 CHAPTERS 1-5 of THE STORY OF MY MISFORTUNES. THE STORY OF MY MISFORTUNES. By Peter Abelard. Translated by Henry Adams Bellows. FORWARD. Often the hearts of men and women are stirred, as likewise they are soothed in their sorrows, more by example than by words. And therefore, because I too have known some consolation from speech had with one who was a witness thereof, am I now minded to write of the sufferings which have sprung out of my misfortunes, for the eyes of one who, though absent, is of himself ever a consoler. This I do so that in comparing your sorrows with mine, you may discover that yours are in truth nought, or at the most but of small account, and so you shall come to bear them more easily. CHAPTER 1. Know then that I am come from a certain town which was built on the way into Lesser Brittany, distant some eight miles as I think eastward from the city of Nantes, and in its own tongue called Palais. Such is the nature of that country, or it may be of them who dwell there, for in truth they are quick infancy, that my mind bent itself easily to the study of letters. Yet more I had a father who had won some smattering of letters before he had girded on the soldier's belt. And so it came about that long afterwards his love thereof was so strong that he saw to it that each son of his should be taught in letters even earlier than in the management of arms. Thus indeed did it come to pass, and because I was his firstborn, and for that reason the more dear to him, he sought with double diligence to have me wisely taught. For my part the more I went forward in the study of letters, and ever more easily the greater became the ardour of my devotion to them, until in truth I was so enthralled by my passion for learning that gladly leaving to my brothers the pomp of glory in arms, the rite of heritage and all the honours that should have been mine as the eldest born, I fled utterly from the court of Mars that I might win learning in the bosom of Minerva. And since I found the armory of logical reasoning more to my liking than the other forms of philosophy, I exchanged all other weapons for these, and to the prizes of victory in war I preferred the battle of minds in disputation. Since forth journeying through many provinces, and debating as I went, going wither so ever I heard that the study of my chosen art most flourished, I became such-and-one as the peripatetics. CHAPTER II. I came at length to Paris, where above all in those days the art of dialectics was most flourishing, and there did I meet William of Champau, my teacher, a man most distinguished in his science both by his renown and by his true merit. With him I remained for some time, at first indeed well liked of him, but later I brought him great grief, because I undertook to refute certain of his opinions, not infrequently attacking him in disputation, and now and then in these debates I was a judged victor. Now this to those among my fellow students who were ranked foremost seemed all the more insufferable because of my youth and the brief duration of my studies. Out of this sprang the beginning of my misfortunes, which have followed me even to the present day. The more widely my fame was spread abroad, the more bitter was the envy that was kindled against me. It was given out that I, presuming on my gifts far beyond the warranty of my youth, was aspiring despite my tender years to the leadership of a school, nay more that I was making ready the very place in which I would undertake this task, the place being none other than the castle of Milan, at that time a royal seat. My teacher himself had some foreknowledge of this, and tried to remove my school as far as possible from his own. Working in secret, he sought in every way he could, before I left his following, to bring to nought the school I had planned, and the place I had chosen for it. Since however in that very place he had many rivals, and some of the men of influence among the great ones of the land, relying on their aid, I went to the fulfilment of my wish. The support of many was secured for me by reason of his own unconcealed envy. From this small inception of my school, my fame in the art of dialectics began to spread abroad, so that little by little the renown, not alone of those who had been my fellow students, but of our very teacher himself, grew dim, and was like to die out altogether. Thus it came about, that still more confident in myself, I moved my school as soon as I well might to the castle of Corpey, which is hard by the city of Paris. For there I knew there would be given more frequent chance for my assaults in our battle of disputation. No long time thereafter I was smitten with a grievous illness, brought upon me by my immoderate zeal for study. This illness forced me to turn homeward to my native province, and thus for some years I was as if cut off from France. And yet for that very reason I was sought out all the more eagerly by those whose hearts were troubled by the law of dialectics. But after a few years had passed, and I was whole again from my sickness, I learned that my teacher, that same William Archdeacon of Paris, had changed his former garb and joined an order of the regular clergy. This he had done, or so men said, in order that he might be deemed more deeply religious, but so might be elevated to a loftier rank in the prelacy, a thing which in truth very soon came to pass, for he was made bishop of Chalon. Nevertheless the garb he had donned by reason of his conversion did not to keep him away either from the city of Paris or from his woned study of philosophy, and in the very monastery wherein he had shut himself up for the sake of religion, he straightway set to teaching again after the same fashion as before. To him did I return, for I was eager to learn more of rhetoric from his lips, and in the course of our many arguments on various matters I compelled him by most potent reasoning first to alter his former opinion on the subject of the universals, and finally to abandon it altogether. Now the basis of this old concept of his regarding the reality of universal ideas was that the same quality formed the essence alike of the abstract whole and of the individuals which wear its parts. In other words, that there could be no essential differences among these individuals, all being alike save for such variety as might grow out of the many accidents of existence. Thereafter, however, he corrected this opinion, no longer maintaining that the same quality was the essence of all things, but that rather it manifested itself in them through diverse ways. This problem of universals is ever the most vexed one among logicians. To such a decree indeed, that even Porphyry writing in his Isagoge regarding universals dared not attempt a final pronouncement thereon, saying rather, this is the deepest of all problems of its kind. Therefore it followed that when William had first revised, and then finally abandoned altogether, his views on this one subject, his lecturing sank into such a state of negligent reasoning that it could scarce be called lecturing on the science of dialectics at all. It was as if all his science had been bound up in this one question of the nature of universals. Thus it came about that my teaching won such strength and authority that even those who before had clung most vehemently to my former master, and most bitterly attacked my doctrines, now flocked to my school. The very man who had succeeded to my master's chair in the Paris school offered me his post, in order that he might put himself under my tutelage along with all the rest, and this in the very place where of old his master and mine had reigned. And when, in so short a time, my master saw me directing the study of dialectics there, it is not easy to find words to tell with what envy he was consumed, or with what pain he was tormented. He could not long in truth bear the anguish of what he felt to be his wrongs, and shrewdly he attacked me that he might drive me forth. And because there was naught in my conduct whereby he could come at me openly, he tried to steal away the school by launching the vilest calamities against him who had yielded his post to me, and by putting in his place a certain rival of mine. So then I returned to Milan, and set up my school there as before, and the more openly his envy pursued me, the greater was the authority it conferred upon me. Even so held the poet. Jealousy aims at the peaks, the winds storm the loftiest summits. Ovid, remedy for love, book one, line three, six, nine. Not long thereafter, when William became aware of the fact that almost all his students were holding grave doubts as to his religion, and were whispering earnestly among themselves about his conversion, deeming that he had by no means abandoned this world, he withdrew himself and his brotherhood, together with his students, to a certain estate far distant from the city. Forthwith I returned from Milan to Paris, hoping for peace from him in the future. But since, as I have said, he had caused my place to be occupied by a rival of mine. I pitched the camp, as it were, of my school outside the city on Mont-Saint-Jeunet-Vierve. Thus I was as one laying siege to him who had taken possession of my post. No sooner had my master heard of this, than he brazenly returned post-haste to the city, bringing back with him such students as he could, and reinstating his brotherhood in their former monastery, much as if he would free his soldiery whom he had deserted from my blockade. In truth, though, if it was his purpose to bring them succour, he did nought but hurt them. Before that time, my rival had indeed had a certain number of students, at one sort and another, chiefly by reason of his lectures on Prisian, in which he was considered of great authority. After our master had returned, however, he lost nearly all of these followers, and thus was compelled to give up the direction of the school. Not long thereafter, apparently despairing further of worldly fame, he was converted to the monastic life. Following the return of our master to the city, the combats in disputation which my scholars waged both with him himself and with his pupils, and the successes which fortune gave to us, and above all to me in these wars, you have long since learned of through your own experience. The boast of Ajax, though I speak it more temperately, I still am bold enough to make. If fame you would learn now how victory crowned the battle, by him was I never vanquished. Ovid Metamorphoses, book 13, line 89. But even where I to be silent, the fact proclaims itself, and its outcome reveals the truth regarding it. While these things were happening, it became needful for me again to repair to my old home, by reason of my dear mother, Lucia, for after the conversion of my father, Berengarius, to the monastic life, she so ordered her affairs as to do likewise. When all this had been completed I returned to France, above all in order that I might study theology. Since now my oft-mentioned teacher William was active in the Episcopal of Chalon. In this held of learning, Anselm of Laon, who was his teacher therein, had for long years enjoyed the greatest renown. Chapter 3 Sought out, therefore, this same venerable man, whose fame in truth was more the result of long-established custom than of the potency of his own talent or intellect. If any one came to him impelled by doubt on any subject, he went away more doubtful still. He was wonderful indeed in the eyes of those who only listened to him, but those who asked him questions perforce held him as nought. He had a miraculous flock of words, but they were contemptible in meaning and quite void of reason. When he kindled a fire he filled his house with smoke and illumined it not at all. He was a tree which seemed noble to those who gazed upon its leaves from afar, but to those who came nearer and examined it more closely was revealed its barrenness. Then therefore I had come to this tree that I might pluck the fruit thereof. I discovered that it was indeed the fig-tree which our Lord cursed. Matthew chapter 21, verse 19, Mark 11, 13, or that ancient oak to which Lucan likened Pompey, saying, he stands the shade of a name once mighty, like to the towering oak in the midst of the fruitful field. Lucan, Pharsalia, book 4, line 135. It was not long before I made this discovery and stretched myself lazily in the shade of that same tree. I went to his lectures less and less often, a thing which some among his eminent followers took sorely to heart because they interpreted it as a mark of contempt for so illustrious a teacher. Thenceforth they secretly sought to influence him against me, and by their vile insinuations made me hated of him. It chanced moreover that one day, after the exposition of certain texts, we scholars were jesting among ourselves, and one of them seeking to draw me out, asked me what I thought of the lectures on the books of Scripture. I, who had as yet studied only the sciences, replied that following such lectures seemed to me most useful insofar as the salvation of the soul was concerned, but that it appeared quite extraordinary to me that educated persons should not be able to understand the sacred books simply by studying them themselves, together with the glosses thereon, and without the aid of any teacher. Most of those who were present mocked at me, and asked whether I myself could do as I had said, or whether I would dare to undertake it. I answered that if they wished I was ready to try it. Forthwith they cried out and jeered all the more. And good, said they, we agree to the test, pick out and give us an exposition of some doubtful passage in the Scriptures so that we can put this boast of yours to the proof, and they all chose that most obscure prophecy of Ezekiel. I accepted the challenge, and invited them to attend a lecture on the very next day, whereupon they undertook to give me good advice, saying that I should by no means make undue haste in so important a matter, but that I ought to devote a much longer space to working out my exposition and offsetting my inexperience by diligent toil. To this I replied indignantly that it was my won't to win success, not by routine, but by ability. I added that I would abandon the test altogether unless they would agree not to put off their attendance at my lecture. In truth, at this first lecture of mine, only a few were present, for it seemed quite absurd to all of them that I, hitherto so inexperienced in discussing the Scriptures, should attempt the things so hastily. However, this lecture gave such satisfaction to all those who heard it that they spread its praises abroad with notable enthusiasm, and thus compelled me to continue my interpretation of the sacred text. One word of this was brooded about, those who had stayed away from the first lecture came eagerly, some to the second and more to the third, and all of them were eager to write down the glosses which I had begun on the first day, so as to have them from the very beginning. Chapter 4 Now this venerable man of whom I have spoken was acutely smitten with envy, and straight way incited, as I have already mentioned, by the insinuations of sundry persons, began to persecute me for my lecturing on the Scriptures, no less bitterly than my former master William had done for my work in philosophy. At that time there were in this old man's school two who were considered far to excel all the others, Albrech of Reims and Lotulph de Lombard. The better opinion these two held of themselves, the more they were incensed against me. Chiefly at their suggestion, as it afterwards transpired, yonder venerable coward had the impudence to forbid me to carry on any further in his school the work of preparing glosses which I had thus begun. The pretext he alleged was that if by chance, in the course of this work, I should write anything containing blunders, as was likely enough in view of my lack of training, the thing might be imputed to him. When this came to the ears of his scholars they were filled with indignation and so undisguised a manifestation of spite, the like of which had never been directed against anyone before. The more obvious this ranker became, the more it redounded to my honour, and his persecution did not save to make me more famous. CHAPTER V And so after a few days I returned to Paris, and there for several years I peacefully directed the school which formerly had been destined for me, nay, even offered to me, but from which I had been driven out. At the very outset of my work there, I set about completing the glosses on Ezekiel which I had begun at Laon. These proved so satisfactory to all who read them that they came to believe me no less adept in lecturing on theology than I had proved myself to be in the hell of philosophy. Thus my school was notably increased in size by reason of my lectures on subjects of both these kinds, and the amount of financial profit as well as glory which it brought me cannot be concealed from you, for the matter was widely talked of. But prosperity always puffs up the foolish and worldly comfort enervates the soul, rendering it an easy prey to carnal temptations. Thus I, who by this time had come to regard myself as the only philosopher remaining in the whole world, and had ceased to fear any further disturbance of my peace, began to loosen the rain on my desires, although hitherto I had always lived in the utmost continence. And the greater progress I made in my lecturing on philosophy or theology, the more I departed alike from the practice of the philosophers and the spirit of the Divines in the uncleanness of my life. For it is well known, me thinks, that philosophers, and still more those who have devoted their lives to arousing the love of sacred study, have been strong above all else in the beauty of chastity. Thus did it come to pass that while I was utterly absorbed in pride and sensuality, divine grace, the cure for both diseases, was forced upon me, even though I for sooth would feign have shunned it. First I was punished for my sensuality and then for my pride. For my sensuality I lost those things whereby I practised it. For my pride engendered in me by my knowledge of letters, and it is even as the apostle said, knowledge puffeth itself up. One Corinthians chapter 8 verse 1, I knew the humiliation of seeing burned the very book in which I most gloried. And now it is my desire that you should know the stories of these two happenings, understanding them more truly from learning the very facts than from hearing what is spoken of them and in the order in which they came about. Because I had ever held in abhorrence the foulness of prostitutes, because I had diligently kept myself from all excesses, and from association with the women of noble birth who attended the school, because I knew so little of the common talk of ordinary people, perverse and subtly flattering chants gave birth to an occasion for casting me lightly down from the heights of my own exultation. Nay, in such case not even divine goodness could redeem one who having been so proud was brought to such shame. Were it not for the blessed gift of grace, end of the chapter 5. Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 6 and 7 of The Story of My Misfortune This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson. The Story of My Misfortune by Peter Abelard. Translated by Henry Adams Bellow. Chapter 6 Now there dwelt in that same city of Paris a certain young girl named Eloise, the niece of a cannon who was called Fulbert. Her uncle's love for her was equaled only by his desire that she should have the best education which she could possibly procure for her. With no mean beauty she stood out above all by reason of her abundant knowledge of letters. Now this virtue is rare among women, and for that very reason it doubly graced the maiden and made her the most worthy of renown in the entire kingdom. It was this young girl whom I, after carefully considering all those qualities which are won't to attract lovers, determined to unite with myself in the bonds of love. And indeed the things seemed to me very easy to be done. So distinguished was my name, and I possessed such advantages of youth and comeliness that no matter what woman I might favour with my love I dreaded rejection of none. Then too I believed that I could win the maiden's consent all the more easily by reason of her knowledge of letters and her zeal, therefore. So even if we were parted we might yet be together in thought with the aid of written messages, but chance too we might be able to write more boldly than we could speak, and thus at all times could we live in joyous intimacy. Thus utterly aflame with my passion for this maiden I sought to discover means whereby I might have daily and familiar speech with her, thereby the more easily to win her consent. For this purpose I persuaded the girl's uncle, with the aid of some of his friends, to take me into his household, for he dwelt hard by my school in return for the payment of a small sum. My pretext for this maiden was that the care of my own household was a serious handicap to my studies, and likewise burdened me with an expense far greater than I could afford. Now he was a man keen in avarice, and likewise he was most desirous for his niece that her study of letters should ever go forward. So for these two reasons I easily won his consent to the fulfilment of my wish, for he was fairly a gape for my money, and at the same time believed that his niece would vastly benefit by my teaching. More even than this, by his own earnest entreaties, he fell in with my desires beyond anything I had dared to hope, opening the way for my love. For he entrusted her wholly to my guidance, begging me to give her instruction whensoever I might be free from the duties of my school, no matter whether by day or by night, and to polish her sternly if ever I should find her negligent of her tasks. In all this the man's simplicity was nothing short of astounding to me. I should not have been more smitten with wonder if he had entrusted a tender lamb to the care of a ravenous wolf. When he had thus given her into my charge, not alone to be taught but even to be disciplined, what had he done save to give free scope to my desires, and to offer me every opportunity, even if I had not sorted, to bend her to my will with threats and blows if I failed to do so with caresses. There were, however, two things which particularly served to allay any foul suspicion, his own love for his niece, and my former reputation for continence. Why should I say more? We were united first in the dwelling that sheltered our love, and then in the hearts that burned with it. Under the pretext of study we spent our hours in the happiness of love, and learning held out to us the secret opportunities that our passion craved. Our speech was more of love than of the book which lay open before us. Our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned words. Our hands sought less the book than each other's bosoms. Love drew our eyes together far more than the lesson drew them to the pages of our text. In order that there might be no suspicion they were indeed sometimes blows, but love gave them not anger. They were the marks not of wrath, but of a tenderness surpassing the most fragrant balm in sweetness. What followed? No degree in love's progress was left untried by our passion, and if love itself could imagine any wonder as yet unknown, we discovered it. And our inexperience of such delights made us all the more ardent in our pursuit of them, so that our thirst for one another was still unquenched. In measure as this passionate rapture absorbed me more and more, I devoted ever less time to philosophy than to the work of the school. Indeed it became loathsome to me to go to the school or to linger there. The labour, moreover, was very burdensome, since my nights were vigils of love and my days of study. My lecturing became utterly careless and lukewarm. I did nothing because of inspiration, but everything merely as a matter of habit. I had become nothing more than a reciter of my former discoveries, and though I still wrote poems, they dealt with love, not with the secrets of philosophy. Of these songs you yourself well know how some have become widely known and have been sung in many lands. Chiefly, me thinks, by those who delighted in the things of this world. As for the sorrow, the groans, the lamentations of my students when they perceived the preoccupation may rather the chaos of my mind. It is hard even to imagine them. A thing so manifest could deceive only a few. No one me thinks save him whose shame it chiefly bespoke, the girl's uncle, Fulbert. The truth was often enough hinted to him and by many persons, but he could not believe it. Partly as I have said, by reason of his boundless love for his niece, and partly because of the well-known continence of my previous life. Indeed, we do not easily suspect shame in those whom we most cherish, nor can there be the blocked of foul suspicion on devoted love. Of this Saint Jerome in his epistle to Sabinianus, Epistle I, 48, says, We are wont to be the last to know the evils of our own households, and to be ignorant of the sins of our children and our wives, though our neighbours sing them aloud. But no matter how slow a matter may be in disclosing itself, it is sure to come forth at last, nor is it easy to hide from one what is known to all. So, after the lapse of several months, did it happen with us? Oh, how great was the uncle's grief when he learned the truth, and how bitter was the sorrow of the lovers when we were forced to part. With what shame was I overwhelmed, with what contrition smitten because of the blow which had fallen on her I loved, and what a tempest of misery burst over her by reason of my disgrace. Each grieved most not for himself but for the other. Each sought to allay not his own sufferings but those of the one he loved. The very sundering of our bodies served but to link our souls closer together. The plenitude of the love which was denied to us inflamed us more than ever. Once the first wildness of shame had passed. It left us more shameless than before, and as shame died within us, the cause of it seemed to us ever more desirable. And so it chanced with us as in the stories that the poets tell it once happened with Mars and Venus when they were caught together. It was not long after this that Eloise found that she was pregnant, and of this she wrote to me in the utmost exultation, at the same time asking me to consider what had best be done. Accordingly, on a night when her uncle was absent we carried out the plan we had determined on, and I stole her secretly away from her uncle's house, sending her without delay to my own country. She remained there with my sister until she gave birth to a son whom she named Astrolabe. Meanwhile her uncle after his return was almost mad with grief. Only one who had then seen him could rightly guess the burning agony of his sorrow and the bitterness of his shame. What steps to take against me or what snares to set for me he did not know. If he should kill me or do me some bodily hurt he feared greatly lest his dear loved niece should be made to suffer for it among my kin's folk. He had no power to seize me and imprison me somewhere against my will, though I make no doubt he would have done so quickly enough had he been able or dared, for I had taken measures to guard against any such attempt. At length, however, in pity for his boundless grief, and bitterly blaming myself for the suffering which my love had brought upon him through the baseness of the deception I had practised, I went to him to entreat his forgiveness, promising to make any amends that he himself might decree. I pointed out that what had happened could not seem incredible to anyone who had ever felt the power of love, or who remembered how from the very beginning of the human race women had cast down even the noblest men to utter ruin. And in order to make amends, even beyond his extremest hope, I offered to marry her whom I had seduced, provided only the thing could be kept secret, so that I might suffer no loss of reputation thereby. To this he gladly assented, pledging his own faith and that of his kindred, and sealing with kisses the pact which I had sought of him, and all this that he might the more easily betray me. Chapter 7 Fourth width I repaired to my own country, and brought back thence my mistress that I might make her my wife. She, however, most violently disapproved of this, and for two chief reasons. The danger that I would be in danger thereof, and the disgrace which it would bring upon me. She swore that her uncle would never be appeased by such satisfaction as this, as indeed afterwards proved only too true. She asked how she could ever glory in me if she should make me thus inglorious, and should shame herself along with me. What penalties, she said, would the world rightly demand of her if she should rob it of so shining a light? What curses would follow such a loss to the church? What tears among the philosophers would result from such a marriage? How unfitting, how lamentable it would be for me whom nature had made for the whole world, to devote myself to one woman solely, and to subject myself to such humiliation? She vehemently rejected this marriage, which she felt would be in every way ignominious and burdensome to me. Besides dwelling thus on the disgrace to me, she reminded me of the hardships of married life, to the avoidance of which the apostle exhorts us, saying, Art thou loosed from a wife, seek not a wife. But, and if thou marry, thou hast not sinned, and if a virgin marry, she has not sinned, nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh. But I spare you. 1 Corinthians 7 verse 27 And again, but I would have you to be free from cares. 1 Corinthians 7 verse 32 But if I would heed neither the counsel of the apostle, nor the exhortations of the saints regarding this heavy yoke of matrimony, she bade me at least consider the advice of the philosophers, and weigh carefully what had been written on this subject, either by them or concerning their lives. Even the saints themselves have often and earnestly spoken on this subject for the purpose of warning us. Thus Saint Jerome, in his first book against Jovinianus, makes Theophrastus set forth in great detail the intolerable annoyances and the endless disturbances of married life, demonstrating with the most convincing arguments that no wise man should ever have a wife, and concluding his reasons for this philosophic exhortation with these words. Who among Christians would not be overwhelmed by such arguments as these advanced by Theophrastus? Again, in the same work Saint Jerome tells how Cicero, asked by Irecus, after his divorce of Terentia, whether he would marry the sister of Irecus, replied that he would do no such thing, saying that he could not devote himself to a wife and to philosophy at the same time. Cicero does not indeed precisely speak of devoting himself, but he does add that he did not wish to undertake anything which might rival his study of philosophy in its demands upon him. Then, turning from the consideration of such hindrances to the study of philosophy, Eloise made me observe what were the conditions of honourable wedlock. What possible concord could there be between scholars and domestics, between authors and cradles, between books or tablets and distafs, between the stylus or the pen and the spindle. What man intent on his religious or philosophical meditations can possibly endure the whining of children, the lullabies of the nurse seeking to quiet them, or the noisy confusion of family life? Who can endure the continual untidiness of children? The rich, you may reply, can do this, because they have palaces or houses containing many rooms, and because their wealth takes no thought of expense and protects them from daily worries. But to this the answer is that the condition of philosophers is by no means that of the wealthy, nor can those whose minds are occupied with riches and worldly cares find time for religious or philosophical study. For this reason the renowned philosophers of old utterly despised the world, fleeing from its perils rather than reluctantly giving them up, and denied themselves all its delights in order that they might repose in the embraces of philosophy alone. One of them, and the greatest of all, Seneca, in his advice to Lucilius, says, philosophy is not a thing to be studied only in hours of leisure. We must give up everything else to devote ourselves to it, for no amount of time is really sufficient there, too. Epistle 73 It matters little, she pointed out, whether one abandons the study of philosophy completely or merely interrupts it, for it can never remain at the point where it was thus interrupted. All other occupations must be resisted. It is vain to seek to adjust life to include them, and they must simply be eliminated. This view is maintained, for example, in the love of God by those among us who are truly called monastics, and in the love of wisdom by all those who have stood out among men as sincere philosophers. For in every race, Gentiles or Jews or Christians, there have always been a few who excelled their fellows in faith, or in the purity of their lives, and who were set apart from the multitude by their continents or by their abstinence from worldly pleasures. Among the Jews of old there were the Nazarites who consecrated themselves to the Lord, some of them the sons of the prophet Elias, and others the followers of Elisaus, the monks of whom, on the authority of Saint Jerome, epistle I, IV and XIII, we read in the Old Testament. More recently there were the three philosophical sects which Josephus defines in his book of Antiquities, 18, II, calling them the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes. In our times, furthermore, there are the monks who imitate either the communal life of the apostles or the earlier and solitary life of John. Among the Gentiles there are, as has been said, the philosophers. Did they not apply the name of wisdom or philosophy as much to the religion of life as to the pursuit of learning as we find from the origin of the word itself and likewise from the testimony of the saints? There is a passage on this subject in the eighth book of St. Augustine's City of God wherein he distinguishes between the various schools of philosophy. The Italian school, he says, had as its founder Pythagoras of Samos, who, it is said, originated the very word philosophy. Before his time, those who were regarded as conspicuous for the praiseworthiness of their lives were called wise men. But he, on being asked of his profession, replied that he was a philosopher. That is to say a student or a lover of wisdom because it seemed to him unduly boastful to call himself a wise man. In this passage, therefore, when the phrase conspicuous for the praiseworthiness of their lives is used, it is evident that the wise, in other words, the philosophers were so called less because of their erudition than by reason of their virtuous lives. In what sobriety and continence these men lived it is not for me to prove by illustration lest I should seem to instruct Minerva herself. Now, she added, if laymen and Gentiles, bound by no profession of religion, lived after this fashion, what ought you, a cleric and a canon to do in order not to prefer baseful uptuousness to your sacred duties? To prevent this caribdis from sucking you down headlong? And to save yourself from being plunged shamelessly and irrevocably into such filth as this? If you care nothing for your privileges as a cleric, at least uphold your dignity as a philosopher. If you scorn the reverence due to God, let's regard for your reputation temper your shamelessness. Remember that Socrates was chained to a wife and by what a filthy accident he himself paid for this plot on philosophy, in order that others thereafter might be made more cautious by his example. Jerome thus mentions this affair, writing about Socrates in his first book against Jovinianus. Once, when he was withstanding a storm of reproaches, which Santipe was hurling at him from an upper story, he was suddenly drenched with foul slops. Wiping his head he said only, I knew there would be a shower after all that thunder. Her final argument was that it would be dangerous for me to take her back to Paris and that it would be far sweeter for her to be called my mistress than to be known as my wife. Nay, too, that this would be more honourable for me as well. In such case, she said, love alone would hold me to her and the strength of the marriage chain would not constrain us. Even if we should by chance be parted from time to time, the joy of our meetings would be all the sweeter by reason of its rarity. But when she found that she could not convince me or dissuade me from my folly by these and like arguments and because she could not bear to offend me, with grievous sighs and tears she made an end of her resistance, saying, then there is no more left but this, that in our doom the sorrow yet to come shall be no less than the love we too have already known. Nor in this as now the whole world knows did she lack the spirit of prophecy. So, after our little son was born, we left him in my sister's care and secretly returned to Paris. A few days later in the early morning, having kept our nocturnal vigil of prayer unknown to all in a certain church, we were united there in the benediction of wedlock, her uncle and a few friends of his and mine being present. We departed forthwith stealthily and by separate ways, nor thereafter did we see each other save rarely and in private, thus striving our utmost to conceal what we had done. But her uncle and those of his household seeking solace for their disgrace began to divulge the story of our marriage and thereby to violate the pledge they had given me on this point. Eloise, on the contrary, denounced her own kin and swore that they were speaking the most absolute lies. Her uncle aroused to fury thereby, visited her repeatedly with punishments. No sooner had I learned this than I sent her to a convent of nuns at Argenteuil, not far from Paris, where she herself had been brought up and educated as a young girl. I had them make ready for her all the garments of a nun, suitable for the life of a convent, accepting only the veil, and these I bait her put on. When her uncle and his kinsmen heard of this, they were convinced that now I had completely played them false and had rid myself forever of Eloise by forcing her to become a nun. Violently incensed they laid a plot against me, and one night while I, all unsuspecting, was asleep in a secret room in my lodgings, they broke in with the help of one of my servants, whom they had bribed. There they had vengeance on me with a most cruel and most shameful punishment, such as astounded the whole world, for they cut off those parts of my body with which I had done that which was the cause of their sorrow. This done straightway they fled, but two of them were captured and suffered the loss of their eyes and their genital organs. One of these two was the aforesaid servant, who even while he was still in my service, had been led by his avarice to betray me. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson. The Story of My Misfortune by Peter Abelard translated by Henry Adams Bellows. Chapter 8 When morning came, the whole city was assembled before my dwelling. It is difficult, nay impossible, the words of mine to describe the amazement which bewildered them, the lamentations they uttered, the uproar with which they harassed me, or the grief with which they increased my own suffering. Chiefly the clerics, and above all my scholars, tortured me with their intolerable lamentations and outcries, so that I suffered more intensely from their compassion than from the pain of my wound. In truth I felt the disgrace more than the hurt to my body, and was more afflicted with shame than with pain. My incessant thought was of the renown in which I had so much delighted, now brought low, nay utterly blotted out, so swiftly by an evil chance. I saw too how justly God had punished me in that very part of my body whereby I had sinned. I perceived that there was indeed justice in my betrayal by him whom I had myself already betrayed, and then I thought how eagerly my rivals would seize upon this manifestation of justice, how this disgrace would bring bitter and enduring grief to my kindred and my friends, and how the tale of this amazing outrage would spread to the very ends of the earth. What path lay open to me thereafter? How could I ever again hold up my head among men when every finger should be pointed at me in scorn, every tongue speak my blistering shame, and when I should be a monstrous spectacle to all eyes? I was overwhelmed by the remembrance that according to the dread letter of the law God holds eunuchs in such abomination that men thus maimed are forbidden to enter a church, even as they unclean and filthy. Nay, even beasts in such plight were not acceptable as sacrifices. Thus in Leviticus chapter 22 verse 24 is it said, ye shall not offer unto the Lord that which hath its stones bruised or crushed or broken or cut. And in Deuteronomy 13.1 he that is wounded in the stones or hath his privy member cut off shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord. I must confess that in my misery it was the overwhelming sense of my disgrace, rather than any ardour for conversion to the religious life that drove me to seek the seclusion of the monastic cloister. Eloise had already, at my bidding, taken the veil and entered a convent. Thus it was that we both put on the sacred garb, I in the abbey of Saint Denis, and she in the convent of Argente, of which I have already spoken. She, I remember well, when her fond friend sought vainly to deter her from submitting her fresh youth to the heavy and almost intolerable yoke of monastic life, sobbing and weeping, replied in the words of Cornelia, O husband most noble, who ne'er shouldst have shared my couch, as fortune such power to smite so lofty ahead. Why, then, was I wedded only to bring thee to woe? Receive now, my sorrow, the price I so gladly pay! Lucan, Pharsalia, Book 894 With these words on her lips did she go forthwith to the altar, and lifted there from the veil which had been blessed by the bishop, and before them all she took the vows of the religious life. For my part scarcely had I recovered from my wound, when clerics sought me in great numbers, endlessly beseeching both my abbot and me myself, that now, since I was done with learning for the sake of gain or renown, I should turn to it for the sole love of God. They bade me care diligently for the talent which God had committed to my keeping. Matthew chapter 25 verse 15, since surely he would demand it back from me with interest. It was their plea that in as much as of old I had laboured chiefly in behalf of the rich, I should now devote myself to the teaching of the poor. Therein, above all, should I perceive how it was the hand of God that had touched me, when I should devote my life to the study of letters in freedom from the snares of the flesh, and withdrawn from the tumultuous life of this world. Thus, in truth, should I become a philosopher less of this world than of God. The abbey, however, to which I had betaken myself, was utterly worldly, and in its life quite scandalous. The abbot himself was as far below his fellows in his way of living and in the foulness of his reputation as he was above them in priestly rank. This intolerable state of things I often and vehemently denounced, sometimes in private talk, and sometimes publicly. But the only result was that I made myself detested of them all. They gladly laid hold of the daily eagerness of my students to hear me as an excuse whereby they might be rid of me. And finally, at the insistent urging of the students themselves, and with the hearty consent of the abbot and the rest of the brotherhood, I departed thence to a certain hut, there to teach in my won'ted way. To this place such a throng of students flocked, that the neighbourhood could not afford shelter for them, nor the earth's sufficient sustenance. Here, as befitted my profession, I devoted myself chiefly to lectures on theology, that I did not wholly abandon the teaching of the secular arts, to which I was more accustomed, and which was particularly demanded of me. I used the latter, however, as a hawk, luring my students by the bait of learning to the study of the true philosophy, even as the ecclesiastical history tells of origin, the greatest of all Christian philosophers. Since apparently the Lord had gifted me with no less persuasiveness in expounding the Scriptures than in lecturing on secular subjects, the number of my students in these two courses began to increase greatly, and the attendance at all the other schools was correspondingly diminished. Thus I aroused the envy and hatred of the other teachers. Those who sought to belittle me in every possible way took advantage of my absence to bring two principal charges against me. First, that it was contrary to the monastic profession to be concerned with the study of secular books, and second, that I had presumed to teach theology without ever having been taught therein myself. This they did in order that my teaching of every kind might be prohibited, and to this end they continually stirred up bishops, archbishops, abbots, and whatever other dignitaries of the church they could reach. Chapter 9 It so happened that at the outset I devoted myself to analysing the basis of our faith through illustrations based on human understanding, and I wrote for my students a certain tract on the unity and trinity of God. This I did because they were always seeking for rational and philosophical explanations, asking rather for reasons they could understand than for mere words, saying that it was futile to utter words which the intellect could not possibly follow, that nothing could be believed unless it could first be understood, and that it was absurd for any one to preach to others a thing which neither he himself nor those whom he sought to teach could comprehend. Our Lord himself maintained this same thing when he said they are blind leaders of the blind. Matthew chapter 15 verse 14 Now a great many people saw and read this tract, and it became exceedingly popular, its clearness appealing particularly to all who sought information on this subject. And since the questions involved are generally considered the most difficult of all, their complexity is taken as a measure of the subtlety of him who succeeds in answering them. As a result my rivals became furiously angry and summoned a council to take action against me, the chief instigators therein being my two intriguing enemies of former days, Albaric and Lotulph. These two, now that both William and Anselm, our erstwhile teachers were dead, were greedy to reign in their stead, and so to speak, to succeed them as heirs. While they were directing the school at Rans, they managed by repeated hints to stir up their archbishop Rodolphe against me for the purpose of holding a meeting, or rather an ecclesiastical council at Soissons, provided they could secure the approval of Conant, bishop of Pryneste, at that time papal legate in France. Their plan was to summon me to be present at this council, bringing with me the famous book I had written regarding the Trinity. In all this, indeed, they were successful, and the thing happened according to their wishes. Before I reached Soissons, however, these two rivals of mine so foully slounded me, with both the clergy and the public, that on the day of my arrival the people came near to stoning me and the few students of mine who had accompanied me thither. The cause of their anger was that they had been led to believe that I had preached and written to prove the existence of three gods. No sooner had I reached the city, therefore, than I went forthwith to the legate. To him I submitted my book for examination and judgment, declaring that if I had written anything repugnant to the Catholic faith I was quite ready to correct it, or otherwise to make satisfactory amends. The legate directed me to refer my book to the Archbishop and to those same two rivals of mine, to the end that my accusers might also be my judges. So, in my case, was fulfilled the saying, Even our enemies are our judges. Deuteronomy chapter 32 verse 31 These three, then, took my book and poured it over and examined it minutely, but could find nothing therein which they dared to use as the basis for a public accusation against me. Accordingly, they put off the condemnation of the book until the close of the council, despite their eagerness to bring it about. For my part, every day before the council convened I publicly discussed the Catholic faith in the light of what I had written, and all who heard me were enthusiastic in their approval alike of the frankness and the logic of my words. When the public and the clergy had thus learned something of the real character of my teaching, they began to say to one another, Behold, now he speaks openly and no one brings any charge against him, and this council summoned, as we have heard, chiefly to take action upon his case, his drawing towards its end. Did the judges realise that the error might be theirs rather than his? As a result of all this, my rivals grew more angry day by day. On one occasion, Albaric, accompanied by some of his students, came to me for the purpose of intimidating me, and after a few bland words, said that he was amazed at something he had found in my book to the effect that although God had begotten God, I denied that God had begotten himself, since there was only one God. I answered unhesitatingly, I can give you an explanation of this if you wish it. Nay, he replied, I care nothing for human explanation or reasoning in such matters, but only for the words of authority. Very well, I said, turn the pages of my book and you will find the authority likewise. The book was at hand, for he had brought it with him. I turned to the passage I had in mind, which he had either not discovered or else passed over as containing nothing injurious to me, and it was God's will that I quickly found what I sought. This was the following sentence under the heading Augustine on the Trinity, Book 1. Whosoever believes that it is within the power of God to beget himself is sorely in error. This power is not in God, neither is it in any created thing, spiritual or corporeal, for there is nothing that can give birth to itself. When those of his followers who were present heard this, they were amazed and much embarrassed. He himself, in order to keep his countenance, said, certainly I understand all that. Then I added, what I have to say further on this subject is by no means new, but apparently it has nothing to do with the case at issue, since you have asked for the word of authority only, and not for explanations. If, however, you care to consider logical explanations, I am prepared to demonstrate that according to Augustine's statement, you have yourself fallen into a heresy in believing that a father can possibly be his own son. When Albaric heard this, he was almost beside himself with rage, and straightway resorted to threats, asserting that neither my explanations nor my citations of authority would avail me ought in this case. With this he left me. On the last day of the council, before the session convened, the legate and the archbishop deliberated with my rivals and sundry others as to what should be done about me and my book, this being the chief reason for their having come together. And since they had discovered nothing, either in my speech or in what I had hitherto written, which would give them a case against me, they were all reduced to silence, or at the most to maligning me in whispers. Then Geoffroy, bishop of Chartres, who excelled the other bishops alike in the sincerity of his religion and in the importance of his sea, spoke thus. You know, my lords, all who are gathered here, the doctrine of this man, what it is, and his ability, which has brought him many followers in every field to which he has devoted himself. You know how greatly he has lessened the renown of other teachers, both his masters and our own, and how he has spread, as it were, the offshoots of his vine, from sea to sea. Now, if you impose a lightly considered judgment on him, as I cannot believe you will, you will know that even if may have you are in the right, there are many who will be angered thereby, and that he will have no lack of defenders. Remember, above all, that we have found nothing in this book of his that lies before us, whereon any open accusation can be based. Indeed, it is true, as Jerome says, fortitude openly displayed always creates rivals, and the lightning strikes the highest peaks. Have a care, then, lest by violent action you only increase his fame, and lest we do more hurt to ourselves through envy than to him through justice. A false report, as that same wise man reminds us, is easily crushed, and a man's later life gives testimony as to his earlier deeds. If then you are disposed to take canonical action against him, his doctrine or his writings must be brought forward as evidence, and he must have free opportunity to answer his questioners. In that case, if he is found guilty, or if he confesses his error, his lips can be wholly sealed. Consider the words of the blessed Nicodemus, who, desiring to free our Lord himself, said, Doth our Lord judge any man before it hear him, and know what he doeth? John 7.51 When my rivals heard this, they cried out in protest, saying, This is wise counsel for sooth, that we should strive against the wordiness of this man, whose arguments, or rather sophistries, the whole world cannot resist. And yet, methinks it was far more difficult to strive against Christ himself, for whom, nevertheless, Nicodemus demanded a hearing, in accordance with the dictates of the law. When the bishop could not win their assent to his proposals, he tried in another way to curb their hatred, saying that for the discussion of such an important case, the few who were present were not enough, and that this matter required a more thorough examination. His further suggestion was that my abbot, who was there present, should take me back with him to our abbey, in other words, to the monastery of Sandini, and that there a large convocation of learned men should determine, on the basis of a careful investigation, what ought to be done. To this last proposal, the legate consented, as did all the others. Then the legate arose to celebrate mass before entering the council, and through the bishop sent me the permission which had been determined on, authorising me to return to my monastery, and there await such action as might be finally taken. But my rivals, perceiving that they would accomplish nothing if the trial were to be held outside of their own diocese, and in a place where they could have little influence on the verdict, and in truth having small wish that justice should be done, persuaded the archbishop that it would be a grave insult to him to transfer this case to another court, and that it would be dangerous for him if my chance I should thus be acquitted. They likewise went to the legate, and succeeded in so changing his opinion that finally they induced him to frame a new sentence, whereby he agreed to condemn my book with any further inquiry, to burn it forthwith in the sight of all, and to confine me for a year in another monastery. The argument they used was that it sufficed with the condemnation of my book that I had presumed to read it in public without the approval either of the Roman pontiff or of the church, and that furthermore I had given it to many to be transcribed. He thinks it would be a notable blessing to the Christian faith if there were more who displayed a like presumption. The legate, however, being less skilled in law than he should have been, relied chiefly on the advice of the archbishop, and he in turn honed that of my rivals. When the bishop of Schachter got wind of this, he reported the whole conspiracy to me and strongly urged me to endure meekly the manifest violence of their enmity. He bade me not to doubt that this violence would in the end react upon them and prove a blessing to me, and counseled me to have no fear of the confinement in a monastery, knowing that within a few days the legate himself, who was now acting under compulsion, would, after his departure, set me free. And thus he consoled me as best he might, mingling his tears with mine. End of chapter 9 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey Chapters 10-12 of the story of my misfortunes This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen The story of my misfortunes by Peter Abelard translated by Henry Adams Bellows. Chapter 10 Straightway upon my summons I went to the council and there without further examination or debate did they compel me with my own hand to cast that memorable book of mine into the flames. Although my enemies appeared to have nothing to say while the book was burning, one of them muttered something about having seen it written therein that God the Father was alone omnipotent. This reached the ears of the legate. He replied in astonishment that he could not believe that even a child would make so absurd a blunder. Our common faith, he said, holds and sets forth that the three are alike omnipotent. A certain Tiric, a schoolmaster, hearing this sarcastically added the Athanasian phrase and yet there are not three omnipotent persons, but only one. This man's bishop forthwith began to censure him, bidding him desist from such treasonable talk, but he boldly stood his ground and said as if quoting the words of Daniel, I ye such fools ye sons of Israel that without examination or knowledge of the truth ye have condemned a daughter of Israel. Return again to the place of judgment. Daniel chapter 13 verse 48, the history of Susanna, and there give judgment on the judge himself. You have set up this judge for sooth for the instruction of faith and the correction of error, and yet when he ought to give judgment he condemns himself out of his own mouth. Set free to-day with the help of God's mercy one who is manifestly innocent, even as Susanna was freed of old from her false accusers. Thereupon the archbishop arose and confirmed the legate statement, but changed the wording thereof as indeed was most fitting. It is God's truth, he said, that the Father is omnipotent, the Son is omnipotent, the Holy Spirit is omnipotent. And whosoever descents from this is openly in error and must not be listened to. Nevertheless, if it be your pleasure, it would be well that this our brother should publicly state before us all the faith that is in him, to the end that according to his desserts it may either be approved or else condemned and corrected. When, however, I feign would have arisen to profess and set forth my faith in order that I might express in my own words that which was in my heart, my enemies declared that it was not needful for me to do more than recite the Athanasian symbol, a thing which any boy might do as well as I. And lest I should allege ignorance, pretending that I did not know the words by heart, they had a copy of it set before me to read. And read it I did as best I could for my groans and sighs and tears. Thereupon, as if I had been a convicted criminal, I was handed over to the abbot of Saint-Médard, who was there present and led to his monastery as to a prison. And with this the council was immediately dissolved. The abbot and the monks of the aforesaid monastery, thinking that I would remain long with them, received me with great exultation and diligently sought to console me, but all in vain. O God, who dost judge justice itself, in what venom of the spirit, in what bitterness of mind did I blame even thee for my shame, accusing thee in my madness? Full often did I repeat the lament of St. Anthony. Kindly, Jesus, where were thou? The sorrow that tortured me, the shame that overwhelmed me, the desperation that racked my mind, all these I could then feel, but even now I can find no words to express them. Comparing these new sufferings of my soul with those I had formerly endured in my body, it seemed that I was in very truth the most miserable among men. Indeed, that earlier betrayal had become a little thing in comparison with this later evil, and I lamented the hurt to my fair name, far more than the one to my body. The latter indeed I had brought upon myself through my own wrongdoing, but this other violence had come upon me solely by reason of the honesty of my purpose and my love of our faith which had compelled me to write that which I believed. The very cruelty and heartlessness of my punishment, however, made everyone who heard the story vehement in censuring it so that those who had a hand therein were soon eager to disclaim all responsibility, shouldering the blame on others. Nay, matters came to such a pass that even my rivals denied that they had had anything to do with the matter, and as for the legate, he publicly denounced the malice with which the French had acted. Swayed by repentance for his injustice and feeling that he had yielded enough to satisfy their ranker, he shortly freed me from the monastery with which I had been taken and sent me back to my own. Here, however, I found almost as many enemies as I had in the former days of which I have already spoken, for the vileness and shamelessness of their way of living made them realise that they would again have to endure my censure. After a few months had passed, chance gave them an opportunity by which they sought to destroy me. It happened that one day in the course of my reading I came upon a certain passage of bead in his commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, wherein he asserts that Dionysius the Areopagite was the bishop not of Athens, but of Corinth. Now this was directly counter to the belief of the monks who were wont to boast that their Dionysius, or Denis, was not only the Areopagite, but was likewise proved by his acts to have been the bishop of Athens. Having thus found this testimony of beads in contradiction of our own tradition, I showed it somewhat jestingly to sundry of the monks who chanced to be near. Rossfully they declared that bead was no better than a liar and that they had a far more trustworthy authority in the person of Ildouin, a former abbot of theirs who had travelled for a long time throughout Greece for the purpose of investigating this very question. He, they insisted, had by his writings removed all possible doubt on the subject and had securely established the truth of the traditional belief. One of the monks went so far as to ask me brazenly which of the two, bead or Ildouin, I considered the better authority on this point. I replied that the authority of bead, whose writings are held in high esteem by the whole Latin church, appeared to me the better. Thereupon in a great rage they began to cry out, but at last I had openly proved the hatred I had always felt for our monastery and that I was seeking to disgrace it in the eyes of the whole kingdom, robbing it of the honour in which it had particularly gloried by thus denying that the Areopagite was their patron saint. To this I answered that I had never denied the fact and that I did not much care whether their patron was the Areopagite or someone else provided only he had received his crown from God. Thereupon they ran to the abbot and told him of the misdemeanor with which they charged me. The abbot listened to their story with delight, rejoicing at having found a chance to crush me for the greater vileness of his life made him fear me even more than the rest did. Accordingly he summoned his council and when the brethren had assembled he violently threatened me, declaring that he would straightway send me to the king by him to be punished for having thus sullied his crown and the glory of his royalty. And until he should hand me over to the king he ordered that I should be closely guarded. In vain did I offer to submit to the customary discipline if I had in any way been guilty. Then horrified at their wickedness which seemed to crown the ill fortune I had so long endured and in utter despair at the apparent conspiracy of the whole world against me I fled secretly from the monastery by night, helped there too by some of the monks who took pity on me and likewise aided by some of my scholars. I made my way to a region where I had formally dwelt hard by the lands of Count Theobald of Champagne. He himself had some slight acquaintance with me and had compassion on me by reason of my persecutions of which the story had reached him. I found a home there within the walls of Provence in a priory of the monks of Trois, the priory of which had in former days known me well and shown me much love. In his joy at my coming he cared for me with all diligence. It chanced, however, that one day my abbot came to Provence to see the Count on certain matters of business. As soon as I had learned of this I went to the Count, the prior accompanying me and besought him to intercede in my behalf with the abbot. I asked no more than that the abbot should absolve me of the charge against me and give me permission to live the monastic life where so ever I could find a suitable place. The abbot, however, and those who were with him, took the matter under advisement, saying that they would give the Count an answer the day before they departed. It appeared from their words that they thought I wished to go to some other abbey, a thing which they regarded as an immense disgrace to their own. They had indeed taken particular pride in the fact that upon my conversion I had come to them, as if scorning all other abbeys, and accordingly they considered that it would bring great shame upon them if I should now desert their abbey and seek another. For this reason they refused to listen either to my own plea or to that of the Count. Furthermore, they threatened me with excommunication unless I should instantly return. Likewise they forbade the prior with whom I had taken refuge to keep me longer under pain of sharing my excommunication. When we heard this, both the prior and I were stricken with fear. The abbot went away still obdurate, but a few days thereafter he died. As soon as his successor had been named, I went to him accompanied by the Bishop of Moe to try if I might win from him the permission I had vainly sought of his predecessor. At first he would not give his assent, but finally through the intervention of certain friends of mine, I secured the right to appeal to the king and his council, and in this way I at last obtained what I sought. The royal seneschal, Stephen, having summoned the abbot and his subordinates that they might state their case, asked them why they wanted to keep me against my will. He pointed out that this might easily bring them into evil repute, and certainly could do them no good, seeing that their way of living was utterly incompatible with mine. I knew it to be the opinion of the royal council that the irregularities in the conduct of this abbey would tend to bring it more and more under the control of the king, making it increasingly useful and likewise profitable to him, and for this reason I had good hope of easily winning the support of the king and those about him. Thus indeed did it come to pass, but in order that the monastery might not be shorn of any of the glory which it had enjoyed by reason of my sojourn there, they grunted me permission to take myself to any solitary place I might choose, provided only I did not put myself under the rule of any other abbey. This was agreed upon, and confirmed on both sides in the presence of the king and his councilors. Fourth with, I sought out a lonely spot known to me of old in the region of Tois, and there, on a bit of land which had been given to me, and with the approval of the bishop of the district, I built with reeds and stalks my first oratory in the name of the Holy Trinity. And there concealed, with but one comrade, a certain cleric, I was able to sing over and over again to the Lord. Lo! then would I wander far off and remain in the wilderness. Psalm 4 verse 7 Chapter 9 No sooner had scholars learned of my retreat than they began to flock thither from all sides, leaving their towns and castles to dwell in the wilderness. In place of their spacious houses they built themselves huts. Instead of dainty fare they lived on the herbs of the field and coarse bread. Their soft beds they exchanged for heaps of straw and rushes, and their tables were piles of turf. In very truth you may well believe that they were like those philosophers of old, of whom Jerome tells us in his second book against your vinyanas. Through the senses, says Jerome, as through so many windows do vices win entrance to the soul. The metropolis and citadel of the mind cannot be taken unless the army of the foe has first rushed in through the gates. If any one delights in the games of the circus, in the contests of athletes, in the versatility of actors, in the beauty of women, in the glitter of gems and raiment, or in what else like to these, then the freedom of his soul is made captive through the windows of his eyes, and thus is fulfilled the prophecy. For death is come up into our windows. Jeremiah chapter 9 verse 21 And then when the wedges of doubt have, as it were, been driven into the citadels of our mind through these gateways, where will be its liberty? Where its fortitude? Where its thought of God? Most of all does the sense of touch paint for itself the pictures of past raptures, compelling the soul to dwell fondly upon remembered iniquities, and so to practice in imagination those things which reality denies to it. Heeding such counsel, therefore, many among the philosophers forsook the thronging ways of the cities and the pleasant gardens of the countryside with their well-watered fields, their shady trees, the song of birds, the mirror of the fountain, the murmur of the stream, the many charms for eye and ear, fearing lest their souls should grow soft amid luxury and abundance of riches, and lest their virtue should thereby be defiled. For it is perilous to turn your eyes often to those things whereby you may someday be made captive, or to attempt the possession of that which it would go hard with you to do without. Thus the Pythagoreans shunned all companionship of this kind, and were wont to dwell in solitary and desert places. Nay, Plato himself, although he was a rich man, let Diogenes trample on his couch with muddy feet, and in order that he might devote himself to philosophy, established his academy in a place remote from the city, and not only uninhabited, but unhealthy as well. This he did in order that the onslaughts of lust might be broken by the fear and constant presence of disease, and that his followers might find no pleasure saving the things they learned. Such a life likewise the sons of the prophets who were the followers of Eliseus are reported to have led. Of these Jerome also tells us, writing thus to the monk Rusticus as if describing the monks of those ancient days. The sons of the prophets, the monks of whom we read in the Old Testament, built for themselves huts by the waters of the Jordan, and forsaking the throngs and the cities lived on potage and the herbs of the field. Epistle I IV Even so did my followers build their huts above the waters of the Arduzon, so that they seemed hermits rather than scholars, and as their number grew ever greater the hardships which they gladly endured for the sake of my teaching seemed to my rivals to reflect new glory on me and to cast new shame on themselves. Nor was it strange that they who had done their utmost to hurt me should grieve to see how all things worked together for my good, even though I was now, in the words of Jerome, afar from cities and the marketplace, from controversies and the crowded ways of men. And so, as Quintilian says, did Envy seek me out even in my hiding-place. Secretly my rivals complained and lamented one to another, saying, Behold now, the whole world runs after him, and our persecution of him has done naught save to increase his glory. We strove to extinguish his fame, and we have but given it new brightness. Lo, in the city scholars have at hand everything they may need, and yet, spurning the pleasures of the town, they seek out the barrenness of the desert, and of their own free will they accept wretchedness. The thing which, at that time, chiefly led me to undertake the direction of a school was my intolerable poverty, for I had not strength enough to dig, and shame kept me from begging. And so, resorting once more to the art with which I was so familiar, I was compelled to substitute the service of the tongue for the labour of my hands. The students willingly provided me with whatsoever I needed in the way of food and clothing, and likewise took charge of the cultivation of the fields and paid for the erection of buildings in order that material cares might not keep me from my studies. Since my oratory was no longer large enough to hold even a small part of their number, they found it necessary to increase its size, and in so doing they greatly improved it, building it of stone and wood. Although this oratory had been founded in honour of the Holy Trinity, and afterwards dedicated thereto, I now named it the Paraclete, mindful of how I had come there of fugitive and in despair, and had breathed into my soul something of the miracle of divine consolation. Many of those who heard of this were greatly astonished, and some violently assailed my action, declaring that it was not permissible to dedicate a church exclusively to the Holy Spirit, rather than to God the Father. They held, according to an ancient tradition, that it must be dedicated either to the Son alone or else to the entire Trinity. The error which led them into this false accusation resulted from their failure to perceive the identity of the Paraclete with the Spirit Paraclete. Even as the whole Trinity, or any person in the Trinity, might rightly be called God or Helper, so likewise it may be termed the Paraclete, that is to say the Consola. These are the words of the apostle, blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort, who comforteth us in all our tribulation. 2 Corinthians chapter 1 verse 3, and likewise the word of truth says, and he shall give you another comforter, Greek another Paraclete, John chapter 14 verse 16. Nay, since every church is consecrated equally in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, without any difference in their possession thereof, why should not the house of God be dedicated to the Father or to the Holy Spirit, even as it is dedicated to the Son? Who would presume to erase from above the door the name of him who is the master of the house? And since the Son offered himself as a sacrifice to the Father, and accordingly in the ceremonies of the Mass, the prayers are offered particularly to the Father, and the immolation of the host is made to him, why should not the altar be held to be chiefly his, to whom above all the supplication and sacrifice are made? Is it not called more rightly the altar of him who receives than of him who makes the sacrifice? Who would admit that an altar is that of the Holy Cross, or of the Sepulchre, or of St. Michael, or John, or Peter, or of any other saint, unless either he himself was sacrificed there, or else special sacrifices and prayers are made there to him? He thinks the altars and temples of certain ones among these saints are not held to be idolatrous, even though they are used for special sacrifices and prayers to their patrons. Some, however, may perchance argue that churches are not built, or altars dedicated to the Father, because there is no feast which is solemnized especially for him. But while this reasoning holds good as regards the Trinity itself, it does not apply in the case of the Holy Spirit. For this spirit, from the day of its advent, has had its special feast of the Pentecost, even as the Son has had since his coming upon earth his feast of the Nativity. Even as the Son was sent into this world, so did the Holy Spirit descend upon the disciples, and thus does it claim its special religious rights. Nay, it seems more fitting to dedicate a temple to it than to either of the other persons of the Trinity if we but carefully study the apostolic authority and consider the workings of this spirit itself. To none of the three persons did the apostle dedicate a special temple saved to the Holy Spirit alone. He does not speak of a temple of the Father or a temple of the Son, as he does of a temple of the Holy Spirit, writing thus in his first epistle to the Corinthians. But he that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit. And again, what? Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? Ibedem 19 Who is there who does not know that the sacraments of God's blessings pertaining to the church are particularly ascribed to the operation of Divine Grace by which is meant the Holy Spirit. For sooth we are born again of water and of the Holy Spirit in baptism, and thus from the very beginning is the body made, as it were, a special temple of God. In the successive sacraments, moreover, the sevenfold grace of the Spirit is added, by this same temple of God, is made beautiful and is consecrated. What wonder is it, then, if to that person to whom the apostle assigned a spiritual temple we should dedicate a material one? Or to what person can a church be more rightly said to belong than to him to whom all the blessings which the church administers are particularly ascribed? It was not, however, with the thought of dedicating my oratory to one person that I first called it the Paraclete, but for the reason I have already told, that in this spot I found consolation. Nonetheless, even if I had done it for the reason attributed to me, the departure from the usual custom would have been in no way illogical. Chapter 12 And so I dwelt in this place, my body indeed hidden away, but my fame spreading throughout the whole world, till its echo reverberated mightily, echo that fancy of the poets which are so great a voice, and naught beside. My former rivals, seeing that they themselves were now powerless to do me hurt, stirred up against me certain new apostles in whom the world put great faith. One of these, Norbert of Prémontré, took pride in his position as a canon of a regular order. The other, Bernard of Clairvaux, made it his boast that he had revived the true monastic life. These two ran hither and yom, preaching and shamelessly slandering me in every way they could, so that in time they succeeded in drawing down on my head the scorn of many among those having authority, among both the clergy and the laity. They spread abroad such sinister reports of my faith as well as of my life that they turned even my best friends against me, and those who still retained something of their former regard for me were feigned to disguise it in every possible way by reason of their fear of these two men. God is my witness that whensoever I learned of the convening of a new assemblage of the clergy, I believed that it was done for the express purpose of my condemnation. Stunned by this fear like one smitten with a thunderbolt, I daily expected to be dragged before their councils or assemblies as a heretic or one guilty of impiety. Though I seem to compare a flea with a lion or an ant with an elephant, in very truth my rivals persecuted me no less bitterly than the heretics of old hounded St Athanasius. Often God knows I sank so deep in despair that I was ready to leave the world of Christendom and go forth among the heathen, paying them a stipulated tribute in order that I might live quietly a Christian life among the enemies of Christ. It seemed to me that such people might indeed be kindly disposed towards me, particularly as they would doubtless suspect me of being no good Christian, imputing my flight to some crime I had committed and would therefore believe that I might perhaps be won over to their form of worship. End of chapter 12 Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey