Famous Affinities of History | Page 7

it have been omitted, and other
portions of it have been garbled. A whole literature has grown up
around the subject. It may well be worth our while to clear away the
ambiguities and the doubtful points, and once more to tell it simply,
without bias, and with a strict adherence to what seems to be the truth

attested by authentic records.
There is one circumstance connected with the story which we must
specially note. The narrative does something more than set forth the
one quite unimpeachable instance of unconquered constancy. It shows
how, in the last analysis, that which touches the human heart has more
vitality and more enduring interest than what concerns the intellect or
those achievements of the human mind which are external to our
emotional nature.
Pierre Abelard was undoubtedly the boldest and most creative reasoner
of his time. As a wandering teacher he drew after him thousands of
enthusiastic students. He gave a strong impetus to learning. He was a
marvelous logician and an accomplished orator. Among his pupils were
men who afterward became prelates of the church and distinguished
scholars. In the Dark Age, when the dictates of reason were almost
wholly disregarded, he fought fearlessly for intellectual freedom. He
was practically the founder of the University of Paris, which in turn
became the mother of medieval and modern universities.
He was, therefore, a great and striking figure in the history of
civilization. Nevertheless he would to-day be remembered only by
scholars and students of the Middle Ages were it not for the fact that he
inspired the most enduring love that history records. If Heloise had
never loved him, and if their story had not been so tragic and so
poignant, he would be to-day only a name known to but a few. His final
resting-place, in the cemetery of Pere Lachaise, in Paris, would not be
sought out by thousands every year and kept bright with flowers, the
gift of those who have themselves both loved and suffered.
Pierre Abelard--or, more fully, Pierre Abelard de Palais--was a native
of Brittany, born in the year 1079. His father was a knight, the lord of
the manor; but Abelard cared little for the life of a petty noble; and so
he gave up his seigniorial rights to his brothers and went forth to
become, first of all a student, and then a public lecturer and teacher.
His student days ended abruptly in Paris, where he had enrolled himself
as the pupil of a distinguished philosopher, Guillaume de Champeaux;

but one day Abelard engaged in a disputation with his master. His
wonderful combination of eloquence, logic, and originality utterly
routed Champeaux, who was thus humiliated in the presence of his
disciples. He was the first of many enemies that Abelard was destined
to make in his long and stormy career. From that moment the young
Breton himself set up as a teacher of philosophy, and the brilliancy of
his discourses soon drew to him throngs of students from all over
Europe.
Before proceeding with the story of Abelard it is well to reconstruct,
however slightly, a picture of the times in which he lived. It was an age
when Western Europe was but partly civilized. Pedantry and learning
of the most minute sort existed side by side with the most violent
excesses of medieval barbarism. The Church had undertaken the
gigantic task of subduing and enlightening the semi-pagan peoples of
France and Germany and England.
When we look back at that period some will unjustly censure Rome for
not controlling more completely the savagery of the medievals. More
fairly should we wonder at the great measure of success which had
already been achieved. The leaven of a true Christianity was working in
the half-pagan populations. It had not yet completely reached the
nobles and the knights, or even all the ecclesiastics who served it and
who were consecrated to its mission. Thus, amid a sort of political
chaos were seen the glaring evils of feudalism. Kings and princes and
their followers lived the lives of swine. Private blood-feuds were
regarded lightly. There was as yet no single central power. Every man
carried his life in his hand, trusting to sword and dagger for protection.
The cities were still mere hamlets clustered around great castles or
fortified cathedrals. In Paris itself the network of dark lanes, ill lighted
and unguarded, was the scene of midnight murder and assassination. In
the winter-time wolves infested the town by night. Men-at-arms, with
torches and spears, often had to march out from their barracks to assail
the snarling, yelping packs of savage animals that hunger drove from
the surrounding forests.
Paris of the twelfth century was typical of France itself, which was

harried by human wolves intent on rapine and wanton plunder. There