And then, ecstatically recalling the old happy times, she deplores that she has nothing left but the painful memory that they are past.  Beyond that, she has no regret except that against her will she must now be innocent.  “My misfortune was to have cruel relatives whose malice destroyed the calm we enjoyed; had they been reasonable, I had now been happy in the enjoyment of my dear husband.  Oh, how cruel were they when their blind fury urged a villain to surprise you in your sleep!  Where was I—­where was your Heloise then?  What joy should I have had in defending my lover!  I would have guarded you from violence at the expense of my life.  Oh, whither does this excess of passion hurry me?  Here love is shocked, and modesty deprives me of words.”

She goes on to reproach him with his neglect and silence these ten years.  When she pronounced her “sad vow,” he had protested that his whole being was hers; that he would never live but to love Heloise.  But he has proved the “unfaithful one.”  Though she is immured in the convent, it was only harsh relatives and “the unhappy consequences of our love and your disgrace” that made her put on the habit of chastity.  She is not penitent for the past.  At one moment she is swayed by the sentiment of piety, and next moment she yields up her imagination to all that is amorous and tender.  “Among those who are wedded to God I am wedded to a man; among the heroic supporters of the Cross I am the slave of a human desire; at the head of a religious community I am devoted to Abelard alone.  Even here I love you as much as ever I did in the world.  If I had loved pleasures could I not have found means to gratify myself?  I was not more than twenty-two years old, and there were other men left though I was deprived of Abelard.  And yet I buried myself in a nunnery, and triumphed over life at an age capable of enjoying it to its full latitude.  It is to you I sacrifice these remains of a transitory beauty, these widowed nights and tedious days.”

And then she closes passionately:  “Oh, think of me—­do not forget me—­remember my love, and fidelity, and constancy:  love me as your mistress, cherish me as your child, your sister, your wife!  Remember I still love you, and yet strive to avoid loving you.  What a terrible saying is this!  I shake with horror, and my very heart revolts against what I say.  I shall blot all my paper with tears.  I end my long letter wishing you, if you desire it (would to Heaven I could!), for ever adieu!”

II.  Abelard to Heloise

Abelard’s answer to this letter is almost as passionate.  He tells how he has vainly sought in philosophy and religion a remedy for his disgrace; how with equal futility he has tried to secure himself from love by the rigours of the monastic life.  He has gained nothing by it all.  “If my passion has been put under a restraint, my thoughts yet run free.  I promise myself that I will forget you, and yet cannot think of it without loving you.