now quoted as a reproach to human weakness, since the languor of passion had weakened his power and his eloquence, to sacrifice her to his fame; “to permit her no longer to adore him as a divinity who accepts the homage of his worshippers; to love her no longer, if this love diminished his reputation; to reduce her even, if necessary, to the condition of a woman despised by the world, since the glory of his love would more than compensate for the contempt of the universe.”

“What reproaches,” said she, “should I merit from the Church and the schools of philosophy, were I to draw from them their brightest star!  And shall a woman dare to take to herself that man whom Nature meant to be the ornament and benefactor of the human race?  Then reflect on the nature of matrimony, with its littleness and cares.  How inconsistent it is with the dignity of a wise man!  Saint Paul earnestly dissuades from it.  So do the saints.  So do the philosophers of ancient times.  Think a while.  What a ridiculous association,—­the philosopher and the chambermaids, writing-desks and cradles, books and distaffs, pens and spindles!  Intent on speculation when the truths of nature and revelation are breaking on your eye, will you hear the sudden cry of children, the lullaby of nurses, the turbulent bustling of disorderly servants?  In the serious pursuits of wisdom there is no time to be lost.  Believe me, as well withdraw totally from literature as attempt to proceed in the midst of worldly avocations.  Science admits no participation in the cares of life.  Remember the feats of Xanthippe.  Take counsel from the example of Socrates, who has been set up as a beacon for all coming time to warn philosophers from the fatal rock of matrimony.”

Such was the blended truth, irony, and wit with which Heloise dissuaded Abelard from open marriage.  He compromised the affair, and contented himself with a secret marriage.  “After a night spent in prayer,” said he, “in one of the churches of Paris, on the following morning we received the nuptial blessing in the presence of the uncle of Heloise and of a few mutual friends.  We then retired without observation, that this union, known only to God and a few intimates, should bring neither shame nor prejudice to my renown.”  A cold and selfish act, such as we might expect in Louis XIV. and Madame de Maintenon,—­yet, nevertheless, the feeble concession which pride and policy make to virtue, the triumph of expediency over all heroic and manly qualities.  Like Maintenon, Heloise was willing to seem what she was not,—­only to be explained on the ground that concubinage was a less evil, in the eyes of the Church, than marriage in a priest.