These anonymous letters between a man and a woman, which exist in a single fifteenth-century copy, are argued by Constant Mews to be the letters which Heloise and Abelard first wrote to each other. Mews’s arguments are discussed in the additional introduction on ‘Abelard and Heloise in Today’s Scholarship’, pp. lxxv–lxxxii. These letters differ in style from the known letters of Abelard and Heloise, but this in itself does not show that they are inauthentic as the circumstances of their composition would have been so different. This excerpt gives a taste of an intriguing new problem in the history of Abelard and Heloise.
The text for letters 18–31 is taken from the translation by Neville Chiavaroli and Constant J. Mews, in Constant J. Mews, The Lost Love Letters of Heloise and Abelard: Perceptions of Dialogue in Twelfth-Century France (New York, 1999), pp. 201–15.
WOMAN An equal to an equal, to a reddening rose under the spotless whiteness of lilies: whatever a lover gives to a lover.
Although it is wintertime, yet my breast blazes with the fervour of love. What more? I would write more things to you, but a few words instruct a wise man. Farewell, my heart and body, and my total love.
MAN Indeed your words are few, but I made them many by re-reading them often. Nor do I measure how much you say, but rather how fertile is the heart from which comes what you say. Farewell, sweetest.
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<MAN> |
The star turns around the pole, and the moon colours the night, |
Farewell, my star, whose splendour never dies. Farewell, my greatest hope, in whom alone I find favour, and whom I never bring back to mind since you never slip from mind. Farewell.
WOMAN To her beloved, special from experience of the reality itself: the being which she is.
Since my mind is turning with many concerns, it fails me, pierced by the sharp hook of love … Just as fire cannot be extinguished or suppressed by any material, unless water, by nature its powerful remedy, is applied, so my love cannot be cured by any means – only by you can it be healed. My mind is bothered by not knowing through what gift I can enrich you. Glory of young men, companion of poets, how handsome you are in appearance yet more distinguished in feeling. Your presence is my joy, your absence my sorrow; in either case, I love you. Farewell.
MAN To his jewel, more pleasing and more splendid than the present light, that man who without you is shrouded in dense shadow: what else except that you glory unfailingly in your natural brilliance.
Scientists often say that the moon does not shine without the sun, and that when deprived of this light, it is robbed of all benefit of heat and brightness and presents to humans a dark and ashen sphere. Surely the similarity of this phenomenon to you and me is very plain to see: for you are my sun, since you always illumine me with the most delightful brightness of your face and make me shine. I have no light that does not come from you and without you I am dull, dark, weak and dead. But, to tell the truth, what you do for me is even greater than what the sun does for the sphere of the moon. For the moon becomes more obscure the closer it gets to the sun, whereas the nearer I am brought to you and the closer I get, the more on fire I become. So much do I burn for you, that, just as you yourself have often noted, when I am next to you I become completely on fire and am burned right down to the marrow.
What then shall I offer in return to equal your innumerable benefits? Nothing, actually, because you transcend your sweetest words with the number of your actions and you have so surpassed them by the demonstration of your love that you seem to me poorer in words than in actions. Among other things that you possess in infinite number compared with other people, you have this distinction too, that, poor in words but rich in actions, you do more for a friend than you say; this is all the more to your glory since it is more difficult to act than to speak …
You are buried inside my breast for eternity, from which tomb you will never emerge as long as I live. There you lie, there you rest. You keep me company right until I fall asleep; while I sleep you never leave me, and after I wake I see you, as soon as I open my eyes, even before the light of day itself. To others I address my words, to you my intention. I often stumble over words, because my thought is far from them. Who then will be able to deny that you are truly buried in me? … Envious time looms over our love, and yet you delay as if we were at leisure. Farewell.
WOMAN To the sweetest protector of her soul, planted at the root of her caring love, she in whose love you are firmly established and in whose honeyed taste of love you are well founded: whatever is far from anger and hate.
Although I wanted to write back to you, the magnitude of the task, being beyond my powers, drove me back. Indeed I wanted to but could not, I began then grew weak, I persisted but collapsed, my shoulders buckling under the weight. The burning feeling of my spirit longed to do so but the weakness of my dried-up talent refused. I endured the numerous disputes and litigious arguments of both, and after weighing up rationally to which of the two I would rather yield, I was unable to decide. For the feeling of my spirit said: ‘What are you doing, ungrateful woman? For how long do you keep me in suspense with long and surely undeserved silence? Does not the generous kindness and kind generosity of your beloved stir you? Compose a letter full of thanks, give the thanks which you owe for his abounding integrity. For a kind act does not seem pleasing and welcome when many thanks are not received.’
I thought that I ought to heed these arguments, and certainly I wanted to heed them, but the dryness of my talent resisted, rebuking the attempts of my temerity with the harsh whip of reproach, saying: ‘Where are you rushing, you foolish and feeble woman? Where does the unthinking intention of your hasty spirit throw you? Do you begin to speak mighty words, though you are unskilled and have unrefined lips? Surely you are no match for such matter so distinguished. For anyone who assumes to praise anything at all must in the end divide it into parts and with the utmost care weigh the qualities of each individual part, honouring each one according to its merit with a suitable tribute of praise; otherwise he who diminishes its brilliance by <…> description, its elegance with outrageous description, harms the object to be praised. But from where will you get such ability in writing that you might speak of great things worthily? Look at yourself and at the task you are undertaking. Abundant and various are the benefits for which you are preparing to give thanks in your writing. Why are you tossed about by so many storms of deliberations? Look at your cold and brutish breast, utterly lacking the salt of learning and so inflated with the sluggishness of dense air. Draw in the sails of your audacity, the skiff in which you are preparing to cross the imperious ocean, quickly, for unless you take heed, you will drown.’
Suspended between this alternating encouragement and discouragement, I have until now deferred the due act of thanks, yielding to the advice of a mental capacity ashamed of its own ineptitude. I pray that the excellence of divine amiability abundant in you will not blame me for this, but rather, since you are the son of true sweetness, may the virtue of mildness familiar to you flow over me even more. Indeed I know and admit that from the treasures of your philosophy the greatest amount of joys have flown and still flow over me, but, if I may speak freely, still less than what would make me perfectly happy in this regard. For I often come with parched throat longing to be refreshed by the nectar of your delightful mouth and to drink thirstily the riches scattered in your heart. What need is there for more words? With God as my witness I declare that there is no one in this world breathing life-giving air whom I desire to love more than you … May this farewell, my beloved, sweetly penetrate your inner marrow.
MAN To a soul brighter and dearer to me than anything the earth has produced, the flesh which that same soul causes to breathe and move: whatever I owe her through whom I breathe and move.
The abundant and yet insufficient richness of your letter provides me with the clearest evidence of two things, namely, your overflowing faith and love; hence the saying: ‘From the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks.’ … And yet I receive your letters so eagerly that for me they are always too brief, since they both satisfy and stimulate my desire: like someone who is suffering from fever – the more the drink relieves him, the hotter he feels. God is my witness that I am stirred in a new way when I look at them more carefully; in a new way, I say, because my spirit itself is shaken by a joyful trembling, and my body is transformed into a new manner and posture. So praiseworthy are your letters that they direct my sense of hearing to whatever place they wish.
You often ask me, my sweet soul, what love is – and I cannot excuse myself on grounds of ignorance, as if I had been asked about a subject unfamiliar to me. For that very love has brought me under its own command in such a way that it seems not to be external but very familiar and personal, even visceral. Love is therefore a particular force of the soul, existing not for itself nor content by itself, but always pouring itself into another with a certain hunger and desire, wanting to become one with the other, so that from two diverse wills one is produced without difference …
Know that although love may be a universal thing, it has nevertheless been condensed into so confined a place that I would boldly assert that it reigns in us alone – that is, it has made its very home in me and you. For the two of us have a love that is pure, nurtured, and sincere, since nothing is sweet or carefree for the other unless it has mutual benefit. We say yes equally, we say no equally, we feel the same about everything. This can be easily shown by the way that you often anticipate my thoughts: what I think about writing you write first, and, as I remember well, you have said the same thing about yourself. Farewell, and regard me with unfading love just as I do you.
WOMAN To her incomparable treasure, more delightful than all the pleasures of the world: blessedness without end and well-being without weakening.
I too have been considering with innate reflection what love is or what it can be by analogy with our behaviour and concerns, that which above all forms friendships, and, once considered, leads to repaying you with the exchange of love and obeying you in everything … If our love deserted us with so slight a force, then it was not true love. The plain and tender words which to date we have exchanged with each other were not real, but only feigned love. For love does not easily forsake those whom it has once stung. You know, my heart’s love, that the services of true love are properly fulfilled only when they are continually owed, in such a way that we act for a friend according to our strength and not stop wishing to go beyond our strength.
This debt of true love, therefore, I shall endeavour to fulfil, but alas I am unable to do so in full. However, if the duty of greeting you according to my meagre talents is not enough, at least my never ending desire to do so may be of some merit in your estimation. For know this, my beloved, and know it truly, that ever since your love claimed for itself the guest chamber – or rather the hovel – of my heart, it has always remained welcome and day after day more delightful, without, as often happens, constant presence leading to familiarity, familiarity to trust, trust to negligence and negligence to contempt. Indeed, you began to desire me with much interest at the very beginning of our friendship, but with greater longing you strove to make our love grow and last. And so our spirit fluctuates according to how your affairs turn out, so that your joy I count as my gain and your misfortune my most bitter loss. But your fulfilling what you have begun does not seem the same to me as your increasing what you have completed, because in one case what is lacking is added, in the other what is completed is added on. And even if we show perfect kindness to everyone, we still do not love everyone equally; and what is general for everyone is made particular for certain people. It is one thing to sit at the table of a prince, another to be there in order to advise him, and a greater thing to be drawn out of love, rather than just to be invited to a gathering. So I owe you fewer thanks for not spurning me than for receiving me with open arms. Let me speak plainly to your resplendent mind and heart so pure. It is not a great thing if I love you, but rather a wicked thing if ever I shall forget you. Therefore, my dear, do not make yourself so scarce to your faithful friend. So far I have somehow been able to bear it, but now, deprived of your presence and stirred by the songs of birds and the freshness of the woods, I languish for your love. Surely I would have rejoiced in all these things if I had been able to enjoy your conversation and presence according to my will.
May God do for me such as I desire for you. Farewell.
MAN To his beloved not yet known, and still to be known more intimately, the young man who deep within yearns to probe the understanding of such a great good: may you always abound in such a secret and inexhaustible fountain of goodness, and through it never be without refreshment.
… How fertile with delight is your breast, how you shine with untouched beauty, body so full of moisture, indescribable scent of yours! Reveal what is hidden, uncover what you keep concealed, let that whole fountain of your most abundant sweetness bubble forth, let all your love release its abundance in me, and may you keep absolutely nothing from your most devoted servant, because I believe nothing has been done as long as I see something remaining. Hour by hour I am bound closer to you, just like fire devouring wood: the more devouring the more plentiful its fuel … You glitter with perpetual light and inextinguishable brightness immortally. Farewell.
WOMAN To her eye: the spirit of Bezalel, the strength of the three locks of hair, the beauty of the father of peace, the depth of Ididia.
MAN To his beloved, firmly stored in eternal memory: whatever leads to that state in whose fullness nothing is lacking.
May prolonged cause for envy be given to those who envy us, and may they long pine away for our prosperity, since that is what they want. But it is not possible to separate you from me, even if the sea itself should flow between us; I will always love you, I will always carry you in my spirit. Nor should you be surprised that twisted jealousy should turn its eyes towards such a conspicuous and fitting friendship as ours, because if we were miserable, we could undoubtedly live among others however we liked without any malicious attention. Therefore let them backbite, let them drag us down, let them gnaw, let them waste away inside, let them derive their bitterness from our good things; you will still be my life, my breath, my restoration in difficulty and finally my complete joy. Farewell, you who make me fare well.
WOMAN Having given up everything, I take refuge under your wings, I submit myself to your rule, resolutely following you in everything. I can scarcely speak these sad words: ‘Farewell’.
MAN May God be gracious to you, sweetest. I am your servant, most ready for your commands. Farewell.
<MAN> To his sweetest, his only remedy in every affliction: may you never have worries or be troubled by any affliction.
… Consider how much you would have achieved by your actual presence if you had such power when absent. Surely if I could have directed my gaze to your most delightful face just once, I would have felt no grief whatsoever … Send me to the place in which lies my destiny, since it is completely within your power. Farewell and never stop faring well.