felves with fome diftant Hope, that we shall not be quite forgotten.

Yes, Abelard, I conjure you by the Chains I bear here, to ease the Weight of them, and make them as agreeable as I wish they were to me: Teach me the Maxims of Divine Love. Since you have forfaken me I glory in being wedded to Heaven. My Heart adores that Title, and difdains any other; tell me how this Divine Love is nourished, how it operates, and purifies itfelf. When we were toffed in the Ocean of the World we could hear of Nothing but your Verfes, which published every where our Joys and our Pleasures. Now we are in the Haven of Grace, is it not fit you fhould difcourfe to me of this flappiness, and teach me every Thing which might improve and heighten it? Shew me the fame Complaifance in my prefent Condition, as you did when we were in the World. Without changing the Ardor of our Affections, let us change their Object; let us leave our Songs, and fing Hymns; let us lift up our Hearts to God, and have no Transports but for his Glory.

I expect this from you as a Thing you cannot refuse me. God has a peculiar Right over the Hearts of great Men, which he has created. When he pleases to touch them, he ravishes them, and lets them not speak nor breathe but for his Glory: 'Till that Moment of Grace arrives, O think of me do not forget me

remember

remember my Love, my Fidelity, my Conftancy; love me as your Mistress, cherish me as your Child, your Sifter, your Wife. Confider that I ftill love you, and yet ftrive to avoid loving you. What a Word, what a Defign is this! I fhake with Horror, and my Heart revolts against what I fay. I fhall blot all my Paper with Tears - I end my long Letter, wishing you, if you can defire it, (would to Heaven I could) for ever Adieu.

LETTER III.

ABELARD to HELOISE.

That the Reader may make a right Judgment on the following Letter, it is proper he should be informed of the Condition Abelard was in when he wrote it. The Duke of Britany, whofe Subject he was born, jealous of the Glory of France, which then ingroffed all the moft famous Scholars of Europe, and being befides acquainted with the Perfecution Abelard had suffered from his Enemies, had nominated him to the Abby of St. Gildas, and by this Benefaction and Mark of his Efteem, engaged him to pass the rest of his Days in his Dominions. He received this Favour with great Joy, imagining, that by leaving France, he should lofe his Paffion, and gain a new turn of Mind upon entering into his new Dignity. The Abby of St. Gildas is seated upon a Rock, which the Sea beats with its Waves. Abelard, who had laid on himself the Neceffity of vanquishing a Paffion which Absence had in a great measure weakened, endeavoured in this Solitude to extinguish the Remains of it by his Tears. But upon bis receiving the foregoing Letter, he could not refift fo powerful an Attack, but proves as weak and as much to be pitied as Heloife: 'Tis not then a Mafter or Di

rector

rector that speaks to her, but a Man who had loved ber, and loves her fill: And under this Character we are to confider Abelard when he wrote the following Letter. If he feems by fome Paffages in it to have begun to feel the Motions of Divine Grace, they appear as yet to be only by Starts, and without any Uniformity.

C

OULD I have imagined that a Letter

not written to yourself could have falglen into your Hands, I had been more cautious not to have inserted any Thing in it which might awaken the Memory of our paft Misfortunes. I defcribed with Boldnefs the Series of my Disgraces to a Friend, in order to make him lefs fenfible of the Lofs he had fuftained. If by this well-meaning Artifice I have disturbed you, I purpose here to dry up thofe Tears which the fad Defcription occafioned you to fhed: I intend to mix my Grief with yours, and pour out my Heart before you; in short, to lay open before your Eyes all my Trouble, and the Secret of my Soul, which my Vanity has hitherto made me conceal from the reft of the World, and which you now force from me, in fpight of my Refolutions to the contrary:

It is true, that in a Senfe of the Afflictions which had befallen us, and obferving that no change of our Condition was to be expected; tha thofe profperous Days which had feduced us were now past, and there remained nothing but to eraze

out of our Minds, by painful Endeavours, all Marks and Remembrance of them, I had wifhed to find in Philofophy and Religion a Remedy for my Difgrace; I fearched out an Asylum to secure me from Love. I was come to the fad Experiment of making Vows to harden my Heart. But what have I gained by this? If my Passion has been put under a Reftraint, my Ideas yet remain. I promife myself that I will forget you, and yet cannot think of it without loving you; and am pleased with that Thought. My Love is not at all weakened by thofe Reflections I make in order to free myfelf. The Silence I am furrounded with makes me more fenfible to its Impreffions, and while I am unemployed with any other Things, this makes itself the Business of my whole Vacation. Till after a Multitude of useless Endeavours I begin to perfuade myself, that 'tis a fuperfluous Trouble to ftrive to free myself; and that it is Wisdom fufficient if I can conceal from every one but you, my Confufion and Weakness.

I remove to a Distance from your Person, with an Intention of avoiding you as an Enemy; and yet I inceffantly feek for you in my Mind: I recall your Image in my Memory; and in fuch different Difquietudes I betray and contradict myself. I hate you; I love you; Shame preffes me on all Sides; I am at this Moment afraid left I should seem more indifferent than you, and yet I am ashamed to difcover my Trouble. How weak are we in our

felves,