heloise. What, Mignon ! dar'st prate of wed- 
 ding lacking love, 
 When it alone should make one wed ? 
 
 Myrtila (sewing with assumed assiduity, wisely 
 as before). Many men and women think 
 they love, then wed, 
 And buy dear pleasure for a month 
 At the price of life's discomfort. 
 
 Heloise. Those rules and methods sway thee 
 In which thy gentle mother train'd thee. 
 Alas ! I never knew such hallow' d love, 
 For, when I came, my mother died ; 
 Then kindly Fulbert foster' d me. 
 
ABELARD AND HE WISE 31 
 
 He trained me like a darling son ; 
 For thou did'st sew when I read Greek, 
 And thou did'st play when I was set 
 To hold my own 'midst Latin scholars. 
 When thou did'st gossip with fair friends, 
 Sage men were my companions ; 
 And in their weighty converse I forgot 
 The levity of youth. 
 
 Myrtila. Leave wisdom to the aged ! 
 Why should' st thou so sweet and fair 
 Be old before thy time ? I pray thee 
 Wed the Prince who loves thee so. 
 ^TwiU make thy Uncle Fulbert glad, 
 And fill thy friend with proudest joy. 
 
 Heloise. I love not Amadeus. But affection 
 strong 
 Binds me to my kinsman Fulbert. 
 
 Myrtila. If thou lov'st no other man, 
 Why not wed the Prince ? He's young. 
 He's handsome, opulent, and noble. 
 
 Heloise, Come, sit beside, and I will tell thee. 
 
 {Myrtila takes a stool and sits at the feet of 
 
 Heloise.) 
 
 Heloise. I have dream'd of a vision lov'r, 
 Which makes me shun those temporal. 
 He stands alone, and soars above the earth 
 With high-erect'd thoughts beyond his time. 
 His lofty truths, like heaven's thunder, 
 
32 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Seem to shake the world, and wake 
 
 The drowsy sluggard from his idle rest 
 
 To nobler aims. No line of ancestry he claims. 
 
 For, like a god, he doth create, 
 
 And not by chance of birth inherit. 
 
 Yea ! I have dreamed of him, Myrtila, 
 
 Until my lips have called on him to come, 
 
 And with a kiss he hath unseal' d my soul, 
 
 Which, fiutt'ring like a bird set free, 
 
 Hath gone to him for ever. 
 
 Myrtila. Let not a dream 
 
 With false and flitting images 
 Cloud thy life with melancholy. 
 I beseech thee — cast dreams to shadowland 
 From whence they came, and wed the Prince. 
 
 Heloise. I fain would please my good old 
 guardian 
 E'en against my own desires. 
 
 Myrtila. I'll take thy half-consent, and make 
 it whole. 
 When a woman says " Mayhap," she meaneth 
 
 " Aye." 
 Princess Heloise ! how fine it sounds ! 
 Here comes the Prince ! [Exit. 
 
 (Enter Prince Amadeus.) 
 
 Amadens. Would that I knew the pensive 
 cloak of thought 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 33 
 
 That now enwraps thee was of a colour 
 Most harmonious to my wish ? 
 
 Heloise. After all that I have said against 
 it, 
 Think you I still can bring you happiness ? 
 
 Amadeus (passionately). Oh, Heloise ! I dream 
 of thee as shipwreck' d mariners 
 Do think upon a far-off golden shore ! 
 Thou art my sole idea of happiness. 
 My highest hopes — ambitions — joys — 
 Do bear one corporeal form in thee. 
 There were none fair, till thou did'st come ; 
 None were gracious, till thou did'st smile ; 
 There was no music, till thy voice 
 Great' d by its harmony another world for me. 
 Through sickness, sorrow, and misfortune, 
 Through wrinkl'd age, untoward circumstance, 
 Through every mood — so it be thine — 
 Will I cherish thee with constancy. 
 Nay, so deep my love will be. 
 Response at last must come from thee. 
 
 Heloise (giving her hand to Amadeus). Not so 
 hard of soul am I, my Prince, 
 That I unmov'd can listen to your words. 
 Here is my hand. My heart, mayhap, 
 Will follow it in time. A woman's nature 
 Is a citadel that surrenders oft to kindness. 
 
 Amadeus. For so much graciousness, 
 
 Loving thee as I do, I thank thee. 
 
 c 
 
34 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Tumult without of the crowd, who shout " Long 
 live Ahelard ! " " Long live Abelardf") 
 
 Heloise. Abelard ! Abelard ! Who is Abe- 
 lard ? 
 To-night, when your musicians play'd, 
 They told me that the verse and melody 
 Both were writ by one Abelard ! 
 
 Amadeus. Abelard hath the greatest name 
 
 For learning in all France. Hast never heard 
 Of him before ? 
 
 Heloise. You forget that I but lately come 
 From Rome. In convents, learned living men 
 Give place to the wiser dead. 
 Is Abelard an old and sour'd man ? 
 'Tis strange that wisdom's fairest gifts 
 Do fall upon the plainest laps ! 
 
 Amadeus. Women call him handsome. 
 But what do women know of looks ? 
 They'll measure beauty by the yard. 
 And if a man is longer than a pole 
 " He's finely built," and if he's squat 
 And fat, they'll have it he is strong ; 
 A man need only have a face, 
 For women to accord him grace. 
 
 (Enter Fulbert, followed by Abelard, Anselm, 
 and Philintus. At the sight of Abelard, 
 Heloise becomes transfixed, then starts, 
 and cries.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 35 
 
 Heloise. My dream lover ! 
 
 Fulbert (garrulously). This is my niece, most 
 
 learned Abelard ; 
 Our sudden coming in hath startl'd her. 
 All the treasures of my house I have shown 
 
 you 
 Save this, but for the last reserved 
 The greatest and the best. 
 
 Abelard {aside to Philintus). Where is my 
 
 earthly logic now 
 Before this piece of heavenly work divine ? 
 She seems to throw a stream of light around, 
 Which makes us all but heavy clay com- 
 
 par'd. 
 (Aloud to Heloise). Meseems 
 
 That I have look'd upon your face ere 
 
 now, 
 But not in life. In some great picture 
 Limm'd by master hand, when his art 
 Has sought a model fit in Paradise ! 
 
 Fulbert (complacently). Abelard hath most 
 
 delicate civility. 
 Did ye hear the pretty compliment he made ? 
 Lord ! that I my manners should forget 
 In praising of another ! Monsignor Abelard ! 
 Be pleased to know Prince Amadeus, betrothed 
 To Heloise. Methinks, it is but right 
 That learning great and high nobility 
 Should go hand-in-hand in amity. 
 
36 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Abelard and Amadeus shake hands : Abe- 
 lard with frank kindness of manner, 
 Amadeus with ill-concealed annoyance.) 
 
 Fulbert, Nor must I neglect Messire Phil- 
 intus, 
 The loyal friend of Canon Abelard. 
 Heloise. You are welcome, sir. 
 Anselm {aside, watching Abelard, who regards 
 Heloise with wonder and admiration). 
 The victory is ours ! 
 The iceberg melts already ! 
 
 Fulbert. Silence seals thy lips to Abelard, sweet 
 niece. 
 Speak to him ; be not afraid, altho' 
 He is the noblest son of France. 
 
 Heloise (to Abelard, falteringly). I bid you 
 welcome, Monseigneur, 
 Not in words alone, but with my heart, 
 For it seems as if I too had seen 
 Your face and heard your voice before — in dreams. 
 
 Anselm {aside). Why need Lucifer set traps, 
 When mortals aye pursue his ways without ? 
 Amadeus {fumingly to Fulbert). Heloise 
 appears 
 Much taken with this scholar. 
 I like it not. 
 
 Fulbert (warningly). Prince ! Prince ! 
 
 Harbour not the serpent Jealousy. Her venom 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 37 
 
 Paints all actions black, and would 
 Befoul an angel's deeds with poison. 
 
 Amadeus. Too little jealousy 
 
 Fares as ill as too much ! 
 
 Anselm (who has been listening, with a covert 
 smile). I entreat your pardon, 
 But by chance I overheard the' subject 
 Of your discourse. Prince, I swear to you 
 That Abelard to love is inaccessible : 
 He hates all womankind. 
 (Aside) To hate all women doth keep no 
 
 man 
 From loving one ! 
 
 Fulbert (eagerly to Anselm). Think'st thou, 
 my friend, 
 That Abelard would teach my Heloise ? 
 There's much of Greek and Latin that 
 I still would have her learn. Thou dost not 
 answer. 
 
 Anselm. 'Tis because I think for thee ; 
 Abelard's time is greatly taken up. 
 (Aside) I know the world. Men seek the more 
 To reach the thing that is withheld. 
 
 Fulbert. Shall I speak to him ? 
 
 If I ask, mayhap I'll court refusal. 
 
 Anselm. If he refuse thee, court him till he 
 yields. 
 
 Fulbert. I thank thee, Anselm, for thy counsel ; 
 'Twas a goodly thought from a pious man. 
 
38 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Goes to Abelard, who is conversing with 
 Heloise.) 
 
 Monsigneur Abelard ! 
 I have one fond desire, which, if you 
 Accord, will make me glad indeed. 
 
 Abelard. Noble Fulbert, your request 
 
 Is granted ere 'tis utter'd. 
 
 Philintus. Is not that rashly spoken ? 
 
 Fulbert. Learned Abelard, I fain 
 
 Would have my niece instruct'd by 3^ou. 
 Wil't teach her ? 
 
 Abelard (hesitatingly). I teach but men. 
 (Aside) I must fight with this request. 
 Already she has taught me that 
 My heart is far too apt a pupil 
 In the school of love ! 
 
 Anselm (tentatively). Methought it would 
 be so ! 
 Abelard doth think that womenkind 
 Are wayward, pliable, and easy ; with no soul 
 And no stability to learn as men have. 
 Yet Socrates did say that females are 
 A sex no way inferior to ours 
 Save in strength corporal. 
 
 Abelard. Think me not so churlish ; 
 
 I have no thought of womenkind but 
 Would grace the heart of any man. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 39 
 
 Heloise. Refuse not then, I pray, 
 To count me amongst the humblest 
 Of your happy scholars. 
 
 Abelard (aside). Vain to fly, when passion's 
 snares 
 Have seized upon us unawares. 
 
 Fulbert. Can you refuse the darling wish 
 Of an old man's heart ? 
 
 Abelard. The lips of revered age 
 
 Scarce ever ask in vain. 
 
 Amadeus (interposing with some heat). To 
 what doth all this learning tend, 
 And what needs Heloise with more of 't ? 
 
 Philintus (aside to Abelard). There's some- 
 thing wrong in all this, 
 And, womanlike, I can no reason give, 
 But that I like it not for thee, my Abelard. 
 Forego this scholar, she's too fair. Say " Nay," 
 And make an end on 't. 
 
 Abelard (aside). I'm torn between ye all. 
 How can I harsh refuse a simple boon 
 That kind old man and his fair niece 
 Have ask'd of me ? 
 
 Amadeus (angrily). Heloise shall learn no 
 more. 
 I will not brook it. 
 
 Heloise. Prince ! 
 
 It is not your right, as yet. 
 To sway or rule my will. 
 
40 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Anselm (gleefully, aside). A quarrel already ! 
 And Abelard the subject ! What news 
 For Lotulf and for Alberic. 
 Love and hate are plants that grow 
 Beyond our power, ere we know. 
 
 (Hubbub of crowd outside the house shout- 
 ing, " Long live Abelard, the elegant 
 scholar .f'' A woman's voice is heard above 
 the rest, screaming, " Love to the handsome 
 Abelard ! " which is followed by laughter 
 and cheers from the mob.) 
 
 Amadeus (with suppressed fury, aside). Let 
 me but hear one word 
 Save that used in common courtesy, 
 And I will slay this half-fledg'd priest. 
 
 Fulbert (rubbing his hands with delight, goes to 
 the casement and opens it wide ; the cries 
 of the crowd are vociferous). This is balsam 
 to my mind. 
 To feel that men do justly value wisdom. 
 
 Philintus (to Abelard). Thou should' st speak 
 to them. 
 For thou alone canst calm the storm 
 Which thou hast call'd to life. 
 
 (Crowd without, '^ Long live great Abelard/''^ 
 ''Abelard/'' ''Abelard!'' Fulbert 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 41 
 
 approaches Abelard and leads him to 
 the casement, wherefrom his appearance is 
 hailed with enthusiasm.) 
 
 Abelard {to the crowd). Friends ! for this, your 
 
 gracious welcome, 
 I would in truth a niggard be 
 To close my thanks within my breast 
 As misers do their gold. Yet, I would plead 
 That I am weary with the work 
 Of many days and nights unslept : and thus 
 Reminding ye there's no success without its 
 
 hitch, 
 Fain would I seek repose. 
 
 A Voice in the crowd. A mob is plaguey ; like 
 
 the plague, 
 'Twill stick until some antidote 
 Disperses it. We want no windy speech. 
 But something tunefully extemporised. 
 
 (The crowd shouts " Hurrah .' " " Hurrah ! " 
 and the speaker^s suggestion is received with 
 every demonstration of approval.) 
 
 Philintus. Give them a verse or two 
 On knowledge. 
 
 Abelard. 'Tis a subject 
 Hard to assail and difficult to dismiss. 
 
42 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Amadeus (contemptuously). Then speak of 
 wars 
 And mighty deeds of prowess. 
 
 Abelard. What ! I ? 
 
 Who ne'er slew man yet 
 By word o' mouth or courtly point of sword ! 
 
 Fulbert. A few, but chosen, words 
 On wisdom will suffice. 
 
 Abelard, A cataract, my lord, 
 
 Will not be dammed by hazel wood ; 
 A noble theme requires a noble treatment. 
 Or else 'tis dammed by lukewarm handling. 
 
 Anselm (with hypocritical unction). Speak of 
 the Universal Mother ! 
 
 Abelard. The Earth ? 
 
 Anselm. Nay. The Church. 
 
 Abelard (aside). 'Tis all the same; 
 Both have a maw insatiable. 
 
 Heloise. Let your theme be 
 
 That which delights the heart of every man — 
 Love, and his Native Land. 
 I 
 
 (Abelard, inspired by Heloise, stands before 
 the open casement and declaims the following ; 
 and although his tones sometimes rise to a 
 pitch of enthusiasm, the manner of his re- 
 cital shows that it is extempore.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 43 
 
 My Native Land, where Nature greets the eye 
 With mount and valley emerald green and fair ; 
 Where Beauty's charms live not to fade and die, 
 But reign supreme in lasting triumph there. 
 
 Bless' d clime ! far greater in thy aspect mild 
 Than all the warlike cities of the earth, 
 Thou teachest mankind as a simple child, 
 The calm, but great nobility of worth. 
 
 3 
 
 The alien hand shall never blight that land 
 Which Freedom claims entirely as her own ; 
 There Love and Gladness wander hand in hand, 
 There sway of sceptr'd tyrant is unknown. 
 
 4 
 
 Farewell awhile ! Now Duty bids me hence, 
 But aye this thought is cherish' d in my breast ; 
 That for my long, long labour's recompense, 
 My dust within my native earth shall rest ! 
 
 (The crowds shout and hurrah, and Heloise 
 impulsively darts forward and kisses 
 
44 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Abelard's hand. Prince Amadeus, with a 
 gesture of anger, half-draws his sword and 
 would rush at Abelard, hut is restrained 
 by Anselm, who cautiously withholds him.) 
 
 Anselni (meaningly). Patience, patience, 
 Prince ! 
 There is a time for everything, 
 And your time is — not yet ! 
 
Act II 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene i 
 
 Hall in Anselm's house (window overlooking 
 
 garden). 
 
 (Anselm, Lotulf, and Alberic meeting.) 
 
 Anselm. Well met, good friends ! 
 There's excellent sport afoot, e'en for us 
 Who do not hunting go. 
 
 Lotulf. Say'st thou 
 
 That the lion is already caught ? 
 
 Anselm. 1 do say it. 
 
 Alberic. But 'tis so quickly done — 
 It cannot be of a surety. 
 
 Anselm. Who ever lov'd with passion's fire 
 That lov'd not at first sight ? I tell thee 
 That he is so bound with love, his very silence 
 Speaks it. Oh ! Abelard is caught. 
 
 Alberic. How canst thou believe a sign ? 
 Who never loved, can never teU 
 The emblems of true passion. 
 
48 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Anselm. How dost thou know I never lov'd ? 
 Think not because chill age imparts 
 Dullness to eye and speech, time was not 
 When youth did warm my blood 
 With lover's ardour. 
 
 Lotulf. Silence is but an ashen proof 
 Of a burning fire. 
 
 Anselm {contemptuously). There are other 
 tokens. 
 He's quitted Aristotle, and doth sweetly talk 
 On Ovid's art of Love. Sage Socrates 
 Is banished for light Apollo. Nor is this all. 
 Yon little casement looks into old Fulbert's 
 
 garden ; 
 There, unseen, I watch the master and his pupil. 
 The famous Abelard and the fair Heloise. 
 I see his frame oft shake in sighs 
 As though Vesuvius were in labour 
 And troubl'd to be delivered of its lava. 
 
 Lotulf. Let us too watch and listen. 
 Old Fulbert's garden is so begirt 
 With shrubs and trees and flowered banks, 
 'Twould no labour be to hide and hearken 
 To their discourse. If it be learned. 
 We can leave them ; be it amorous, 
 Straightway let us to old Fulbert. 
 
 Alberic. Like the Archangel Gabriel. And 
 tell him 
 Drive this Adam from his Eve and Eden. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 49 
 
 Then Amadeus 
 Will rise in arms against the wolf, 
 Who in lamb-like guise did come 
 To steal away his dear ! 
 
 Anselm. Come then and watch 
 This fire I have light' d ; this love 
 Shall bring us our revenge. 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 A part of Archbishop Fulbert's garden^ 
 houses on one side. At the bottom flows 
 a stream of the Seine, on whose silvery 
 breast is scattered water-lilies. The fruit 
 blossoms deck the trees in rich profusion^ 
 and the very air seems redolent with the 
 breath of early summer. Abelard, holding 
 a book, is seated on a rustic bench, and 
 Heloise, a few paces off, also has a volume 
 in her hands. Their attitudes are those of 
 master and pupil. During the opening 
 lines Fulbert, Anselm, Lotulf, and 
 Alberic C07ne out of the house and hide 
 behind the trees. 
 
 Abelard (as though reading from his volume). 
 My heart was like the deep unfathom'd sea 
 Which thine eyes alone have sounded. 
 
 Heloise {also as though reading). My love was 
 pent up like a pearl 
 
 D 
 
50 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Within a shell which none could ope. 
 But lo ! the music of thy voice 
 Did cause it to unclose. 
 
 Ahelard. Is that what Catullus says ? 
 Methinks that you have read it wrongly. 
 
 Heloise {hastily). Not I, master. 
 
 Ahelard (continuing). Suns may set and rise 
 again, 
 But once this too brief life is o'er, 
 We sleep thro' one perpetual night. 
 
 {Closes his book, and speaks as though from 
 
 memory.) 
 
 Therefore love me, for I love thee, 
 And short is our time for joy 
 On earth here below. 
 
 Heloise. Is that in the book ? 
 
 Methinks — methinks (Pauses confusedly.) 
 
 Ahelard. What think you, gentle scholar ? 
 Heloise (seating herself on the trunk of a 
 fallen tree). No matter, Monseigneur, 
 my thoughts are birds ; 
 They flutter to my heart and fly away again. 
 Ahelard (reopens his hook, and repeats as though 
 reading therefrom). Sweet maid ! thy pure 
 and thoughtful eyes 
 Have caught the colour from the skies. 
 O surely in some other land 
 Than this I must have touched that hand 
 
ABELARD AND HE WISE 51 
 
 And heard thy golden voice repeat 
 The light'st things to make them sweet. 
 Were I the flow'rs by thy side, 
 To die near thee would be my pride. 
 
 Heloise. Alas ! You know the book so well, 
 I cannot follow you so fast. But show me 
 Where this verse is writ ! My book 
 Doth hold it not. 
 
 (Goes over to Abelard.) 
 
 Ahelard (closing the hook with vehemence). Here, 
 'tis written here, within my breast, 
 Upon that book which is my heart alone. 
 Now bid me hence, and quit your sight. 
 And change joy's day to woe of night. 
 
 Heloise. Were I to bid you hence, 
 I'd send myself as well. You hold 
 The better part of me, and what remains 
 Is but the husk and shell of Heloise. 
 
 Go from me. 
 And all that's me goes with you. 
 
 (Drawn hy a mutual and irresistible impulse, 
 they embrace. As this takes place, Anselm 
 stealthily leads Fulbert from the em- 
 brasure of the trees. Alberic and Lotulf 
 follow them.) 
 
 Fulbert (with tremulous indignation). Oh ! that 
 mine eyes had borne false witness ! 
 
52 ABELARD AND HE WISE 
 
 Oh ! that my senses had, with madness* 
 
 hues, 
 Paint'd this scene 'fore my disordered brain, 
 Taking all truth's colours, and yet been perjur'd ! 
 Noble Anselm, bear with me, and ye, revered 
 
 sirs, 
 Tha.t I did first, with scornful disbelief, 
 Deny your tale of shame. O Love ! O Trust ! 
 Ye are but gods of clay — and dust. 
 
 Anselm {aside to Fulbert). Send him hence, 
 
 but thy dignity uphold ; 
 'Tis only in affliction that characters of worth 
 Can show they're finer dust than common potters' 
 
 earth ! 
 LoUilf (with the object of working up Fulbert' s 
 
 passion). You are deeply injur'd, noble 
 
 Fulbert ; 
 Therefore show no mercy. Pity would be weak- 
 ness. 
 Alberic (with the same object in view). Would 
 
 that we were younger spirits all, 
 That one of us might challenge Abelard, 
 And kill him for his foul deceit. 
 
 (The lovers have hitherto been unaware of their 
 intruders, enwrapped as they are by the 
 communion of their first love. Fulbert, 
 with stern and forbidding countenance, comes 
 between them.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 53 
 
 Fulbert. Oh ! that deceit, 
 
 Damnable, corrupt, and vile deceit, should 
 
 hide 
 Beneath such seeming virtue ! Where is chastity 
 If Heloise be false ? And where is truth 
 When Abelard doth lie ? How true it is 
 That deadliest poisons hidden lurk 
 Within the sweetest guise. O Virtue ! I have 
 
 followed 
 In thy footsteps throughout life 
 To find thee but a shade ! Bear with me. 
 Good Anselm ; I am an old man, and a weak, 
 And things now wreck my soul that ne'er 
 Before had roused my spirit. 
 (To Abelard) Get thee from my sight, false 
 
 Abelard ! 
 I'll never hear thy name again but I 
 Will curse it. When men shall praise thy 
 
 learning, 
 I'll think of it as devil's wiles, with which 
 He hath invest'd thee so thou 
 Should'st better work in his black service. 
 (To Heloise) Wanton maid ! 
 
 Get thee to thy chamber; I'll follow thee 
 
 anon ! 
 Abelard. Hold, old man ! ) 
 
 In all this hapless matter she is innocent. /^ 
 Mine alone the fault, if fault it be ; C. 
 
 Mine the guilt, if there be guilt in love. y 
 
54 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 And if you be not like those judges false, 
 Who, sway'd by pow'r, fear, or thought of gain, 
 Maim and mangle laws of God and man. 
 Twisting even an angel's deed to crime 
 For some foul purpose damn'd — reproach thy- 
 self, 
 Or me, or Nature, but not sweet Heloise. 
 Are scholars less than men, that they 
 Should fail to love earth's best creat'd things ? 
 Repress it, stunt it, as ye will, 
 But Nature will be nature still. 
 
 Anselm (aside to Fulbert). How craftily he 
 speaks ! 
 His tongue would make thee out to be 
 As full of guilt and guile as he. 
 
 Fulbert. But there is truth in what he says, 
 For I besought him teach my niece. 
 (To Abelard) In leaving here, wilt promise 
 
 me 
 To atone in part for thy transgression ? 
 
 Abelard (moodily). What would you have ? 
 
 Fulbert. Vow to me to see no more 
 
 This maid, who is betroth' d unto another. 
 
 Abelard. Bid me to see the sun no more 
 Waking from his nightly sleep 
 To don his mantle gold of day. 
 Bid me to close mine eyes unto the stars, 
 Whose tender glances pity suffering earth 
 Burning with sorrow's fever. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 55 
 
 Bid me close mine eyes to all the world 
 
 And its so-call'd joys, but not 
 
 To her who hath aroused my heart 
 
 From its dull sleep. Old man ! thou know'st not 
 
 What thou hast ask'd of me ! E'en death 
 
 Will not close out the form of my belov'd. 
 
 My closing eyes would still behold her 
 
 As a dying Eastern pictures paradise ; 
 
 And in the sleep of death that follows, 
 
 My dream would still be — Heloise ! 
 
 Heloise. Yesterday I dar'd not utter 
 
 The words that must be said to-day. 
 When thou wert here, an honour'd guest, 
 I fear'd to say how dear I held thee, 
 Lest thou should' st lightly prize 
 A love that quickly came. But now, 
 Since cruel circumstance hath changed her face 
 And frowns on us : go with these words 
 In thine ears and heart. I love thee, Abelard ! 
 With all my soul's most deep, most true, 
 Most earnest tenderness, I love thee ! 
 
 Fulbert (seizing Heloise roughly). Out upon 
 thee! 
 Thou speak' st like a strumpet, not a maid ; 
 Begone to thy chamber ! Go ! 
 
 Heloise. God be with thee, sweet Abelard ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Fulbert (furiously, to Abelard). Will you 
 begone ? 
 
56 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Anselm. In all the annals of outrag'd hos- 
 pitality, 
 None can find so black a crime as this. 
 I grieve to see such villainy 
 ^ Neath the surface of such learning ! 
 
 Lotulf. Alas ! To think a man so gifted 
 Should be so base ! 
 
 Alheric. I mourn to see a man so high 
 Descend so low. 
 
 Abelard. Snarl, ye hounds ! Voice was given 
 ye 
 To use it as ye do. I know ye passing well. 
 Ye, whose tongues distil fine honey, 
 Gather venom in your hearts, like snakes, 
 And disgorge it when ye list ! 
 I know your mock humility, your act'd lies. 
 Your vain hypocrisy. Ye wend your ways 
 In luxury and free indulgences. 
 Whilst from your pulpits preach to men 
 On Temperance. Your Church is like a palace, 
 The while pale Want without doth starve. 
 I know ye passing well ! And if the State 
 Be built upon such crumbling earth as ye. 
 Woe unto the land whose groundwork is so 
 
 rotten, 
 And woe unto the king that leans on ye ! 
 Ye censure me for loving, but 'tis not that 
 Which hath arous'd the malice in your breasts. 
 Virtue's your pretext, but your cause is spite. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 57 
 
 Many tongues rank envy speaks : 
 Winds howl around the highest peaks ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alberic. A dangerous man ! 
 
 Lotulf. A dangerous man ! 
 
 Full to bursting of vague threat' nings 
 Like a rumbling thunder-cloud. 
 
 Alberic. Look to your niece, noble Fulbert ; 
 She'll not be safe while he's about. 
 
 Lotulf. She'll be safe 
 
 When she is wed. 
 
 Anselm. Tush ! fool ! 'Tis the captive bird 
 Most longs to fly. Prithee, good Fulbert, 
 Wilt tell the Prince of Canon Abelard's 
 misdeed ? 
 
 Fulbert. No word of it, I pray ye, friends, 
 An' ye do love me. Blood would come on 't, 
 And all the world would hear the tale, 
 And, outwardly deploring, relish the scandal. 
 
 Anselm. Lotulf, Alberic, ye hear what our 
 good bishop says ? 
 Wilt swear not to prate of this to any ? 
 
 . - We swear ! 
 Alberic. J 
 
 Fulbert. I thank you heartily. 
 
 I do beseech ye dine with me this day, 
 
 For I would your counsel take 
 
 Of my niece's marriage. I am much distraught, 
 
 But, nathless, the cruel reason on 't 
 
58 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Will urge me to enforce obedience 
 To my behests. 
 
 Anselm. Enforc'd obedience never yet 
 Did teach a lover to forget. 
 
 [Exit omnes. 
 
 Scene 3 
 
 A street. The exterior of Fulbert's house as in 
 Act I, Scene i. 
 
 (Enter Abelard and Philintus.) 
 
 Philintus. Prythee, Abelard, 
 
 Come here no more. 'Tis a spot 
 Thou should'st avoid like swift contagion ; 
 'Twas here thou first did'st catch love's fever. 
 
 Abelard. Hast thou not heard that criminals 
 Are ever drawn into the spot where first 
 Their hands with blood were dyed ? 
 
 Philintus. But thou — surely thou 
 
 Wert never as the common herd ? 
 
 Abelard. Good friend ! 
 
 At one time or other in existence 
 All men pay tribute 
 
 At Love's high altar. When the sacrifice 
 Comes late in life, why, then, 'tis most severe. 
 Philosophy, wisdom, learning, all are targets 
 At which the little mocking god 
 Doth wing his most barb'd arrows. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 59 
 
 Philintus {significantly). His darts are poison' d» 
 like the Tarantella sting, 
 And when they enter some men's blood 
 It makes them mad indeed. 
 
 Abelard. He who hath found love 
 
 Hath found he hath a soul. 
 
 Philintus. Wise Solomon and great David 
 
 Must have been possess' d of many souls, 
 For, by Jesu ! they had loves enow ! 
 Prythee, Abelard, break from these shackles fond ! 
 It grieves me much to see that men like Anselm, 
 Alberic, and Lotulf scale scholastic heights 
 Whilst thou sitt'st dreaming ! Nay, forgive me ! 
 My devotion is so strong, 
 I cannot bear that others should usurp 
 The rightful place which thou should' st grace. 
 Thou art by nature great, they but Art's poor 
 
 tools ; 
 The Fates that gifted thee, made them but fools. 
 
 Abelard. All would I quick forego 
 
 Had I but Heloise ! 
 
 Philintus. Oh, this is love's delirium ! 
 
 {Enter Agaton, running.) 
 
 Philintus {barring her way). Fair Heloise' s 
 woman ! 
 Love's messenger. Love's physician, 
 Come with a healing balm, a cooling mixture, 
 Which takes its form in billet shape. 
 
6o ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Whither so fast, good girl ? 
 
 Agaton. I am in haste, Messire, to find — 
 No matter, I should not tell you — 
 Let me pass, else my sweet mistress 
 Will be undone. 
 
 Philintus. The news is sad, but 'twill not kill 
 me. 
 By " undone " me thinks you mean 
 Her bodice is unlac'd. I pray you, girl. 
 Be calm ; these things will happen oft. 
 Now to her shoes, do they fit properly ? 
 
 Agaton. By " undone," your lordship, 
 
 I do mean that they will kill her, 
 Archbishop Fulbert and the rest. 
 She weeps and weeps, and they talk and talk, 
 So that I fear she'll melt away 
 In sorrow's fiery smelt ing-pot 
 Which passion heats like furnace. 
 Where is the Canon Abelard ? 
 
 (Philintus continues to bar Agaton's wayy 
 and endeavours to prevent her from seeing 
 Abelard, who wanders to and fro in a 
 reverie.) 
 
 Philintus. Abelard ! Why ! Abelard is dead ! 
 He died of love an hour since ; 
 So get thee gone, and tell them home. 
 Old Fulbert will rejoice! 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 6i 
 
 Agaton. If thou speak true, and he be dead 
 indeed, 
 Oh, then, I'll lay her letter on his breast ; 
 So when he wakes in kinder lands than this — 
 In which fond lovers are divid'd oft — 
 'Twill comfort him until my lady follows. 
 
 Philintus. Give me the letter ; 
 
 I'll joyfully perform your solemn wish. 
 
 Agaton. Nay, I will not ; 
 
 'Twas given me to do, and I will do it. 
 
 (Philintus tries to snatch the letter from her, 
 Agaton bravely defends herself. A struggle 
 ensues, furious on the side of the woman, 
 teasingly good-humoured on the side of the 
 man. Abelard becomes suddenly aware of 
 the contention y and goes to them.) 
 
 Abelard. What ! Agaton, what, thou ? 
 
 Agaton. God be praised that you do live ! 
 Live, I mean, for my dear mistress' sake. 
 Here is a note she bade me give you, 
 Ere Messire Philintus told me of your death. 
 
 {Gives Abelard a letter.) 
 
 Philintus. If Abelard had dead and buried 
 been 
 Beneath the mighty Pyramids, on this receipt 
 He would have risen from his sepulchre ! 
 
62 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Thanks, wench, I bear the marks of thy attentions ; 
 Thy finger nails are Uke thy betters'. 
 Long and finely pointed. 
 
 {Examines the scratches Agaton has given him 
 in the struggle.) 
 
 (Abelard tears open the missive Agaton has 
 given him, and reads) : — 
 
 " False Fortune in extremes is ever. 
 She loads with fairest gifts, then heaps 
 Calamities most dire upon her votaries. 
 Nor hell itself hath tortures so refin'd ! 
 The mem'ries of dear pleasures past 
 She changes to a spring of endless tears ! 
 Under pain of his displeasure, my uncle 
 Doth command me wed the Prince. 
 And this — before another week be o'er ! 
 From this abhorred marriage, save me, Abelard ! 
 In affliction, as she is in joy. 
 
 Thy Heloise." 
 
 Abelard (to Agaton). How fares thy mistress ? 
 
 Agaton. But ill, an' it please you, 
 For she doth naught but weep and think 
 On thee, great Abelard, and the marriage 
 They would force her to. 
 
 Abelard. Go ! take this message to her. 
 
 Agaton. That will I gladly. i 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 63 
 
 {Prepares to run off.) 
 
 Ahelard. Stay ! Stay ! 
 Thou know'st not yet what I would say. 
 Commend me to thy mistress, Lady Heloise, 
 And to her private ear this message breathe, — 
 That she should hie to-night with thee — 
 Under plea of going to Confessional — 
 Unto Notre Dame. Messire Philintus here 
 Will be in waiting, and guide her to my study. 
 There will I offer her the refuge 
 Of a husband's name. I will contrive that 
 A holy man shall marry us to-night. 
 
 Philintus (aside). Ah me ! to see the light of 
 Abelard 
 Hidden 'neath a bushel. To be a genius 
 And a married man are things incompatible. 
 
 Agaton. Now blessings on thy pathway wait ; 
 Not all are good who yet are great. 
 
 [Exit, running. 
 
 Philintus {grumbling). Woman, woman ! 
 O fair ! O sweet ! O " something " woman ! 
 Heav'n hath not such pow'r of doing good 
 As ye all have of doing grievous ill. 
 O Love ! not all the mischief done by Hate 
 Can o'er top thy work ! 
 
 Ahelard. Thou know'st not 
 
 What it is to love ! 
 
64 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Philintus. I am too wary of that same 
 
 affliction ; 
 
 I see its ill effects too well in others. 
 
 \Exeunt, 
 
 Scene 4 
 
 A part of the interior of Notre Dame, 
 showing a passage, also a recess that is 
 screened off, fitted as a study. Shelves of 
 volumes fill the walls, hut otherwise it is 
 meagrely furnished with a few chairs, and 
 a desk at which Abelard is sitting, writing 
 by the light of a lamp. Beside him is an 
 emblem of mortality in the shape of a skulL 
 Vespers are being sung. 
 
 'Gainst earthly passions, Jesu, pray 
 Deliver us by night and day ! 
 Unlink those fearful chains that hold 
 Men to lust and thirst of gold. 
 
 Miserere Domine I 
 
 When our eyes to Thee we raise 
 In mute appeal or thankful praise, 
 O teach us that our pray'r should be 
 Devoid of base hypocrisy. 
 
 Miserere Domine i 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 65 
 
 3 
 
 All worldly pleasures turn to pain, 
 They fly and never come again ; 
 But they who suffer here below, 
 Hereafter endless joy shall know. 
 
 Miserere Domine I 
 
 4 
 'Gainst earthly passion, Jesu, pray ; 
 
 Deliver us by night and day ! 
 Unlink those fearful chains that hold 
 Men to lust and thirst of gold. 
 
 Miserere Domine ! 
 
 (The Choir ceases.) 
 
 Ahelard {musingly, as his pen falls from his 
 hand). " 'Gainst earthly passions, . . . 
 
 Deliver us by night and day ! " . . . 
 
 What makes these words to dwell upon my mind ? 
 
 Passion — we pray from passions to be free ! 
 
 But Passion is not Love, yet — where's the differ- 
 ence ? 
 
 Methinks that Passion is ephemeral, gross, and 
 carnal, 
 
 An earthly flow'r grown in earth 
 
 And fed on all that's earthly. 
 
 But Love is Heaven's plant, and nurtur'd is 
 
 By noble, pure, and selfless thoughts. 
 
 E 
 
66 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 What is Fame unto sweet Love compar'd ? 
 
 Love is peace ; Ambition but a struggle, 
 
 A shadow that eludes the grasp of man 
 
 And lures him to the grave with empty promises. 
 
 How glittering is thy strife, O Glory ! 
 
 But thy victim's groans are drown'd 
 
 By the shouts of thy few conquerors ! 
 
 Pre-eminence once lost 
 Is like the gloom of Tartarus. Ambition's narrow 
 
 way 
 Lies block' d and strewn with bloodless forms, 
 Scorch' d to nothingness by calumny and in- 
 justice. 
 Ambition's hand will oft lead men astray ; 
 'Tis Love alone that truly points the way. 
 
 {Resumes his writing.) 
 
 (Philintus enters, leading Heloise, in a mantle 
 and hood, toward the recess in which 
 Abelard is writing.) 
 
 Philintus (coldly). Here, Madam, here is the 
 room of Abelard, 
 Abelard who once was great, 
 But shall soon be so no more. 
 Fame must fly when Love goes in th' door. 
 
 Heloise. You are his friend ; 
 
 Then stay you here and listen. His renown 
 Is as dear to me as ever 'twas to you. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 67 
 
 (Heloise enters Abelard's room. Philintus 
 accepts her invitation, and waits outside 
 to hear the interview.) 
 
 Ahelard (to himself). I cannot think. I cannot 
 even write 
 Aught but " Heloise " upon these pages white. 
 I close mine eyes, and see her picture rare. 
 Delightful dream ! illusion fond and fair ! 
 Alas ! that when I open them again, 
 The mocking vision leaves but mem'ry's pain ! 
 
 Heloise. Abelard ! 
 
 Ahelard (starting from his reverie). My Heloise ! 
 
 Heloise. Here is my refuge and my haven 
 sure ; 
 Here in thy arms all ills I could endure. 
 
 Ahelard (emhracing her). Dear heart, 
 E'en our undying love must 
 By the Church be bless' d. 
 A holy friar will shortly join us, 
 And sanction with all pious rite our union. 
 
 Philintus (who is listening outside, contemptu- 
 ously). Here comes her chance to weep 
 and sigh. 
 To murmur, " Why dost thou love me — why ? " 
 Oh, wedd'd bliss ! what woman yet 
 Would miss that hap to make men fret ? 
 
 Heloise. Hath not love more pow'r than 
 bonds 
 
68 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 To keep our hearts united ? Why should I 
 Arrest thy learning's great advancement ? 
 A man of wisdom needs not wife 
 To harass him with details daily, 
 To weary him with trite and stale accounts — 
 How Betty broke the milking-stool, or 
 That Jacques' first teeth are coming hard 
 With fits and fever, and a thousand facts 
 Which wedd'd life is father to. O Abelard ! 
 Shun that iron contract men call marriage, 
 Which, like a millstone round the neck of love, 
 Crushes all the life therefrom ! 
 
 Abelard. Impossible ! my love could never 
 change. 
 
 Heloise. Others, too, have thought like thee, 
 my Abelard ; 
 Yet marriage aye hath prov'd the tomb of love, 
 Which fact hath built o'er tenderness and truth. 
 Tell me, will it make thy love more strong 
 That a priest may say a well-learned 
 Lesson o'er us ? Can he let and license 
 That affection, which great God implant' d has 
 Within our souls — a counterpart of that 
 Which is on high ? Man's nature 
 Rebelleth most when most 'tis forc'd. 
 Thou wilt not love me more, nay, not so much^ 
 When thou hast sworn to be my husband. 
 Ah ! many a dame knows to her cost 
 That love in marriage oft is lost. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 69 
 
 Abelard. I do entreat thee, Heloise, 
 
 Persist not in this strange fantasy. 
 
 Heloise. Marriage is a bond fatal to phil- 
 osophers. 
 The cries of children and many an unwrit family 
 
 care 
 Oft mean a great man's ruin. 
 
 Abelard. Great ! I shall be great 
 When thou with me dost link thy fate. 
 
 Heloise. 'Tis not a woman's happiness quite 
 To be a great man's mate. I do bethink 
 That poor Xantippe not worse than others was. 
 History relateth not her griefs, but those of 
 
 Socrates. ^ 
 
 He was much away from her — sat at Philip's 
 Regal table, and did love to see his dancers ; 
 Also much affected fair Aspasia's company, 
 Who all the world in Pericles' name did rule. 
 'Twas not for faithful wives that men 
 Their mighty deeds accomplish' d, and 
 Undying fame and glory won. 
 
 Abelard. I begin to love Xantippe ; 
 Sure ne'er shrew had such a lovely pleader 
 Ere thou becam'st her advocatus Diaboli. 
 
 Heloise (lightly). A wife's rebuke, or word in 
 haste, 
 Is never to a husband's taste ; 
 And yet a low-born mistress may 
 What she lists full freely say, 
 
70 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 And from her lover all the while 
 Gain a fond, approving smile. 
 
 Philintus (outside). Who would think that face 
 enshrin'd 
 Such a bright and fearless mind ? 
 Truly old Sophocles said, 
 " Wisdom's in the youngest head." 
 
 Ahelard. Belov'd, there is but one escape 
 From a union with the hated Prince : 
 'Tis by our marriage. 
 
 Heloise. If there be no other way, why then, 
 adieu ! 
 Too fondly, dearest Abelard, I love thee, 
 To see the eyes grow chill where once affection 
 
 shone ! 
 The best of husbands alter : lovers are our own. 
 
 Abelard. Did not Orpheus to Hell descend 
 His wife to regain ? 
 
 Heloise. Widowers will not e'en to Paradise rise 
 To seek for theirs ! 
 
 Philintus (outside). O most excellent wench ! 
 Were all women of thy mould, 
 How many men would rush into the noose 
 That they now fain would 'scape ! 
 
 Abelard. Love e'er distrustful is. 
 Wert thou mine with the Church's blessing 
 I would not apprehensive be. 
 
 Heloise. Thy very apprehension I would ever 
 keep. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 71 
 
 Custom would make e'en Venus self 
 
 Grow stale and homely. Will the Church's 
 
 blessing 
 Ward off the curse of habit ? 
 
 Ahelard. 'Tis strange thy conduct should be 
 
 right in all, 
 And yet thy arguments so wrong in this. 
 But come with me and look upon the stars, 
 And 'neath their holy glances will I strive 
 To turn thy thoughts toward mine own. 
 There is a turret yonder where thou'lt see 
 Heav'n gazing down with all her eyes on thee. 
 
 {They pass out. The church bell rings loudly 
 for visitors to depart. Agaton comes on 
 the scene, and approaches Philintus in 
 affright.) 
 
 Agaton. What mean these bells ? 
 I know — and yet I fear to think it. 
 Oh, that my mistress would return, 
 So we might fly from here ! 
 
 Philintus (philosophically). "Fly" is a good 
 word, wench. 
 r faith, ye'll need some wings methinks, 
 To steer ye clear from hence. 
 I fear the gates are closing. 
 
 (Enter Friar Bonhomme.) 
 
72 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Bonhomme (suspiciously). Who is this woman ? 
 
 Philintus. My sister, good brother. 
 
 Bonhomme (briefly). The gates will close. 
 Deus vobiscum ! 
 Prythee, know'st thou where they are 
 I am commanded here to marry ? 
 The learned Abelard hath bespoke 
 This night my service for his 'pousals. 
 
 Philintus. Ho ! That little matter ! To 
 think on 't ! 
 Why, man ! know'st thou not what genius is, 
 How first it will, and then it will not ? 
 Since thou hast seen him last. 
 He's changed his mind and forsworn 
 All marriage in this life. 
 ''Tis a little matter, as I have said, 
 And is not worth the thinking. Prythee, 
 Take my sister Marie here 
 And show her to the gates. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bonhomme. Good lack ! Church and State 
 alike would starve 
 If they relied on genius ! Out on them, 
 Say I, the shiftless good-for-nothings ! 
 
 [Bells ring again. 
 
 Agaton. Prythee, Father, 
 Lead me to the gates. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 73 
 
 Bonhomme (insinuatingly). Sweet is the name 
 of Marie, 
 And matched well to thy pretty face. 
 
 Agaton. I am not Marie, 
 
 And I would be gone. 
 
 Bonhomme. Deus vobiscum, my fair maid ; 
 Wilt come with me unto my cell. 
 And there I'll show thee wonders many ? 
 
 (Tries to take her hand.) 
 
 Agaton. If thou dost not show me hence, 
 I'll call so loud that e'en the bells' 
 Brazen tongues will cease 'fore mine ! 
 
 Bonhomme. Come on, come on, I'll show the 
 way ; 
 Anything but scandal, pray. 
 
 Agaton. Ay, and no pranks, good Friar, ere we 
 part. 
 For, see, I carry my stings ! [Shows her nails. 
 
 Bonhomme. Come away, I say ; 
 I want to love, and not to fight. 
 
 Deus vobiscum ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 (The third and last peal of the hells is heard, and 
 the clang of the iron gates being closed. The 
 vespers sound in the distance.) 
 
 " From earthly passions, Jesu, pray 
 Deliver us by night and day." 
 
74 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Enter Abelard and Heloise.) 
 
 Abelard. God ! Hark ! The final peal, 
 O Heloise ! 
 The gates are bolted, and the friar 
 Is not here ! 'Tis terrible ! 
 'Tis terrible, my sweet, for thee ! 
 
 (The Choir sings in hushed cadence.) 
 
 " All worldly pleasures turn to pain ; 
 They fly and never come again." 
 
 Abelard. Thy reputation and thy fair fame 
 Are closed with these gates. And I, 
 Who never thought to do thee harm, 
 Have wrong' d thee 'yond redemption ! 
 
 (Sinks despairingly into his chair.) 
 
 Heloise. The mortal part of me is barr'd with- 
 out, 
 But here my soul and spirit kneel. 
 
 (Kneels at Abelard' s feet, who takes her in his 
 arms. The Choir in still more hushed 
 cadence sings.) 
 
 *' Break thou these fearful charms that hold 
 Men to lust and thirst of gold. 
 
 Miserere Domine ! '^ 
 
Act III 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene i 
 
 An apartment in Archbishop's Fulbert's house. 
 FuLBERT is seated in melancholy reverie, and 
 Alberic and Lotulf stand near him, casting 
 looks of hypocritical sympathy. 
 
 Fulbert (rousing himself). Good friends, your 
 countenances, 
 On which deceit could ne'er be writ, 
 Too plainly tell me that ye bring no news 
 Of her I loved so well. Yet, 'tis kind 
 Of ye to come and bear an old man company. 
 How long is it since Heloise did leave 
 My heart and roof in loneliness ? 
 
 Alberic. 'Tis gone a month, my lord. 
 
 Fulbert. A month to all the world, 
 But oh ! an age to me. 
 
 Lotulf. Would that we had news to bring ! 
 But in default, good lord, accept 
 Our tender sympathy. 
 
78 ABELARD AND HEL0I5E 
 
 Fulbert. Grief hath this one solace : 'tis only then 
 We know the stuff of which our friends are made. 
 But who had thought she would have gone ? 
 Gone without a sign or single word ! 
 I cradl'd her within these wither' d arms, 
 And croon' d in broken tones her baby songs. 
 Yet still — this all is nothing. 
 Our life is nothing, and our hopes are nothing, 
 And nothing are we in the grave. 
 
 Alberto . I pray, now she has fled, Z. 
 That she hath truly wed her lover. 3 
 
 Fulbert. If I find it be not so, 
 'Twill be a day of sorrow for them both. 
 
 (Enter Anselm hurriedly.) 
 
 Anselm. News ! news ! 
 
 But ere I paint my picture for thine eyes, 
 Fulbert, thou must promise me, 
 By our friendship and thy high dignity. 
 To call in play an old man's calm, 
 And patient be unto the end. 
 
 Fulbert [tremulously). Where is she ? 
 And fares she well ? 
 
 Anselm. Too well, alas ! too well ! 
 Better dead than be as she now is. N 
 
 These nights and days full many a trusty spy 
 Of mine has searched all Paris for thy niece. 
 Alas ! that she should be akin to thee ! 
 Just an hour by the clock there came 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 79 
 
 A hasty messenger like Mercury for speed, 
 And as tho' his feet were helped with wings, 
 To tell me what he found. It seems 
 That Abelard doth own a small secluded house 
 Near the city wall, and within this cage 
 The once pure dove, thy Heloise, doth reign. 
 His mistress. She ne'er walks abroad — 
 So the gossip told him — but at night, 
 Stealthily, like criminals, they together roam. 
 Their arms entwined, their voices — faces — all 
 Bespeaking their delight. 
 
 Fulbert. God's curses rain upon them ! 
 Kind Anselm, good Anselm, it yet may be 
 Not so ill as thou dost think it. 
 Mayhap the Church hath wedd'd them ! 
 
 Anselm. Alas, my friend ! 
 
 E'en that one consolation is denied 
 Thee in thy affliction deep. They are not wed. 
 
 Fulbert. Oh, friends ! if such ye be in truthj 
 Stand not here in parley vain ; but come ! 
 Give me some weapons, that I may 
 Strike this villain Abelard to death. 
 Bestir ye ! 'tis not because my years 
 Are great, my soul is old. Volcano like 
 Th' vitality of injur'd men bursts forth in flames 
 When 'tis thought extinct. My weapons, I say. ,/' 
 x\nd those who love me, follow me ! 
 
 Anselm. I pray thee 
 
 Calm thy wrath unseemly. 
 
8o ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Fulbert. Had thine own honour's stronghold 
 Thus assailed been, thy doting heart so stabb'd, 
 Thou hadst not talked of wrath unseemly 
 In measured tones. Were my case thine, 
 Thou would'st have sought for vengeance 
 E'en as I do now. 
 
 Anselm. Again, I pray thee, calm thyself, good 
 Fulbert, 
 For nought that's well done ever was 
 Accomplished in a fume. I have a plan 
 Of higher vengeance for thee, man. 
 Passion's weapons are for boys to use. 
 But men, whose blood is chilled by winters many. 
 Have cooler brains to work withal. 
 
 Alheric. I beseech you, noble Fulbert, 
 Be counsell'd by the Bishop Anselm, 
 Who has your good at heart. 
 
 Lotulf. I join my prayer to Alberic's ; 
 He who hastens slowly, hastens truly. 
 
 Fulbert. Alas ! ye all have noble hearts 
 Save him, the wolf who stole my lamb. 
 Bear with me ! 
 
 Anselm. Listen to me! My counsel's briefly 
 this. 
 That thou and I, and these two abbots worthy. 
 Should these heartless lovers surprise. 
 And arm'd with a guardian's right, thou canst 
 Remove the guilty girl from Abelard's reach, 
 While yet her sin is green. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 8i 
 
 Alberic. Abelard will not submit. 
 
 Anselm. Force must be used. 
 
 We'll rouse all Paris 'gainst him ! 
 
 Fulbert. We can snatch her from the offender. 
 But not her soul from the offence. 
 When Vice once charms a nature fine, 
 The chalices of saints distasteful grow. 
 
 Anselm. I chanced, before I hither came, to 
 meet 
 The Prince Amadeus. He broods and raves, 
 Then raves and broods, on his elusive fair. 
 He swears to be avenged on Abelard. 
 
 Fulbert. Then he doth know the shameful 
 truth ? 
 
 Anselm. Evil news is quickly spread ; the 
 good 
 Oft needs twice telling to be known. 
 
 Fulbert. What says he ? 
 
 Anselm. Once avenged on the guilty Abelard, 
 He still would wed — such is his love — 
 Thy frail but lovely niece. 
 
 Fulbert. Noble-hearted youth, who follows in 
 the steps 
 Of his great Master, and the woman pardons 
 Taken in fell sin ! 
 
 Anselm. I have bidden him come hither. 
 He shall go with us, if it please thee ; 
 But he must vow to put a bridle to his tong"ue. 
 Else he must stay behind. 
 
 F 
 
82 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Alheric (aside to Lotulf). What wants he with 
 the Prince 
 If he may not speak ? 
 
 Lotulf. Know'st thou not the cunning Anselm ? 
 He is a dainty feeder, and in his stews 
 He hkes variety of spice to lend them flavour. 
 
 Fulbert. Come ! let's meet the Prince half-way ; 
 Then ho ! for vengeance on the traitor. 
 
 Anselm (suavely). Not vengeance, my good 
 brother ; 
 'Tis justice thou wouldst have — justice, 
 Nothing more ! Vengeance is profane. 
 
 Fulbert (impatiently). Call it what it pleases 
 thee. 
 But Vengeance still it is with me. 
 If I am stung, feel'st thou the pain ? 
 If thou art hurt, should I complain ? 
 To know thyself be aye thy boast ; 
 He best can judge who feels the most. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 A chamber in Abelard's house. Abelard has 
 been reading aloud to Heloise, who sits on 
 a stool at his feet. 
 Heloise. Oh, my belov'd, close the book ; 
 Let us no more the words of others use 
 When we have still our own. I'd sooner list 
 Unto the meanest talk, so it be thine, 
 Than all the wisdom of great Solomon. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 83 
 
 Ahelard. Dost thou know what Ovid says, 
 
 my pearl ? 
 Heloise. A tender word of thine own com- 
 position 
 Is far more worth to me than all 
 His wit, pleasing tho' it be. 
 
 Ahelard (still looking at the hook, reads) " Mori- 
 bus et forma conciliandus amor," 
 Love must attracted be by beauty, 
 Both of mind and body. 
 
 Heloise. That is love's dissection. 
 Men cease to love when they do analyse. 
 
 Ahelard (reading). " Ut ameris, amabalis este," 
 To be loved, one must be lovable. 
 
 Heloise. E'en so. Heat attracts heat, as fire 
 doth fire. 
 So love draws love. 
 
 Ahelard (casting the hook aside). 'Tis said 
 Ambition puts to flight the little god, 
 But he in turn doth drive Ambition hence, 
 For Fame reigns paramount. Since Love 
 Hath me a captive ta'en, my thirst for pow'r 
 Hath died away. Full many a gallant knight 
 Hath cast aside his helm and hauberk bright 
 In the battle lists of Life, to dream away 
 The peaceful years entwin'd by peaceful love. 
 Heloise. Speak not thus, my Abelard 1 I am 
 thy faithful page. 
 To urge thee on to conquer in the strife, 
 
84 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 And not to sleep in sluggard rest thy intellect 
 away. 
 
 (A street crier in the streets is heard shouting, 
 " WhoHl buy, who'' II buy my verses on the 
 loves of Abelard and Heloise — the famous 
 Abelard and the fair Heloise? WhoHl 
 buy my verses ? " The street crier^s voice 
 dies away in the distance. Abelard, with 
 an expression at once pained and sorrowful, 
 looks pityingly at Heloise.) 
 
 Abelard. Oh, love ! thou hast grown poor 
 
 indeed, 
 When such lips do call aloud 
 Thy fair pure name for public comment : 
 That name which I have stol'n from thee 
 Like a reckless thief who thinks of naught 
 But self-enrichment. Would that I 
 Had closed my eyes and heart to all thy charms, 
 And but remained thy friend ! For friendship 
 
 never 
 Injures those we love ; which love ne'er fails to 
 
 do. 
 Heloise. My love is like a refuge safe, and 
 
 harbours 
 No regrets in all these tempests petty 
 That human spite can scheme. Mj^ love 
 Is built upon a rock which no storm can shake 
 Or thunders cause to tremble. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 85 
 
 Dost think a puff of wind can quake the Pyramids, 
 Or hurricane loose Hesp'rus from on high ? 
 Let all France, and not one poor weak voice, 
 Cry out about our love, and I will stand 
 Here by thy side, and say, " Well said, my 
 
 country ! " 
 Or like fond echo, taking up their strain, 
 Resound the words a thousand times again. 
 
 Abelard. How I do love thee ! 
 
 Witness, ye hours, and ye nights and days, 
 That flitt'd have like shadows of a dream, 
 That all my work it is to count thy looks ; 
 My seasons are thy smiles, thy tears and words ; 
 The days change to weeks, and flutter hence like 
 
 birds 
 Of Paradise upon the western breeze. 
 The sun doth watch me loving, then the moon 
 Relieves his weary looking on. But ev'ry day 
 To me is though I saw thee first — belov'd ! 
 
 (Heloise and Abelard embrace tenderly. Dur- 
 ing this episode Philintus steps in the 
 apartment softly, unseen by the lovers.) 
 
 Philintus (aside). Faith ! I could outswear 
 Satan at my folly 
 That I did stay the friar from their marrying. 
 Had this been done, these amorosities had ceased 
 By now. A man could only thus embrace 
 
86 ABE LARD AND HE WISE 
 
 Uncertainty, or a mistress fair. Marriage 
 Is a game of chance, which, were women wise, 
 None would play at. 
 (Aloud) Abelard, I beg 
 
 A moment with thy private ear. 
 
 Abelard {turning towards him, not without some 
 confusion). Dear Philintus, is it thou ? 
 
 Philintus. 'Tis a brave likeness of Philintus, 
 If I be not he. 
 
 Abelard. Any news astir ? 
 
 Philintus. I've come to tell it thee, 
 If fair Heloise will but grant me leave. 
 
 Heloise. We have a common cause to serve : 
 You with friendship, and I with love. [Exit. 
 
 (Abelard seats himself in an armchair ; Phil- 
 intus stands behind him and rests his elbow 
 on the back.) 
 
 Abelard. Well, out with thy news ! 
 Could it not have bided, or didst fear 
 It had in an hour grown stale ? 
 
 Philintus. Hear me first, 
 
 And keep thy jests till afterwards. 
 
 Abelard. How grave thou art, Philintus ! 
 Perchance thou hast not supp'd ? 
 A hungry man is always mad or melancholy. 
 
 Philintus. Heigho ! I have no list to eat. 
 
 Abelard. 'Tis a bad sign. 
 Perchance thou art in love ? 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 87 
 
 Philintus. I never fall so deep 
 But I can eat and sleep my fill. 
 
 Ahelard. Certes ! Thou art as grave as a 
 churchyard ; 
 What ails thee, man ? 
 
 Philintus {aside). Oh, that I could wake the 
 ambition of thy soul. 
 Which thou art killing in love's lethargy ! 
 Man yearns for that which is denied him, 
 And I love that which I did ne'er possess — 
 Much learning. I see it d5nng in thy heart, 
 And feel as though a darling child of mine 
 Was being slain by murderous hands ! 
 Ahelard (yawning). I wait. 
 Philintus (aloud). Thou know'st that I keep 
 watch for thee. 
 I just have learnt that what ye do, all 
 
 know ; 
 All Paris sings about thy love. 
 
 Ahelard. A street hawker did cry the song 
 Beneath our very window even now. 
 Is this thy wondrous news ? 
 
 Philintus (aside). He shows no more amaze 
 than I had said, 
 *' I hear the snowy Alps are passing cold," 
 Or that " fire is hot," that " winds do blow," 
 Or " water's wet," or any of those thousand 
 
 platitudes 
 That daily life is charged with. 
 
88 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Aloud) 'Tis not all. Dost remember thy 
 
 Great work on " Man's Equality " ? 
 
 Abelard (warming to the subject as he speaks of 
 it). The one I took five years to write ? 
 
 Which was my labour night and day, 
 
 In which I strove all men to teach 
 
 That newer thought doth wisdom bring. 
 
 I tried to show that musty rules 
 
 That dogmas of the schools worn out 
 
 Should be foregone ; and from the dust 
 
 Of bigot and pedantic lore 
 
 Phoenix-like there should arise, 
 
 Clear and bright as light of day, 
 
 This highest of all earthly creeds — 
 
 That truest prayVs are noble deeds. 
 
 Philintus (bending over the back of the chair, 
 and speaking with deliberate emphasis). Thy 
 enemies in thy absence here 
 
 Have all attacked thee. With damning im- 
 putations, 
 
 As false as they are cunning, with truth 
 
 And lying strangely wedd'd, they do place 
 
 A purport on thy book thou didst ne'er intend. 
 
 Thy favourite work so dear to thee, 
 
 Which cost three years of labour and of thought, 
 
 Has been condemned and by the Council spurned — 
 
 It hath been sentenc'd to be burned. 
 
 Abelard (with despairing wildness). O Sorrow ! 
 what are aU thy other shafts 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 89 
 
 Compar'd with this arrow from thy bow ? 
 
 My brain child burn'd ! That offspring fair 
 
 With which I travail'd in joy and pain, 
 
 Like a mother with her first-born son ! 
 
 My book, in whose two covers beat my heart 
 
 And throbb'd my brain — not, O Phihntus, for 
 
 a selfish end, 
 But for enlightment — darken'd minds ! 
 Philintus {aside). Had I known how he would 
 take it, 
 I had not told him. To gain our ends 
 We call a whirlwind to our aid 
 When a puif of air would answer. 
 (Aloud) Hast forgotten Heloise ? 
 
 Dost thou not love her more than thy cold book ? 
 Abelard {with a certain irritation of manner). 
 Certes ! I love her, but that love is 
 different ; 
 My human love is mine ; but my other love 
 Is taken from me, and is mine no more. 
 Not only is it taken from me, but 
 It is outraged and violated. I'd rather had 
 My hand burn'd off than they should 
 Thus have robb'd my book of virtue ! 
 
 Philintus. Abelard ! take heed, I pray, the 
 angry Fates 
 Do give thee not more potent cause for wrath 
 Than thou now hast. I have ever seen 
 That they who rave o'er little losses 
 
90 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Soon punished are with heavier crosses. 
 (Aside) To reproach I came ; I stay to preach. 
 
 Abelard. My book is burn'd ! Freedom's 
 spirit 
 And much other good for man was shown 
 Between its covers ! War was wag'd 
 Against hypocrisy and rich men's tyranny, 
 For justice and the right of intellectual man 
 Against patrician brain and worthlessness 
 Proud not of achievement, but of ancestry. 
 Thou speak' st as tho' I had no cause to 
 
 grieve, 
 As though my work were a tale about a rat. 
 
 Heloise {from within). Abelard ! 
 
 Abelard {starting). Speak on, O my beloved ! 
 Thy voice charms hence my evil thoughts. 
 As David sang away Saul's spirit black. 
 
 Philintus. Love her, for she is worthy. 
 But forget not thy book burners ! 
 
 Heloise {from within). Itgroweth late, so let^us 
 wander 
 In the garden yet awhile, for Luna soon 
 Will close her lamp and dim the stars 
 Like thrifty housewife cautious of her candles. 
 
 Abelard. Let moon and stars both cease to 
 shine 
 When light glows from thine eyes divine. 
 
 Heloise {within). Nay; their light must too 
 grow sere. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 91 
 
 When thou, their rival, dost appear. 
 
 Philintus (aside). His book is burnt ; and his 
 love is flaming ! 
 He breathes an air of fire like a salamander. 
 
 (Loud knocking without, mingled with the sound of 
 tumult, and many voices in altercation.) 
 
 Abelard. Who is there ? 
 
 Philintus. Ask rather who is not there ? 
 By the noise, methinks, all Hell hath gotten a 
 
 holiday, 
 And fain would spend it joUily with us. 
 
 (Opens the window, and calls down.) 
 
 What would ye ? Who are ye all ? 
 Belike ye are mistaken in locality, my friends. 
 This is not a madhouse, where fools 
 Can enter without reasonable permit. Begone ! 
 A Voice outside speaking in tones of dignity and 
 
 command. I am Fulbert, Archbishop of 
 
 Paris. 
 I seek admittance, and to see my niece 
 Who lives within these walls. 
 
 Philintus. Thou may'st be Archbishop of 
 
 Paradise, i' faith ! 
 But no man shall claim an entrance here 
 Without duj right. This house pertains to 
 
 one 
 Monsigneur Pierre Abelard. 
 
92 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Ahelard. Fulbert ! Alas ! I've wronged him. 
 Grant him admittance. 
 
 Philintus. If thou hast wronged him, thou 
 shouldst shun him, 
 Not invite him hither. There are other mad- 
 men. 
 Ahelard. Oh ! pleasure's tide 
 
 Hath e'er an ebb of sorrow. The golden sands 
 Of happiness are mark'd with whiten' d bones of 
 
 woe. 
 There never were two loving in this life 
 But someone grieved to see them so. 
 Let them all enter, good my friend ; 
 Thus ills must come and joys will end. 
 
 Philintus (great tumult — calling out of the 
 window). By'r Lady ! if ye all assault'd 
 thus 
 The gates of heav'n with your virtues 
 As ye do our doors with kicks and blows, 
 We had not need to have so many 
 Priestly comforters and soul physicians. 
 I come, ye wolves, to let ye in the fold ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 (Heloise enters in haste and some alarm.) 
 
 Heloise. Come what may, they shaU not part 
 us, 
 For here will I cling despite their rage. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 93 
 
 Piecemeal they may tear me from thee, 
 But I will never go until thou 
 Bidd'st me hence. 
 Ahelard. They shall not hurt thee whilst I 
 
 live, 
 Nor touch thee with their impious hands 
 Whilst I am near. I shall thy buckler be and 
 
 shield. 
 I — alas ! — who have wronged thee most — 
 Shall now thy saviour be. Would that thou 
 Hadst given me wedded right to call thee mine 
 So none should dare to wrest thee from me ! 
 
 (Enter Fulbert, Anselm, Lotulf, Alberic, 
 Amadeus, Philintus, and Citizens. Abe- 
 lard stands protectingly before Heloise.) 
 
 Fulbert (in tones of suppressed rage). Abelard ! 
 like a thief thou cam'st at night 
 And stole my one ewe lamb. I'll not 
 Descant on thy ingratitude, base tho' it be. 
 But ask this simple thing of thee ; — 
 Is Heloise thy leman wretched, or as an honour'd 
 
 wife 
 Do I behold her ? If the Church hath sanctified 
 Thy union, I at once will hie me hence, 
 And ere I leave, beg grace for this intrusion. 
 
 Abelard (after a pause). Heloise is my spouse 
 In heav'n's eyes alone. 
 
94 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Fulbcrt. Oh, vile seducer of the innocent ! 
 Hearken unto him, ye friends and citizens ! 
 He gloats o'er the wreck of virtue fair. 
 Which, like a tempest foul and all-destroying, 
 He alone hath compass' d. Accursed libertine ! 
 Who revels in the ruin he has caused, 
 And then would gloze it o'er with canting piety. 
 " His spouse before the eyes of heaven ! " 
 He means his wife through devil's tricks. 
 Too well I know the meaning of this treachery. 
 She was not highly placed enow to be his spouse ! 
 The stock she sprang from was too little known 
 To add a lustre to the Canon's fame. 
 And thus he 'spouses her in " heaven's eyes," 
 
 forsooth, 
 For fear that man's should be too piercing ! 
 Heloise {tearing away from the restraining arms 
 
 of Abelard, who endeavours to withhold 
 
 her). Mine must be the blame ! And 
 
 shall I fear 
 To own the laws that love, not priests, have made ? 
 Love free as air, when bound by earthly ties, 
 Doth lose its charm, and like a rainbow fades. 
 If it were not thus, tame Hymen would not 
 
 show 
 That love's by fetters slain and never fostered. 
 Were Heav'n's King Himself to offer me His throne, 
 For all that's Heaven's I would not change my 
 
 love. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 95 
 
 Fulbert. He hath bewitched her, 
 And much love hath made her mad ! 
 Oh, that those hps should foul blaspheme 
 Which once ne'er moved except in pray'r 
 Or gentle words of wisdom ! Doubly accursed 
 
 Abelard, 
 To blast both soul and body ! 
 
 Abelard. I pray thee, Fulbert, list to me ! 
 I do love thy ward tenderly, deeply. 
 Devotedly, passionately, and to espouse her 
 Is my ambition's dream. 
 
 Fulbert.W Coward ! Add that to thy other sins ! 
 Thou speak'st thus for thou'rt afraid, 
 Because I come to wrest her from thee ! 
 
 Abelard. Thou dar'st not do it! Not Death 
 himself 
 Shall steal her from my arms ! 
 
 (Heloise cowers for protection, and Abelard 
 stands by her menacing those around. Phil- 
 INTUS, with a half-drawn weapon, seems 
 disposed to attack any of Fulbert's people 
 who should make a move in the direction 
 of the lovers.) 
 
 Anselm. Peace, my friends ! tho' I own 'tis hard 
 To stay your virtuous hands from doing hurt 
 To him whose crime so greatly merits punishment 
 condign. 
 
96 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Ahelard. These soul-hounds of the Church ! 
 How loftily they deal with others' morals, 
 How lax and easy with their own ! 
 
 Amadeus. Give up this woman to her kins- 
 man, 
 Thou thief that stole her from her rightful lover ! 
 
 Abelard. Thou prince of liars, she lov'd thee not ! 
 
 Heloise. Hold, Prince ! From me you had an 
 empty word, 
 A loveless promise ; a shell without a kernel. 
 
 Anselm. I have heard it said that purest minds, 
 When once o'ercast, have uglier bent 
 Than basest criminals. Abelard hath 
 Bewitched her crystal thoughts into 
 A stream of turgid foulness. 
 
 First at. (in the crowd). 'Tis certain that this 
 Abelard' s 
 None other than a wizard. 
 
 Second Cit. We must look to our own wives 
 and daughters. 
 
 Third Cit. Mark you not that hellish fire 
 Blazing from his eyes ? 
 
 First Cit. He's too handsome for a proper man. 
 I've heard tell the Evil One can garb 
 Himself in beauty's form, as we would 
 Clothe ourselves in Sunday habit. 
 
 Fulbert (to Heloise). I order thee to come with 
 me 
 Unto my house, which thou hast dishonoured. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 97 
 
 If thy spirit still rebels against my wish, 
 1*11 have thee dragg'd like drink-sod drab 
 Thro' the streets of Paris. Thy paramour 
 Shall taste the staves of all our honest citizens, 
 An' if they but do their duty he shall die thereof. 
 
 Ahelard. Old man ! thy threats fall idly on my 
 heart 
 Like snow-flakes on the ground already hoar. 
 I fear not thee, nor all enraged France 
 Were she to rise like Hecate with the Fates 
 And fire-belching Furies in her wake 
 To seize and rend me in such puny atomies 
 That the ocean's grains of sand were great 
 
 compared. 
 Hath not Nature sentenced thee to death 
 E'en as thou wouldst me ? Am I dreaming fool 
 That I in death should see aught save .^. 
 
 Eternity's birthday ? My life's sin is that I love, 
 And with that crime upon my soul, old man, 
 I'll speed unto those gracious regions where 
 That dear Lord who lov'd so well on earth 
 Shall judge me better than ye do. 
 
 Anselm. Thou prat'st of love and piety 
 But actest like a fiend. 
 
 Alheric. Shame upon thee, Abelard ! 
 Thou hast the Church disgraced. 
 
 Lotulf. Fie upon thee ! 
 
 Ahelard. Ye but a pretext make of Fulbert's 
 grievance 
 
 G 
 
^8 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 To vent your coward spite on me. 
 
 The fame that I have gain'd hath rous'd 
 
 Inexorable malice in your breasts, 
 
 And snake-like Envy with poison' d tongue doth 
 
 spit 
 Beneath this show of Fulbert's cause espousing. 
 Your falseness makes of Virtue's self a vicious 
 
 thing, 
 And Vice by ye despis'd, turns virtuous. 
 
 Fulbert. Enough ! Enough is said. Come ! 
 
 (Heloise clings to Abelard, butj surrounded 
 and overwhelmed by numbers, and despite 
 Abelard' s strenuous efforts, she is dragged 
 away from him. Philintus vainly tries 
 to succour the lovers, but is himself over- 
 borne.) 
 
 Abelard (who is withheld by citizens). Old man, 
 for myself I would not plead 
 For life, from e'en the cruellest death 
 That hatred could devise ; but for her I love, 
 I would abase my manhood's strength 
 Till saintly meekness were but pride compared. 
 She is the hapless victim of my guilt. 
 I alone have caused her heart to stray 
 From the narrow path of worldly rectitude. 
 Mine is all the sin, and mine should be the blame, 
 If Justice be no myth, and Mercy but a name. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 99 
 
 Heloise. Not all cold truths to heav'n fly ; 
 E'en angels love a selfless lie. 
 
 (Heloise is by force compelled to leave Abelard 
 with FuLBERT and Anselm; Lotulf, Al- 
 BERic, and some attendants following.) 
 
 Abelard (who is still withheld by citizens). 
 Loose me, ye fools and knaves unmannerly ! 
 Do ye think that I would be so mad 
 To run out in the streets and chase 
 The Lady Heloise as tho' she were a trull 
 And I a braggart lover ? Unloose, I say ! 
 
 Amadeus. If they unloose thee, thou wilt 
 meet 
 With less delicate handling from me. 
 Thou'lt fly from Scylla to Charybdis. 
 
 Abelard. What, whelp ! hast thou not gone 
 With thy companion wolves ? 
 
 Amadeus. Nay, nor like to, with such carrion 
 As thou left for me to feast on. 
 
 Abelard. Pah ! shall I heed the sting of a gnat 
 When my heart is gnawed by the monster Grief ? 
 Go thy ways, good youth ! 
 
 Amadeus. I'll give thee a lesson first ! 
 
 (Draws.) 
 
 Abelard. What! with that rod wouldst teach 
 thy master ? 
 
100 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Philintus. Here is mine ! Defend thyself ! 
 
 (Gives his weapon to Abelard. They fight.) 
 
 First Cit. Prince Amadeus is a master of the 
 rapier ; 
 My son who worketh at his armourer's 
 Did tell me so. He hath twenty-five Toledo blades, 
 An' a score or so of true Damascus steel. 
 
 Second Cit. And mayhap not master be o' one ! 
 Philintus. Dost remember, Abelard, that pretty 
 trick 
 The Austrian fencing-master taught thee in 
 Vienna ? 
 Abelard. Is this the one thou mean'st ? 
 
 (By a skilful thrust he sends Amadeus' rapier 
 spinning out of the latter'' s hands.) 
 
 First Cit. He has him now at his weapon's 
 
 point. 
 Second Cit. Like a beetle at the mercy of a 
 
 schoolboy's pin. 
 Third Cit. Will he despatch him ? 
 Amadeus. I ask no mercy at thy hands. 
 Despatch ! strike home ! as I would do 
 In thy victorious place. 
 
 Abelard. My love hath taught me to be 
 merciful. 
 Take thy life, I'll none of it ! 
 
 [Exit Abelard. 
 

 Act IV 
 
ACT IV 
 
 (After three months.) 
 
 Scene i 
 
 Lecture-room in the University of Paris. Abe- 
 lard is sitting in his lecturer^s chair with his 
 face buried in his hands dejectedly. Near him 
 stands Philintus. 
 
 Philintus. Rouse thy spirit, Abelard ! This 
 inanition 
 Is a moral decay, and thou art Hke fair fruit 
 With canker at its core. Soon the Council 
 And the students will attend. Surely thou 
 Wilt not deposed be without a word 
 In refute of their baseless charges ? 
 
 Abelard. There are some calumnies, my friend j. 
 'Gainst which e'en Innocence herself 
 Would courage lose. 
 
 Philintus. I pray thee, rouse thyself ! 
 
 Abelard. Grant me peace, I do beseech thee. 
 
104 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Philintus. Peace is gain'd by war. 
 
 Ahelard. I thirst to be at peace. I yearn to 
 leave 
 The world and all its troublous ways alone. 
 Let the Council come, I've naught to say. 
 Oh, Philintus ! when heavy sorrows fall, 
 They cover, like a pall, our best endeavours. 
 We still may strive, but the freshness, 
 The bloom of all our brightest hopes, is gone. 
 Gone — never to return ! With heavy hearts 
 And jad'd souls we plod and plod. 
 And yet each step doth only bring us 
 Near to that goal of all mortality — the grave. 
 
 Philintus. All this grieving for a woman ! 
 Which one of them is weeping worth ? 
 Too well I know their changing moods ! 
 When you will, they will not ; 
 When you will not, then of course — they will ! 
 
 Ahelard. Three months have pass'd, 
 And ne'er a word from Heloise. 
 
 Philintus. The letters thou hast given me, 
 Faithful have I delivered to Agaton, 
 Her woman ; who in turn did vow 
 To give them to her mistress. 
 
 Ahelard. Is it possible that she could be so 
 fair 
 And yet so false ? 
 
 Philintus. Were she not fair, she'd not be 
 false. 
 
ABE LARD AND HEL0I5E 105 
 
 To be beautiful, and therewith to live in virtue, 
 Savours more of gods than of frail humanity. 
 Ahelard. Thou hast deliver' d all my notes. 
 And I have answer to not one of them. 
 What countless pages I have written 
 With passion so devouring, that methought 
 The words themselves had been consumed in 
 
 flames. 
 So burning did they pour from out 
 My pierc'd and anxious heart. 
 Philintus. So thou who hast so oft derisively 
 
 describ'd 
 The wiles of woman, art now their slave, 
 Caught in the self-same snare as any dolt 
 Who thinks there's truth in any of their smiles. 
 Their sex are only great when they work ill. 
 Who was it lost Paradise for us ? A woman. 
 Who caused the downfall of fair Troy ? A 
 
 woman. 
 What made wise Solomon to fail ? Woman. 
 Damnable ! heartless ! subtle woman. 
 With paint' d face and mind corrupt, 
 Innocence feigning, whilst her scheming mind 
 Outstrips the devil's ! 
 
 Ahelard. O Friendship ! upon what dost thou 
 
 presume ? 
 ^Tis well thou art Philintus ; none else 
 Had dar'd to speak against the noblest heart 
 That ever beat on earth. 
 
io6 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Philintus. Thus reason' d Antony, and that 
 reason 
 Lost him all the world. Thus reasons Abelard, 
 And that reason, or the lack of it. 
 Will lose him all his world as well. 
 Suppose that I were Abelard, and Abelard 
 
 Philintus, 
 Then Abelard would say to me, " Thy love hath 
 
 fled. 
 Thou writ'st to her, she answers not ; 
 Ergo, pray, what love hath she for thee, 
 Who heeds thee not e'en tho' thy soul 
 Writhes in hellish torture ? " Thy love's fickle. 
 All things yield beneath Time's sickle. 
 Lovers' vows, hopes — beauty — all, 
 Ripe and unripe, bow and fall ; 
 All things go from whence they came. 
 And Death claims all but shining Fame. 
 
 Abelard {meditatively, with bitterness). Fame f 
 'tis gone from me ; 
 They stole it when they burned my book. 
 
 Philintus. Build thyself another shrine of 
 
 glory. 
 Abelard. Life is short, the world's injustice 
 
 long. 
 Philintus. The Council and the students will 
 
 shortly come. 
 Abelard. Let them ; I will hence. 
 Philintus. I pray thee, speak to them ; 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 107 
 
 Show them that thy spirit 
 
 Is not quench' d as they would have it be. 
 
 Abelard. Her silence and my book's de- 
 struction 
 Do make me mad. 
 
 Philintus. Thy madness is a silent one. 
 
 Abelard. It sometimes takes that fit. 
 
 Philintus. Never have I heard of it. 
 
 Abelard. The ashes grey of love's neglect' d 
 passion chill 
 As water thrown on fire. Heloise hath grown 
 cold. 
 
 Philintus. But thy book did ne'er hurt thee t 
 Love and friendship often sever : 
 Books remain true friends for ever. 
 
 Abelard. My dead book bids me speak, 
 But fain would I be dumb. 
 
 (Noise without.) 
 
 Philintus. They come ! 
 
 (Enter Anselm, taking the lead of the Council ^ 
 followed by Students and Citizens.) 
 
 Anselm. Pierre Abelard ! thou art the author 
 of a work heretical, 
 In which thou hast expound' d views 
 Contrary to the law and order of things ordain'd 
 These himdred years. Thy spirit revolutionary 
 
io8 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Hath fill'd the learned Council with alarm, 
 And they, the nation's guides, and I, their un- 
 worthy chief, 
 Do take this opportunity to expel thee 
 From this great University. It is decreed 
 That thou no more our sons shall teach 
 To wander from the beaten paths 
 Their ancestors did tread before them. 
 That which hath suffic'd for sire 
 Is surely good enough for son. 
 We charge thee, therefore, leave this place 
 For ever ! Hast aught to say in thy defence ? 
 Abelard. Ye condemn me as a heretic, and 
 bum my book. 
 Reversing law, ye sentence first, then call for my 
 
 defence. 
 If I absolve your act, I blame myself; 
 And if I blame ye, I absolve myself. 
 One way I must offend. Yet, if I speak, 
 I must truly, or not at all. 
 My heart is too deject' d far to deal in quibbles. 
 Suffering and sorrow press the truth from men 
 E'en as some flow'rs, that more perfume yield 
 The longer they are crush' d : and pale adversity 
 Doth teach us more than all the wisdom 
 Of great Socrates. If I have sinn'd, as ye have 
 
 said, 
 It is unpardonable ; and unpardonably have ye 
 punish' d me. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 109 
 
 When a malefactor is arraign'd for treason, 
 He first is heard, and sentenc'd afterward. 
 Is there a crime in Guilt's long calendar 
 That places man beyond the pale of lawful 
 Justice ? If there be, I am the basest wretch 
 That e'er disgrac'd the bar of judgment : 
 And if the learned Council thus decree, 
 What weight has one man's word against a 
 
 Council's ? 
 When I did meet the wisest man of^^every 
 
 land 
 That came to France to fight in learning's 
 Tournament, you did not then condemn the 
 
 heretic 
 Who fought and won the palm for France's 
 
 glory ; 
 Yet taught he then the self-same thoughts that 
 
 stand 
 Reviled now. 
 
 First at. Abelard speaks truly. My eldest 
 
 son. 
 Who once brought naught but sorrow home 
 Unto his dam and me, hath chang'd since 
 He hath attend'd Abelard's school. 
 
 Second Cit. Ay ! My Jean, that wild third 
 
 lad o' mine, 
 Was once a very fiend for stubbornness ; 
 But since this Abelard hath taught him, 
 He is as mild as butter-milk. 
 
no ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Anselm. Didst thou not say in thy condemned 
 book — 
 How well do I recall those words seditious ! — 
 That people, by a monarch governed, 
 Were naught but slaves, coerced to labour 
 In body and mind. Thou didst vituperate 
 Inheritance and lordly birth, and held 
 That these were naught compar'd to man's 
 Own attainments and natural gifts ? 
 
 Abelard. My lord, I said that labour, be it 
 what it may, 
 Is nobler than dull sloth, though that 
 Did flaunt a crown, and strut in purple. 
 
 Anselm. Further, thou didst write that 
 neither 
 King nor noble could inherit worth. 
 These be traitor's thoughts in treason's words. 
 If a monarch be not great — who is ? 
 And if our nobles be not high — who are ? 
 
 Abelard. My lord, my words were these : not 
 ancestry. 
 Or wealth, or combination of birth's circum- 
 stances 
 Can ever make men great ; but work 
 And strenuous conduct alone entitle man 
 To fame and glory. 
 
 Anselm. Thou utter'st treason 'gainst thy 
 King, 
 Thy Church, and Constitution. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE iii 
 
 Ahelard. Better that, than I should traitor be 
 unto humanity. 
 Better rot in silence 'neath the earth, 
 Than serve the god Hypocrisy. 
 
 Anselm, A self -con vict'd heretic and atheist 
 
 art thou ! 
 Ahelard. I stand condemn'd a heretic, and ye 
 bum my book ! 
 How can a book so injure that ye burn it ? 
 'Tis a thing inanimate, and did not write itself. 
 If aught should have been burnt, 'twas my 
 
 hand. 
 Or the conceiving brain that bade the hand to 
 
 write. 
 Why mutilate the noblest part of me — 
 My thought — and let the worst go free ? 
 Nay ! not in my work the potent evil lies. 
 But in the prejudice of cruel, jaundic'd eyes. 
 Unjust judges the jury lead astray ; 
 Humble virtue falls, and evil holdeth sway. 
 First Stu. 'Tis my belief, and that belief is 
 strong. 
 The prisoner is right, and all his judges wrong. 
 Second Stu. The Council all are jealous ! 
 Envious old drones ; 
 Half of them are stings, the other half are bones. 
 Third Stu. Small wonder that he looks so pale 
 and sad. 
 With such grief as he has had ; 
 
£12 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Envy snatches hence his fame, 
 Spite assails his once great name. 
 
 First Stu. Let the Council go hang ! We*ll 
 none of them. 
 Abelard hath nobly instruct'd us, and Abelard 
 Must bide with us ! 
 
 Second Stu. If Abelard be forc'd to leave, 
 Let us all follow him ! 
 
 Third Stu. Bravely said! Where Abelard 
 doth go, 
 There we shall have our University, 
 E'en tho' the green grass be our floor, 
 And heav'n's blue skies our vault' d domes ! 
 Abelard. Patience, dear students all! I can 
 but leave ; 
 My death is not resolv'd upon. 
 
 First Stu. If thou dost leave, great Abelard, I 
 swear, 
 By God's own might, to enter ne'er 
 This University again ! And ye, my brothers. 
 What say ye ? 
 
 Students. We'll follow Abelard I 
 First at. If Abelard's expell'd, Lwill with- 
 draw my son. 
 Second Cit. And I mine ! 
 Third Cit. And I ! 
 
 Abelard. But, friends, there are^' other pro- 
 fessors ! 
 First Stu. But none like thee ! If thou do go, 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 113 
 
 A University of wise professors will exist, 
 Without a student to be taught ! 
 
 Citizens. 
 
 Students. 
 
 Second Cit. Out upon this Council of evil ! 
 Give 'em a taste of the tail o' th' Devil. 
 
 I Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 (Students raise Abelard on their shoulders. 
 Some Citizens and Students shout and 
 hurrah around him. Others chase and heat 
 Anselm and the rest of the Council with- 
 sticks and cudgels.) 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 An ante-room in Archbishop Fulbert's house. 
 Anselm, as though by accident, meets Agaton, 
 who endeavours to pass him hurriedly. 
 
 Anselm. Whither so fast, wench ? 
 
 Agaton. Oh, my lord, I know not how to answer 
 you; 
 Full of fears am I, with what I have perform'd^ 
 In obedience to your stem behests. 
 Heav'n you have promised me, and yet Hell 
 Reigns in my throbbing breast. 
 
 Anselm (menacingly). Wench, thou hast more 
 letters ! 
 As thou valu'st thy immortal soul, 
 Deliver them at once to me, else 
 E'erlasting flames shall be thy lot hereafter. 
 
 H 
 
114 ABELARD AND HELOISB 
 
 Agaton. My lord, I do beseech you give me 
 leave 
 To render but this one to Lady Heloise ; 
 
 (Shows letter.) 
 
 The only one, of all the many I have had 
 To give her. Messire Philintus told me 
 That Monseigneur is like to die with grief, 
 That ne'er one of all his thousand letters 
 Hath had answer. My lord, I pray, 
 Do grant me leave to give her this. 
 And I will to Purgatory go fo't ! 
 
 Anselm. I tell thee thou wilt go to Hell 
 For everlasting ; and, e'er djdng, still live on 
 In immortal agony. Give me the letter, I say ! 
 Damnation seize thee, wench, dost hear ? 
 Abelard's letters are accurs'd, and even I, 
 Holy as I am, do wash mine hands 
 Thrice in sacred water ere I touch 
 The godly things of earth again. 
 
 Agaton [giving letter to Anselm). Oh ! is there 
 grace in acting right, 
 When all one's heart would fain do wrong ? 
 
 Anselm (unctuously). The path of holiness is 
 thorny. 
 And woman's nature corrupt. 
 
 ( Takes the letter ^ and crosses himself devoutly as 
 he does so.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 115 
 
 This act of virtue will absolve thee 
 Many a sin. Hast thou, perchance, 
 Another letter ? 
 
 Agaton (beseechingly). My lord ! 
 
 Anselm {menacingly). Wouldst brave HelFs 
 torments, woman ? 
 
 Agaton {giving another letter). Alas! she wept 
 so when she gave me this, 
 As tho', poor soul, her heart would break. 
 
 Anselm. Will tears of wickedness allay the heat 
 Of thy parch'd tongue when thou art burning ? 
 
 Agaton {crossing herself). Jesu ! Marie ! 
 
 Anselm. Tell me the truth, wench ! Hast e'er 
 Delivered letter of Heloise to Abelard ? 
 Are these the first thou wouldst withhold ? 
 
 Agaton {trembling). Since you said, my lord, 
 that the Devil 
 Would fetch me hence alive if I but gave one, 
 I swear that you alone have had them all. 
 
 Anselm. 'Tis well. Get thee to the chapel ; 
 I'll shrive thee anon for thy concern 
 In this most black affair. 
 
 [Exit Agaton. 
 
 Anselm. Foolish oaf ! not thine is woman's art 
 Of deft hypocrisy, else better hadst thou serv'd 
 
 thy cause. 
 Deception oft can work what Truth would spoil, 
 And Virtue's reticence is Cunning's opportunity . 
 What says Abelard ? 
 
ii6 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 (Tears open one of the letters given by Agaton, 
 and reads) : — 
 
 " Beloved, still beloved Heloise : 
 
 These lines, the last, are from the hapless wretch 
 
 Once by thee held dear ! Should my messenger 
 
 No answer bring to this my missive, 
 
 Then shall I know that for ever changed 
 
 Is Heloise to me. Then will I 
 
 At once the binding vows of priesthood take, 
 
 To render me invulnerable to thy deception. 
 
 Alas ! how easy 'tis the world to throw aside, 
 
 But oh, how difficult 'tis to renounce love ! 
 
 The world's injustice, its friendships feign' d, 
 
 Its tawdry pomps and aimless vanities. 
 
 Have no charms for me. But my soul 
 
 Is fraught with anguish that I must lose thee, 
 
 And as reason no consolation is in despair. 
 
 If thou art silent, to Heav'n I will offer 
 
 My heart's cold ashes, whose fire so brightly burn'd 
 
 One time for Heloise. Abelard." 
 
 Anselm. One priest the more ! 
 
 (Tears the letter into fragments and puts the 
 pieces into his pocket.) 
 What says Heloise ? 
 
 (Opens the other letter, and reads) : — 
 " Cruel, but well-beloved Abelard : 
 Thy silence has o'er whelm' d my heart 
 With suffering and grief. Daily have I written thee 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 117 
 
 For these long months without response. 
 
 Were thy vows Hke the summer birds that fly 
 
 When winter's nigh ? 
 
 If thou art silent still, I shall pattern take 
 
 Of thy inconstancy and wed Prince Amadeus. 
 
 In pity, Abelard, write one little word to me. 
 
 The pray'r of all around me is 
 
 That I thy hated rival should espouse. 
 
 The Pope himself enjoins me in a letter 
 
 To wed the Prince for fear of his displeasure. 
 
 Pity me, and write to thy forsaken Heloise." 
 
 Anselm (tearing the letter into fragments, and 
 placing them in his pocket). One wife the 
 more in the world of marriage ! 
 Revenge is dear to human hearts as love of Fame. 
 Now shall I be even with the hated Abelard. 
 (Enter Fulbert.) 
 
 Fulhert. Friend ! what had I done without thee ? 
 Since thou beneath my roof hast stay'd, 
 Thy counsel and thy weighty presence both 
 Have me supported 'neath mine affliction, 
 
 Anselm. How fares thy niece ? 
 
 Fulhert. She's in her chamber weeping, and her 
 grief 
 Is such that all do weep in sympathy with her. 
 Alas ! she mourns the lover, not the fault. 
 I read to her a message from the Pope, 
 In which he doth command her make amends 
 For her sin by lawful marriage to the Prince. 
 
ii8 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 I join'd my prayers unto the Holy Father's 
 
 mandate, 
 And she entreateth me to wait until to-morrow 
 For her answer. Why till the morrow ? 
 I cannot tell. 
 
 Anselm (aside). I could tell thee why " till 
 to-morrow " 
 She would have thee tarry. She hopes an answer 
 Will forthcome unto her letter, — that one 
 Which now snugly lies in tatters in my pocket. 
 (Aloud to Fulbert) Will she consent to-morrow 
 to wed the Prince ? 
 
 Fulbert. She hath promised me all I should ask 
 If I but wait until the morrow. 
 
 Anselm. I counsel thee to brook no more delay ; 
 Marry her outright for fear of Abelard. 
 
 Fulbert. 'Tis my intention. Therefore I be- 
 seech thee, 
 If Heloise consents, arrange the nuptials, 
 Appoint the priest, invite the guests, 
 In pomp and state befitting such a ceremony. 
 
 Anselm. I will haste to Notre Dame, and ordain 
 All dignities pertaining to a noble marriage. 
 
 Fulbert. But why so fast ? Heloise will 
 promise me 
 Naught until the morrow. 
 
 Anselm. When a woman half promises. 
 Take it as a whole. She will consent. 
 
 Fulbert. Thy words like wine do give me courage. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 119 
 
 Let us each to our appoint'd work 
 In these great nuptials. Anon, good friend ! 
 My right, true friend, anon ! [Exit. 
 
 Anselm. Old dotard ! What ardently he 
 wishes, he hastens 
 To believe. He begg'd of me t'appoint 
 The priest, and so I vow will I. 
 To-morrow doth Abelard take the vow of celibacy — 
 None but he shall be the priest 
 That joins the pair in wedd'd bonds. 
 
 Scene 3 
 
 The interior of Notre Dame, showing altar 
 magnificently decked with flowers and precious 
 offerings. On one side of the altar is an 
 enormous golden cross, at the base of which 
 are three steps of white marble. 
 
 (Enter youths of the choir swinging censers, 
 followed by young girls dressed in white ^ 
 scattering flowers.) 
 
 Chorus. Love, thy great and potent sway 
 All the sons of men obey ; 
 On the sacred altar, see, 
 Types of thy Eternity. 
 
 A Youth. Hail, renowned, youthful pair, 
 
 Bless' d with every gift that's rare ; 
 Be e'er yours on earth below 
 All that Heav'n can bestow ! 
 
120 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 A Girl. Vernal youth will pass away, 
 
 Beauty lingers for a day ; 
 Love alone shall live and last, 
 When th' world itself is past. 
 
 A Youth. What is glory but a name ? 
 
 What so false as fleeting fame ? 
 But constant as the sun above 
 Is faithful and immortal love. 
 
 Chorus. Love, thy great and perfect sway, 
 All the race of men obey ; 
 On the sacred altar, see, 
 Types of thy Eternity. 
 
 {Scattering white roses, hyacinth, and jasmine, and 
 swinging the censers, the youths and girls pass 
 out. Enter Heloise and Myrtila. Heloise 
 is magnificently attired in a white robe, with 
 a diadem of precious stones encircling her 
 head. She looks melancholy and dejected.) 
 
 Heloise. Let us tarry here awhile. The others 
 Will shortly follow. Yet, 'ere they come, 
 I have a boon to ask of thee, Myrtila. 
 Wilt thou grant it ? 
 
 Myrtila. Thou know'st that all thou ask'st of me 
 Will be surely done, sweet Heloise. 
 Would that I could see thee smile again 
 As thou wert wont to do, ere Abelard, 
 That false one, did steal away 
 Thy heart from those that loved thee. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 121 
 
 Heloise. Speak not thus ! Thou know'st not 
 What slaves love makes of us, else thy lips 
 Had been in silence hush'd upon the theme. 
 List to me ! The fearful step which now 
 I take in wedding Amadeus, is but to save 
 My uncle Fulbert from the further shame — 
 Alas ! I've wrought enough upon him — 
 Of seeing me 'neath the Church's ban ; 
 For the Holy Pontiff writes that wedlock's sanctity 
 Alone my sin can 'solve. If I refuse, 
 His excommunication foUows. 
 
 Myrtila. Alas ! that shame should spring from 
 love ! 
 
 Heloise. Dear God, I love a man too well, and 
 Thee not enough. 
 
 Myrtila. But this request of thine, what is't ? 
 
 Heloise. When the priest hath join'd the Prince 
 and me, 
 The Holy Father will revoke his curse 
 And change it to a blessing : 'tis then. 
 To-night, that I shall fly my spouse's arms 
 And swift embrace a rival's ! 
 
 Myrtila. Heloise ! thou ravest ! 
 
 Heloise. He has a rival, and his name is Death, 
 And on his bony bosom would I lay 
 My weary brow and sleep my sorrow all away. 
 I, like a child, am weary of the play. 
 With the colour'd bubble we call life. 
 Since Abelard has gone I grope in darkness, 
 
122 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 And to-night, when the Prince awaits his bride. 
 This little friendly steel will ope the door 
 To let me enter Death's great world of rest. 
 
 (Takes a small poniard from her breast.) 
 
 Myrtila. O horror ! 
 
 Heloise. What horror lies in dreamless sleep ? 
 A gentle, lasting sleep with all the senses still'd, 
 The storm of passions calm'd, the mind's errors 
 Allay'd, and the body's servitude quell'd for ever I 
 Not what it is, but what cowards make of it, 
 Transforms eternal sleep into a terror dark. 
 
 Myrtila. I cannot let thee die. 
 
 Heloise. What ! wouldst urge me on a 
 wanton's life ? 
 To be a wife, when I have been 
 The love of Abelard ! The thought revolts me ! 
 
 Myrtila. How can I serve thee, poor wounded 
 heart ? 
 
 Heloise. Nay, weep not, for thou too must go 
 At thy allotted space. See that my cold form 
 Is rob'd within that gown that Abelard 
 Once lov'd to see me wear. 'Tis of velvet 
 And of silk : the colours, white and rose : 
 'Tis broider'd with seed pearls. 
 Then, lay his book of poems on my breast. 
 So if, perchance, I should awake and see him not, 
 I still may read his loving, tender thoughts. 
 And dream I hear his silver voice again. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 123 
 
 (They withdraw with arms entwined. They have- 
 scarcely passed outy when Abelard enters, 
 with his eyes earnestly fixed on the hook 
 he is holding. Prince Amadeus, who has 
 just arrived, in a gorgeous habit, is 
 so engrossed with the splendour of his 
 own appearance, that he stumbles against 
 Abelard.) 
 
 Amadeus (angrily). Look to thy goings, churl- 
 ish priest ! 
 Thy manners are most damnable. 
 
 Abelard (haughtily). Presume not, sir, too 
 much upon this cassock. 
 For a man's heart beats beneath it. 
 
 (Enter Fulbert, Anselm, Lotulf, Alberic, 
 Priests and Attendants.) 
 
 Anselm (aside to Lotulf). Abelard knows 
 not 'tis Heloise he must wed unto the 
 Prince. 
 Lotulf. Hast not o'erstepped the narrow line 
 that 
 Prudence from foolhardiness doth separate ? 
 What will he say when he sees who 'tis ? 
 
 Anselm. He dare not utterance give unto his 
 thoughts ; 
 The Church's sanctity forbids it. 
 
 Lotulf. Hope not too much from sanctity ; 
 
124 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Passion far nearer to the human heart 
 Than Heav'n is. 
 
 Abelard {taking the place near the altar, aside). 
 
 Thoughts Uke fleeting clouds take shapes 
 
 fantastic. 
 I fear — yet know not why I fear — to meet 
 The would-be wedd'd pair. 
 
 (Enter Heloise and Myrtila. Heloise, who 
 has come upon the scene with drooping eyes, 
 suddenly perceives Abelard as the officiat- 
 ing priest, and stands as if transfixed.) 
 
 Abelard. Heloise ! 
 
 Heloise. Abelard ! 
 
 Abelard. Thou, then, art the bride ! 
 
 Heloise. Thou, then, art the priest ! God save 
 My tortur'd heart from bursting ere I speak ; 
 A thousand letters I have writ to thee, 
 And had not one response. 
 
 Abelard. I, too, have writ to thee unnumber'd 
 times. 
 And not one answer had. 
 
 Heloise (despairingly). See to what thy silence 
 hath driven me ! 
 
 Abelard (bitterly). I see well ! 
 Thou seek'st God's blessing on 
 A newer and a richer lover. 
 
 Heloise. Cruel one ! be still. To-night had been 
 My wedding and my death in one. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 125 
 
 Abelard. Methought that thou hadst weary 
 grown, 
 And car'd no more for me ! 
 
 Heloise. Abelard ! 'tis thee alone I love ! 
 
 Abelard. Break, my heart ! Thy words truth's 
 impress bear, 
 Altho' thy deeds be strange. 'Tis too late ! 
 I dare not utter now the thoughts that flow 
 Like torrent from my breast o'ercharged, 
 For Reason dams them back with floodgates stem : 
 Thus Art doth stay fond Nature. 
 
 Heloise. Drive me not away from thee : 
 I am thy Heloise unchang'd, and changeless ever. 
 Altho' the world may turn a Janus face to thee, 
 'Twill make me doubly constant, if that could 
 e'er be. 
 
 Abelard (in despair). OGod! what time is this 
 Thus to speak to me ? 
 
 Heloise. If thou wait'st for another, thou 
 tarriest 
 Too long. Opportunities were but made for 
 
 princes ; 
 I am near thee now, thus let me e'er abide. 
 Thou hast been the source of all my sorrow ; 
 Be thou the well-spring of my lasting joy. 
 And bid me stay with thee. 
 
 Abelard. Thy lov'd voice doth urge me to respond 
 Against those vows that I to Heav'n have made. 
 Add not to my woe by thy sweet constancy ; 
 
126 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Bid me forget thy favours and that right 
 Which they now claim from my too willing heart. 
 Plead no more ! It is too late ; 
 We are the sport of mocking fate. 
 
 Anselm. Unrighteous priest, recall 
 Thy rebel heart unto thy pious obligations. 
 Insult no more the Holy Church with the 
 Avowals of thy vain love. 
 
 Abelard. Surely love partakes of all that's holy : 
 The very Church is built on its foundation — 
 Or, rather, should be — my noble, reverend lord. 
 
 Amadeus. I have withheld myself thus far, 
 In pure respect for this most holy spot ; 
 But, as I am a man of temper hot and passionate, 
 I'U brook this saucy priest no more : 
 My bride — I claim my bride ! 
 
 Heloise. Thou claim' st a shadow. 
 For I did ne'er mean to be thy wife 
 As thou dost think it. 
 
 Fulbert. Insensate wretch, miscalled a woman ! 
 Where is thy softness and thy compliance ? 
 Thy modesty ? thy sex's gracious virtues ? 
 
 Abelard. O that Philosophy 
 
 Can teach what to itself it never can apply ! 
 Tempt me no more, Heloise, for I am sworn 
 To Him who drieth hence all tears. 
 
 Heloise. How like a man ! Thou think'st but 
 of thy grief. 
 And not of me so hardly left to pine. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 127 
 
 What shall I do — renouncM by Abelard — 
 But seek a speedier peace than Heav*n intend*d ? 
 (Draws the dagger from her breast. Abelard 
 seizes it from her.) 
 Abelard. Hold ! there is a refuge still, when 
 Ev'ry other hope hath fled. 
 Tho' affliction doth encompass thee 
 Like threatening waves about a fragile barque, 
 To whom the cruel world hath clos'd her ports, 
 I still do know a harbour, O my Heloise, 
 Merciful and safe, where storms do never reach, 
 To harm thee with their passion. 
 
 Heloise (with eyes full of hope). And this 
 
 Haven of hope, belov'd, show it me ! 
 Abelard (pointing to the great Cross that stands 
 by the altar). There is the refuge from all 
 earthly ills. 
 Human woe and pain, and man's injustice ; 
 "'TIS the symbol of all evil, and its cure. 
 Clasp it to thy breast ; 'twill uphold thee, 
 And take away the sting of every anguish. 
 There is the Cross, Heloise ; bear it bravely, 
 And bravely it will bear thee. O thou dear one ! 
 Now too sensible to human love, go ! 
 Drive it from thy soul, and implant instead 
 The higher love of thy salvation ! 
 
 (Heloise, taking off her crown of jewels, castsfit 
 down, and going to the Cross, sinks at the 
 foot of it weeping.) 
 
128 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Amadeus. False priest ! thy wiles shall never 
 steal my bride, 
 Tho' they have robbed her senses ! Die ! 
 
 (Draws, and, as he would make a rush at Abelard, 
 Philintus, who has been quietly watching all 
 his movements, darts forward, and parrying 
 the blow with his own weapon, stabs the^ 
 Prince. The Prince falls.) 
 
 Fulbert. Wretched woman ! see what fearful 
 consequence 
 Doth e'er attend an evil deed. 
 What canst do now ? 
 
 Heloise (clinging to the Cross). My choice is 
 here, since I have lost 
 That thing in life by me most priz'd. 
 
 Myrtila (starting forward to Heloise). Speak 
 but one word, one word to me, 
 Thy sorrowing friend ! 
 
 Heloise. Sweet, gentle woman's heart to kindly 
 pity mov'd, 
 Pray that never thou shouldst love as I have 
 lov'd. 
 
 (Enter Abbess and Nuns in solemn procession. 
 They kneel round the Cross, to which Heloise 
 clings with her face hidden. Abelard takes 
 a last look at the cause of his misfortune, and 
 tears himself away.) 
 
Act V 
 
ACT V 
 
 {After fifteen years.) 
 
 Scene i 
 
 (The Convent Garden of the Paraclete.) 
 
 (Heloise is seated at a rustic table reading. A 
 young Nun is picking flowers, and the sound of 
 female voices singing a hymn is softly home 
 upon the air.) 
 
 Heloise (putting down her hook). That tears 
 
 could wash away the mem'ry 
 Which lashes me with thongs of long-past 
 
 joys, 
 Kindling my still riotous blood into rebellion 
 Against these cloister walls. O false piety ! 
 How real a vice there is 'neath seeming virtue, 
 And how oft 'neath seeming vice is virtue 
 
 hid! 
 While my heart still beats for love of man, 
 My tongue but teaches here the love of God. 
 
 V 
 
132 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 In vain I light my matin lamp and many aves say ; 
 Between my God and me terrestrial thoughts will 
 
 stray. 
 When sensuous swelling organs tempt the sinner's 
 
 heart 
 To raise his voice in pray'r with music's gentle 
 
 art, 
 I murmur hollow words with wandering thoughts 
 
 oppress' d, 
 For human love, not love Divine, rules within my 
 
 breast. 
 
 {The young Nun who has been gathering flowers 
 approaches Heloise with a bunch of blossom.) 
 
 Nun. I fear I do disturb your pious thoughts ; 
 Yet, since your generous heart, sweet mother, 
 Does ever more forgive than much condemn, 
 I ask your pardon if I rudely break 
 Upon your blessed meditations. 
 
 Heloise. What wouldst thou, daughter ? 
 
 Nun (timidly). Will it please you, sweet mother. 
 To give me leave to deck the altar, and that 
 No other hand but mine should do 't ? 
 Oh, chide me not for this ambitious sin ! 
 
 Heloise. Thy wish is grant'd, daughter ! 
 Go ! thy task accomplish. None else 
 Shall do the work. It is my order. 
 
 (Nun makes a grateful obeisance and goes into the 
 
 Convent.) 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 133 
 
 Heloise. There are none so meek but have 
 Their triumphs and ambitions. 
 
 (Enter Myrtila hastily, habited in the garb of a 
 
 nun.) 
 
 Heloise. Ah, Myrtila ! hast thou come to 
 
 cheer me 
 With thy discourse merry ? God forgive me ! 
 For ne'er do I behold thee but I feel 
 A pang that thy bright spirit is entombed 
 Within this gloomy place, instead of that 
 Gay world without the Convent gates. 
 Myrtila. There was no world without my 
 
 friend for me ; 
 And when my friend I followed, I did 
 Not leave the world ; or, if I did, I found 
 A better one than it beyond the Convent walls. 
 But I have news for thee. 
 
 Heloise. News ! Didst say that thou hast 
 
 news for me ? 
 What is it ? Hath the Convent tabby-cat 
 Lapp'd up our cream or ate the fish ? 
 Perchance the hens have suck'd up all their eggs ? 
 If that be so — and surely it is Friday on the 
 
 morrow — 
 We shall but poorly fare. 
 
 Myrtila (retrospectively). To think that once 
 
 we far'd so sumptuously ! 
 How mortals change ! 
 
134 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Heloise. Thy news, my fair philosopher, if 
 thou 
 Hast any ? 
 
 Myrtila. Dear friend ! I ne'er see thee but I 
 think 
 That 'neath thy sombre garb thy tortur'd 
 
 heart 
 Doth ev'r bleed in mem'ry of Abelard. 
 
 Heloise. Hush ! Breathe not that name ! 
 There are some griefs we dare not utter, 
 Tho' they are ever upmost in our thought, 
 Sapping our vitality, as the ivy which 
 Like a vampire doth suck the strength 
 From the body of the oak. 
 
 Myrtila. How couldst thou live and suffer thus I 
 
 Heloise. The tortur'd mind lasts longest. 
 (Pauses) But this news ? 
 
 Myrtila. A messenger did bring this letter 
 
 [Gives Heloise a letter. 
 And the messenger was sent by Abelard. 
 I did delay to give it thee before, 
 For fear its very suddenness would hurt thee. 
 
 (Heloise seizes the letter, and opening it, reads in 
 a voice trembling with emotion) : — 
 
 *' Abelard to Heloise, a well-beloved sister in 
 
 Christ ! 
 Rome's Holy Father hath enjoin'd 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 135 
 
 The Convent of the Paraclete I should visit, 
 
 To enquire the method of your teaching, 
 
 For which your name is justly famous. 
 
 When you, renowned Abbess, have then me 
 
 instructed, 
 A full report thereon to Rome I will transmit 
 For the world's enlightenment. The Holy Father 
 Sends his blessing on your virtues. 
 Unless untoward accident befalls, 
 I should arrive at noon to-day. Abelard." 
 
 Heloise. How colder than the snow that rests 
 on Alpine heights 
 His words do press on me ! I had rather had 
 One loving line from him. 
 Than all the praise of Christendom. 
 
 Myrtila. Mayhap 'tis but a pretext feign'd 
 So he again should see thee ! 
 
 Heloise. O Friendship ! thou alone canst 
 solace us 
 When Love deserts ! 
 
 (Convent clock strikes twelve. Nuns, Sisters^ 
 and Scholars troop out of the Convent, and 
 passing by Heloise, respectfully salute her. 
 Enter Abelard, whom fifteen years have 
 greatly altered, with Priests and Attend- 
 ants.) 
 
 Heloise (striving with difficulty to maintain a firm, 
 dignified, hut withal gentle demeanour). 
 
136 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Most holy and renowned Father, you are welcome ! 
 Welcome to this place to which you yourself 
 Have given fame, long ere you did give it me 
 To govern. Pardon me this halting 
 And disjoint' d speech. Greatly am I overcome 
 With this unexpect'd honour ! 
 
 Ahelard (in calm, measured, and deliberate tones, 
 looking at her as though she were entirely 
 strange to him, from under his drooping 
 eyelids). Rever'd and gracious Abbess, 
 Your gentle words 
 Reproach me more than sharp reproof could do. 
 This visit's suddenness, in truth, is worthy blame ; 
 But let the number of my varied labours 
 My excuses frame. The niceness of refined ways 
 Are in active life, alas ! too soon forgot ; 
 And labour, whilst it polishes our souls. 
 Oft roughens our externals. Therefore, I pray 
 
 you. 
 Pardon me for being thus abrupt ! 
 Faith's zeal, if not vain worldly form, must plead 
 for me. 
 Heloise (tremulously, hut significantly). The 
 presence of the famous Abelard is plea 
 enough 
 To exculpate far greater faults than this. 
 
 Ahelard (with courteous, hut careless unconcern, 
 inclining his head as if in thanks for the 
 compliment). Thanks ! 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 137 
 
 Gentle Abbess, with you I would confer without 
 
 delay 
 Upon the matter of my letter. Rome 
 Fain would know the method of your teaching, 
 To impart it thro' the world. 
 
 Heloise (making a profound obeisance). This 
 mountain of honour heaped upon me 
 Doth truly overwhelm my humble heart. 
 {Aside) His voice and manner turn my blood 
 
 to ice ; 
 His praise doth make me hate the name of 
 
 virtue. 
 His tones do make of it so harsh a thing. 
 (To the Nuns, Sisters, and Scholars) Go, 
 
 daughters ! I would have private converse 
 With our illustrious visitor. I pray ye, show 
 These gentlemen our far-fam'd Paraclete. 
 
 First Nun (whispering to another as she passes). 
 Is that the renowned Abelard, 
 Of whom 'tis said all ladies were enamour' d ? 
 Second Nun (whispering). How cold and stem 
 he looks ! And inaccessible 
 To love and tenderness as the very rocks ! 
 
 First Scholar. They say he once was young 
 and debonair. 
 I'll not believe it ! 
 
 Myrtila. Come, gentlemen, and let us to you 
 show 
 The wonders of our convent home. 
 
138 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 {Exeunt Myrtila, Nuns, Sisters, Scholars, 
 Priests, and Attendants.) 
 
 Heloise. Hath grief so alter'd me, that thou 
 look'st so, 
 With calm, approving eyes bereft of love ? 
 Hath Change's hand so drawn the face of Heloise, 
 That thou regard' st it no more as the one 
 Thou once didst swear was all the world to thee ? 
 I'd rather have thee frown on me in anger. 
 Than gaze with eye so still and so dispassionate. 
 Perchance thy fame hath marr'd thy heart, 
 And raising thee, hath lower' d me ! 
 
 Abelard {with proud humility). Regard me not^ 
 I do beseech thee, as one 
 In any way above my feUows. I am a sinner 
 Prostrate before my Judge, and thy bitterness 
 Doth ill accord with my deep humility. 
 Heloise. Thou didst never love me ! 
 Or, like all men, thy passion wan'd 
 When I had nothing more to offer thee ! 
 O nature, human nature ! a shallow thing art 
 
 thou! 
 Ingratitude and cold neglect do bind thy wanton 
 
 brow. 
 A love unhallowed by the Church reaps this 
 
 reward : 
 To live desert' d and alone, or die a thing ab- 
 hor r'd. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 139 
 
 Abelard. Through Satan's ways our Father 
 
 leads us to His own. 
 Our former sin hath brought us here for good. 
 Th' illusion of life 
 
 Is short, but remorse is long. Curse me ! 
 Curse me, Heloise, as a villain, and thy enemy, 
 For I did steal thine innocence from thee, 
 Which not Heav'n itself can e'er return. 
 I have pray'd and offer' d up my heart 
 T' appease the wrath to come, that I alone, 
 Not thou, shouldst suffer for our guilt. 
 
 Heloise. Thou hast no audience before thee 
 
 now, 
 But only one sad, broken woman, who 
 Doth love thee still beyond all earth and heav'n. 
 Come ! speak not more to me in measured tones. 
 In which, as France's highest and noblest prelate. 
 Thou teach'st students wisdom and cause of all 
 
 phenomena. 
 Frame thy words gently, Abelard, to me. 
 Remember why I enter' d here, and cast my youth 
 And pleasure all aside for thee. I was so young 1 
 That for pity and for mem'ry now, feign a little 
 
 love, 
 E'en if thou dost mean it not. 
 
 Abelard. Speak not thus to me, Heloise, speak 
 
 not thus ! 
 We are no longer of the earth. Wouldst thou 
 Destroy my piety in its infant state, 
 
140 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 And strangle conscience' voice ? For penance 
 We retir'd from the world ; let us not 
 Recall those false joys past. 
 Heloise (with scornful bitterness). How easy 'tis 
 for men those passions to condemn, 
 When they in them no longer find delight. 
 Narrow is that mind which Heav'n hopes to reach, 
 By doing only that which dogmas cold ordain ! 
 Abelard. Are the lives of dead saints " rules 
 and dogmas ? " 
 And the constancy of martyrs but a name ? 
 Come, then, if thou think'st it fit and meet, 
 And in thy holy habit thrust thyself between 
 My God and me ! Come ! be thou a wall 
 Of separation from salvation, and my sacred 
 
 peace. 
 And yet, I would entreat thee, by all fondness past, 
 To suffer me to shun destruction, and to lead 
 Thee too from the yawning maw of Hell. 
 
 Heloise. There never did man reason yet, 
 But it did blast the sentiment of woman. 
 Thou hast made great strides to Heav'n's attain- 
 ment ! 
 But my devotion's earthly, and is fix'd upon a 
 
 man. 
 Hast thou forgot those shining days, 
 When all the world had no such joy 
 As our two hearts did hold ? I needs must weep 
 When now I think on 't. Delightful dream ! 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 141 
 
 Tender vision of man's constancy, too soon 
 Dispell'd by time. Thou wert my dream, 
 My dream come true : my world, my light, 
 My nobler, better, higher self. 
 Darkness spread her wings where thou wert not, 
 And sunlight stream'd where'er thou trod'st, 
 Though night had fallen ! Thou wert my peace, 
 My soul's tranquillity ; and sorrow stood aside 
 Nor dar'd approach, when thou wert near, 
 Nor joy had one delight when thou wert far. 
 Abelard (in hurried and repressed accents). Thy 
 
 tears have washed the secrets of my soul. 
 That I had thought to take unto the grave. 
 Priestly vows have stemm'd my passion ; but 
 My thoughts in solitude are filled with dreams 
 
 of thee. 
 I search'd for an asylum far from love. 
 But the stillness as of death did minister 
 To summon up the heaven of our past. 
 I love thee ! Shame presses me on ev'ry side — 
 I should remember I am a priest — 
 But alas ! the love of God and piety do not 
 Annihilate the love for woman ! Ye cloisters ! 
 Your murky shadows hide, but do not quench 
 The pangs of human passion^and their attendant 
 
 tortures ! 
 Why are the chalices of saints so harsh and bitter. 
 And the sinner's cup so sweet ? Easy 'twere 
 To tread the path of virtue, were it fair ! 
 
142 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Heloise (in a voice of unutterable delight, going to 
 Abelard to embrace him). Thou lov'st 
 me yet ! 
 Abelard (moving away from her). To love thee 
 truly is to leave thee ! 
 I dare not even stay fulfil the Pope's behest ; 
 I cannot trust myself. 
 
 {Enter Priests, Nuns, Sisters, Scholars, and 
 Attendants, and Myrtila.) 
 
 Abelard. Farewell, most wise and reverend 
 Abbess ! 
 In your pray'rs forget not mine iniquities, 
 My wretchedness, my sorrows, and my penitence. 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ab^'lkrt^, Priests, awi Attendants. 
 
 Myrtila (to Heloise). Thou look'st so strange, 
 and like to swoon ! 
 O God ! what ails thee ? 
 
 Heloise (faintly, and as though her mind is 
 waning), 'Tis the old, old pain — my trouble 
 o' the heart. 
 The disease is Abelard, and knows no cure ; 
 He's gone, and with him goes my life ! 
 (Pauses, and, in her distraction, believes she sees 
 
 Abelard before her.) 
 But stay, he is not gone, for I behold 
 His eyes transparent, thro' which the world 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 143 
 
 Could view a great and noble tortur'd soul — 
 
 Tortured by earth's injustice — bend upon me 
 
 Their matchless light and proud intelhgence. 
 
 His air divine, mysterious, and strange, 
 
 Doth mark him as a god 'midst men of clay ! 
 
 Dear image of great Abelard ! 
 
 Oh ! merit and celebrity ! Oh ! wonder of the age I 
 
 Despite the calumnies of thine enemies. 
 
 But mark, Myrtila ! Ne'er scorn a foe, 
 
 Howev'r base he be ; for little spites 
 
 Can work great ills — at least, so I have proved. 
 
 Hold me in thy arms, unworthy as I am, 
 
 And press thy lips to mine with kisses 
 
 Such as angels do exchange in Paradise. 
 
 How bright the world is thro' love's glasses ! 
 
 Give me thy hand ! Inconstant ! Dost say, 
 
 Nay! 
 Then, prythee, go before ! — to Heav'n lead the 
 
 way ! 
 
 {She fancies Abelard is leading, and tries to 
 follow hiniy but, overcome by the mental strain, 
 she falls lifeless into Myrtila's arms.) 
 
 Myrtila (calling). Help ! Help ! Help ! 
 Our abbess is dying ! 
 
144 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 The Abbey of St Cluni, 
 
 (Enter Philintus as monk.) 
 
 Philintus. I have known places more holy than 
 a monastery, 
 Where the scenes of busy life were wildest ; 
 And I have seen a layman lead 
 A better life than many a monk. 
 A priestly garb no more creates a godly mind 
 Than kingly robes do make a righteous man. 
 Tho', God's patience ! courtiers would have us 
 Believe this miracle ! 
 
 (Enter Abelard.) 
 
 Abelard. What news, Phihntus ? 
 
 Philintus. When thou didst go unto the 
 Paraclete, 
 I was called to shrive a woman. 
 'Twas Agaton. Dost thou remember the pretty 
 
 maid 
 That waited once on Heloise ? 
 
 Abelard. Her waiting-woman ! As in a dream 
 I do remember her. Well ! well ! 
 
 Philintus. She was changed, as all of us 
 Whom Autumn's sere has overtaken. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 145 
 
 In weeping tones she did confess to me 
 
 A sin that all her soul perturb' d 
 
 With wild unrest. Then her poor, parch'd 
 
 lips 
 Did murmur forth the story of her guilt, 
 Which sore afflicted me. Dost thou recall 
 The countless letters thou didst write to Heloise, 
 And which to Agaton I did deliver ? 
 Ahelard (impatiently). Well ! well ! 
 Philintus. With threats and vile endeavours 
 
 too successful, 
 Did Anselm, false and perjured Anselm, worm 
 Them from the maid, who fear'd her soul's 
 
 damnation. 
 So never one of all thy words reach'd Heloise, 
 And ne'er a note of Heloise reach'd thee ; 
 But all were giv'n to this villain, who compos'd 
 Of all those notes harmonious a most profound 
 
 discord ! 
 Abelard. Chill time has cool'd my once hot 
 
 blood ; 
 Tempestuous rage requires all youth's vigour 
 To sustain it. O cruel, fiendish villain ! 
 To blight two loving hearts without a cause ! 
 I dare not think too much on 't, for fear 
 My days be spent in vain regret, not work. 
 O Justice ! thy bandaged eyes are blind indeed. 
 Thy sword with rust corrodes, or never 
 Turpitude like this unpunished had been ! 
 
 K 
 
146 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Philintus. This earth were not earth at all if 
 wickedness 
 Thriv'd not more than honesty. Fulbert is dead ; 
 
 Anselm is rais'd 
 To be Archbishop in his stead. 
 
 Ahelard (musing). Canst tell me, Philintus, 
 why the good are taken 
 And the wicked left behind ? 
 
 Philintus. The good are taken from the trouble 
 yet to come ; 
 The wicked stay that more may be their 
 share. 
 Abelard. My friend ! many strange events by 
 chance^ occur, 
 That, strive we how we may, never hap 
 By work;;alone. 
 
 {Enter a Monk hastily.) 
 
 Monk. Hold yourself in readiness, I pray ! 
 His Majesty the King himself doth honour you 
 By coming here. 
 
 Abelard. The strumpet Fame, like Aphrodite 
 of Paphos, 
 Tho' she be Corruption's self, kings do worship 
 
 her. 
 An evil-doer patt'd on the back by Fortune 
 Is the welcome guest of monarchy, whilst 
 Modest merit pines thro' cold neglect. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 147 
 
 Go, Philintus ! see to my duties i' the chapel, 
 Whilst I a king receive ! 
 
 [Exit Philintus. 
 
 (Fanfare. Enter King of France, Anselm, 
 now Archbishop of Paris, Attendants, 
 Courtiers, Pages, Priests, etc.) 
 
 King of France. 'Tis a monarch's privilege 
 and glory 
 To seek those sons of fame who lend 
 Honour to their country. Renowned Abelard, 
 Hither have we come to tender thee our thanks 
 For thy learning's services to France. 
 
 Abelard (with an obeisance and covert sarcasm). 
 Happy is that country whose king 
 Looks to his people's welfare ! Whom justice, 
 And not party spirit, sways ; whose mind 
 Doth scorn the fickle tongue of flatterers and 
 
 rises 
 Eagle-like to heav'n for the truth of things, 
 Which he ne'er can hear from courtiers. 
 From such a king judges will take pattern 
 And mould their canker'd hearts to his, 
 So ne'er wrongful or unjust sentence be 
 Passed upon the innocent. 
 
 K. of France, Fain would we reward thee^'^for 
 thy work ; 
 Therefore, learned Abelard, we charge thee 
 To speak, and tell us thy desire. 
 
148 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Abelard. My desire is every man's, my liege ; 
 I ask for justice. 'Tis all, and yet therein 
 I feel I ask for more than is on earth. 
 
 K. of France. Think'st thou there is no justice ? 
 
 Abelard. It doth exist — in dreams ! 
 
 K. of France. Thou speak'st as one embitter'd. 
 
 Abelard. When Fate pour'd out my cup of 
 life, my liege, 
 She did forget to sweeten it. Or, mayhap, 
 She poured my share into another's. 
 Who now two portions hath. 
 
 K. of France. Give words to thy complaint. 
 
 Abelard. Let me recall into your thoughts, my 
 hege, 
 A story of the Holy Writ the prophet Nathan 
 Did tell unto King David, and 'tis this. 
 Once there liv'd two men — one rich, one poor ; 
 The rich man had exceeding flocks and herds. 
 The poor man but one ewe lamb. 
 A puny thing it was, but greatly cherish'd. 
 As they who little have alone can love. 
 But lo ! there came a traveller one day. 
 And the rich man took not of his flock, 
 But slew the poor man's one ewe lamb, 
 And left him desolate. 
 
 K. of France. I answer as King David did : 
 He who did this thing shall die ! 
 Thou speak'st in parables ; unfold thyself ! 
 Who is he that wrong' d thee ? 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 149 
 
 Abelard (pointing to Anselm, who in the parable 
 has recognised himself as the rich maUy and 
 shrinks before the accusing eye and voice 
 of Abelard). There stands the whited 
 sepulchre : 
 So mild to outward view, so full of hate within ! 
 Full fifteen years gone by, by methods devilish 
 He me part'd from my love. 
 
 K. of France. Alas ! I do remember well that 
 sad and woeful tale 
 Of two who lov*d so true and tenderly. 
 Did Anselm work this cruel thing ? 
 (To Anselm) My Lord Archbishop, answer to this 
 charge ! 
 Abelard. What matter his words when guilt 
 Is writ upon his mien and countenance ? 
 
 K. of France (to Anselm). What the King 
 hath giv'n, the King can take away. 
 We shrive thee of all honours, tho' the pain 
 Of just remorse belongs to Higher Hands ; 
 'Tis the lightning power beyond the commands 
 Of earthly potentates. 
 
 Anselm. O woe ! Guilt's punishment is 
 doubled 
 When it falleth on old age. Misfortune's mael- 
 strom 
 Sucks us down, and vigour being gone, 
 We have no pow'r left wherewith to wrestle ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
150 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 K. of France. Art thou satisfied now ? 
 Abelard. Can sated vengeance sorrow heal ? 
 Or present smiHng fortune hide the scars 
 Of suffering past ? 
 
 K. of France. Nor Heav'n's King himself can 
 make 
 That which has been ne'er to have happ'd. 
 Take heart of grace, great Abelard ; the highest 
 
 honours 
 Are in store for thee. 
 
 Abelard. Honours that are thrust on age 
 Come too late, my liege. What is a marble 
 
 tomb 
 To the dead heart beneath that crav'd 
 In life sweet human love and fame ? 
 K. of France (excusatively). So much thou hast 
 assailed been, 
 That all thy bright ability avail'd not 
 In the balance 'gainst thy defects reputed. 
 Tardy recognition is better sure than none. 
 
 Abelard. Kings are nurtur'd in an air of falsity, 
 Like hot-house plants that know not heav'n's 
 
 breath. 
 Yet, being kings, their royalty should clear 
 The atmosphere corrupt that doth surround them. 
 'Tis not enough to be a king : a king should be 
 
 a man; 
 Not heed such idle lying tales that sycophants 
 Do bring him. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 151 
 
 K. of France. Dar'st criticise a king ? 
 Abelard {with affected humility). Nay; I criti- 
 cise but that which men make of him. 
 Many there are that do think a crown 
 Brings every virtue with it. Yet Wisdom, 
 Temperance, Mercy, StabiUty, and Truth 
 Are not vain baubles which monarchs can 
 Acquire as they do the diadem and robes of 
 
 state. 
 The graces of the heart need years of practice 
 To perfect them, my hege. So it be e'er said, 
 The head the crown becomes, not the crown the 
 head. 
 K. of France. Monks are shorn of manners as 
 they 
 Are of hair. 
 
 Abelard. In courts, men's honesty from their 
 souls 
 Is shorn, my liege. 
 
 K. of France. Mannerless priest ! one word of 
 mine 
 Could level thee with the dust ! 
 
 Abelard. There is another King 'fore whom all 
 men 
 Are equal. One word of His, my liege, 
 And you and earth would chaos be. 
 Lesser fears are e'er by the greater swallow'd ; 
 Therefore, with greater fear upon me, 
 How can I dread the wrath of temporal power ? 
 
152 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 K. of France. Thy priest's robe saves thee 
 from mine anger ! 
 Farewell, proud man ! we shall not meet again. 
 
 (Exit, followed hy Attendants, Priests, Cour- 
 tiers, etc.) 
 
 Ahelard {alone). Will a king's robe save him 
 from retribution 
 For his many deeds of cruelty and wrong ? 
 O Guilt ! thou art more damning in proportion 
 To the offender's rank ! 
 
 (Enter Philintus.) 
 
 Ahelard. What tidings, Philintus ? 
 
 Philintus. Alas ! they are grievous. 
 
 Ahelard. All tidings are ill to me of late. 
 But what is this new one ? Methought 
 That sorrow had no shaft that she 
 Had not against me sped. 
 
 Philintus {aside). Unhappy messenger that 
 I am ! 
 More hapless than the story to be told ! 
 (Aloud) Dear Abelard ! one of the renown'd 
 
 lights 
 Of our Church is dead — extinguished ! 
 
 Ahelard. Let masses be said for the soul 
 depart'd. 
 See to 't at once ! But stay, who was't ? 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 153 
 
 Philintus (with emotion he endeavours to sup- 
 press). An abbess. 
 Ahelard (meditatingly). Did she come within 
 my jurisdiction ? 
 
 Death is a cold journey we all must take. 
 
 Philintus {aside). Will he apply that chill 
 philosophy 
 
 To his own affliction ? 
 
 (Aloud) Thou didst know her, Abelard. She 
 was thy star 
 
 For good and evil in this life — thy Heloise ! 
 Ahelard (after a pause, in which he appears 
 stunned with horror and astonishment. He 
 speaks in a voice of intense emotion). Dead, 
 say'st thou ? Then say no masses for 
 her, 
 
 But let us pray to her that she should pray for 
 us. 
 
 She, the fairest angel of them all in heav'n. 
 
 Dead, say'st thou ? But no, I'll not believe thee ; 
 
 'Tis a trick to lure me to her. Come ! say 'twas 
 
 A falsehood told for love, and I'll forgive thee ; 
 
 Ay, love thee more for teUing it, Philintus. 
 
 Death dare not claim the good and beautiful, 
 
 And leave the old and wicked still to hve. 
 
 The grisly shape would fear to touch her, 
 
 So much was she of glowing hfe the image. 
 
 Philintus. Alas ! would that I had died 
 instead ! 
 
154 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Ahelard. My friend ! she is not dead. The 
 stars that shoot 
 Athwart the firmament but change their places ; 
 So she hath places changed, but liveth still 
 Where we with human eyes can never follow. 
 
 Philintus. Take what comfort that thou canst 
 of grief ; 
 Nature's sweet relief it is to sorrow for the dead. 
 
 Ahelard, Of what disease died she ? 
 
 Philintus. 'Twas said of a broken heart. 
 
 A belard. But when my eyes did last behold her^ 
 She seemed well. 
 
 Philintus. The Master of all good hath said 
 Appearances lie more than words. 
 
 Ahelard. I kill'd her by my harshness, 
 And mask'd the blow in duty's name 
 To make it less severe. 
 
 Philintus. Reproach not thyself ; 'twas fated 
 thus, 
 And mortal hand had naught to do with it. 
 Yet, 'tis passing strange she liv'd so long 
 Without thee, and, when thou cam'st, to die. 
 
 Ahelard. Prosperity destroys thousands, but 
 adversity 
 Tens of thousands. Her life hung upon 
 A hope, the hope to be with me once more. 
 Alas, that I should say it ! And when I cut. 
 Like Atropos, the slender thread that held her. 
 She fled from earth. 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 155 
 
 Philmtus. Life's a battle ! She is at peace. 
 Be thankful that her wars are o'er. 
 The messenger who brought these tidings did 
 
 avow 
 That at the Paraclete confusion reigns supreme, 
 Like a braid'd hive when the queen bee's flown ! 
 A helard. Go thou unto the Convent and arrange 
 All fitting obsequies for my belov'd. 
 Spare not state, and say I'll come anon. 
 Bid them clothe her form in vestments sacred, 
 Which yet will be more holy by the contact 
 With her person noble. Let white-stol'd priests 
 Prolonged masses 'cite beside her relics cold. 
 Since it is the custom ; her spirit 
 Needs no such help. What slaves are we to habit, 
 That, when an angel lives and dies amongst us, 
 We needs must pray for her, as tho' her life 
 Was not a supplication far more worth 
 Than empty words of deedless hypocrites. 
 
 Philintus. I will look to the mournful rites, 
 As thou thyself wouldst do. [^Exit, 
 
 Ahelard {alone). Come, Death ! twin-brothei of 
 
 unlighten'd Sorrow, 
 And be my night of rest ! Hold forth thine icy 
 
 hand. 
 And clasp my living one in thine, and I will bless 
 
 thee ! 
 Come, sit beside me, and I will welcome thee 
 As never man has welcomed friend ! Be my guest. 
 
156 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 And I will entertain thee like a king, altho' thy 
 
 retinue 
 Be endless, mute, and terrible ! Then, king-like, 
 
 thou 
 Must ask me back unto thy land, and I will 
 
 prove 
 Thy loyal subject, not to leave thee ever. 
 O God ! that what we pray for most should be 
 Grant'd in the least degree ! When she Uv'd, 
 Duty did come first ; now, she's gone, 
 Love's recollection bows my spirit to the earth, 
 And duty seems but mockery. 
 
 {As Abelard soliloquises, he gradually and al- 
 most imperceptibly changes from the cold- 
 hearted ascetic priest to the wild dreamer.) 
 
 How strange it is that, ere we leave the world, 
 There comes a time when youth's sweet vernal 
 
 days 
 Flow back upon the mem'ry, like a tide 
 Upon the strand, which age and grief have 
 
 parch'd ! 
 Each trivial act and thought is magnified, and 
 
 assumes 
 Aspect so portentous, that things of moment 
 Oft are lost within them ! I recollect Heloise 
 Did love to see me clad in gallant garb. 
 Not cloth' d in this dull habit. But why recall 
 This pretty whim ? What greater grief is there 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 157 
 
 Than thoughts of pleasure past when misery is 
 
 near ? 
 O hell ! thou hast no torture like to mem'ry ! 
 4: ♦ :> 4: « * 
 
 There's something in the air. 'Tis passing warm ; 
 I'll ope the casement, and let the wind blow in. 
 
 (Abelard opens the casement, and the place, 
 hitherto dark, is suddenly overspread by a 
 flood of moonlight. He appears to change 
 still more, as he passionately apostrophises 
 the dead Heloise in words of mingled grief 
 and sadness. His old-time self — the ardour 
 of his youthful love — seems to rejuvenate 
 him.) 
 
 Where, O my belov'd, do now thy footsteps fall ? 
 Canst, from where thou art, hear my plaintive 
 
 caU? 
 Oh ! for one brief hour to have thee back once 
 
 more, 
 To learn that there is meeting when mortal hfe 
 
 is o'er ! 
 Now Fancy — cruel spirit ! — doth the passions 
 
 rouse, 
 Calling voiceless phantoms from her charnel-house. 
 They wear bright living colours, hapless man to 
 
 show 
 Life's elusive joys — and the reality of woe. 
 
158 ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 Hear, O my belov'd ! each chalic'd flow'r dear 
 Lowly hangs her head and drops a dewy tear. 
 The song-birds silent brood, the hills are grey 
 
 and stern, 
 Since Heloise has gone, and never must return. 
 Nature rules by changes. The seasons come and 
 
 go: 
 Summer deck'd in flowers. Winter wrapp'd in 
 
 snow. 
 'Midst the world's mutation I am changeless now, 
 Since sorrow hath with wither'd leaves endiadem'd 
 
 my brow. 
 
 (In the flood of the moonlight the shade of Heloise 
 is seen slowly to disclose itself.) 
 
 Heloise ! thou who wert the sunshine of my life, 
 Which without thee is like night. 
 Take me hence with thee ! 
 
 4( 4: * * H( * 
 
 Hear me ! Hear me ! 
 Heloise, my belov'd ! O take me hence ! 
 And in that space of blue infinitude 
 Let us together be ! Or let us sleep 
 Deep and dreamless in the breast of earth ; 
 I care not which — so that I am with thee. 
 I tortured thee in life, and now in death 
 Thou rackest me with fond remembrance 
 Of sacrificed love ! Take me hence ! 
 'Twas for thee alone I sought renown ! 
 
ABELARD AND HELOISE 159 
 
 When men applaud'd, I did think of thee 
 
 And how my fame would please thee. 
 
 Like the sun, thou shon'st on me from far, 
 
 Knowing not that thou didst generate 
 
 My better self unto a noble ferment 
 
 'Gainst injustice and the thousand persecutions 
 
 Which e'er beset new thought. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Christ, sweet Christ is merciful ! 
 None did yet appeal to Him in vain. 
 He doth grant the contrite heart its peace, 
 When bniis'd and wound'd in life's battle. 
 
 (The shade of Heloise stretches her arms towards 
 Abelard.) 
 
 I may come then, and shall not be divid'd 
 
 more ! 
 Where now is thy sting, O Death ? Where, Grave, 
 Thy victory ? 
 
 (As the entranced and deranged Abelard moves 
 towards the shade of Heloise, the moon is 
 suddenly obscured hy a sombre cloud and 
 wraps the scene in darkness. Presently the 
 place becomes light again, this time from the 
 torches of Monks who enter, preceded by Phil- 
 INTUS. With an ejaculation of horror and 
 despair, the latter beholds the lifeless form of 
 Abelard on the ground, and sinks beside it 
 
i6o ABELARD AND HELOISE 
 
 in an agony of grief. The Monks kneel 
 reverently and pray for the departed soul of 
 their chief. As they do so, the peals of the 
 organ and the voices of the choir are heard 
 at their orisons, chanting) : — 
 
 " 'Gainst earthly passions, Jesu, pray, 
 Deliver us by night and day ; 
 Unlink those fearful chains that hold 
 Men to lust and thirst of gold. 
 
 Miserere Domine ! " 
 
 THE END 
 
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