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LETTER V.

HELOISE to ABELARD.

Heloise had been dangerously ill at the Convent of the Paraclete: Immediately upon her Recovery, she wrote this Letter to Abelard. She seems now to have difengaged herself from him, and to have refolved to think of Nothing but Repentance; yet discovers fome Emotions, which make it doubtful whether Devotion had entirely triumphed over her Paffion.

EAR Abelard, you expect perhaps that DI should accuse you of Negligence. Y&You have not answered my last Let*ter, and Thanks to Heaven in the Condition I now am, 'tis a Happiness to me that you shew so much Insensibility for the fatal Passion which had engaged me to you; at last, Abelard, you have loft Heloise for ever; Notwithstanding all the Oaths I made to think of Nothing but you only and to be entertained with Nothing but you, I have banished you from my Thoughts, I have forgot you. Thou charming Idea of a Lover I once adored, thou wilt no more be my Happiness! Dear Image of Abelard! thou wilt no more follow me every where, I will no more remember thee. O celebrated Merit of a Man, who in spite of his Enemies, is the Wonder of his Age! O enchanting Pleasures to which Helsise entirely refigned herself, you, you have been my Tormentors, I confess, Abelard, without a Blush, my Infidelity: Let my Inconftancy teach the World that there is no depending upon the Promises of Women; they are all subject to change. This troubles you, Abelard; this News without Doubt surprizes you; you could never imagine Heloise should be inconstant. She was prejudiced by so strong an Inclination to you, that you cannot conceive how Time could alter it. But be undeceived, I am going to discover to you my Falseness, though instead of reproaching me, I perfuade myself you will shed Tears of Joy. When I shall have told you what Rival hath ravished my Heart from you, you will praise my Inconstancy, and will pray this Rival to fix it: By this you may judge that 'tis God alone that takes Heloise from you. Yes, my dear Abelard, he gives my Mind that Tranquillity which a quick Remembrance of our Misfortunes would not fuffer me to enjoy. Just Heaven! What other Rival could take me from you? Could you imagine it possible for any Mortal to blot you from my Heart? Could you think me guilty of facrificing the virtuous and learned Abelard to any other but to God? No, I believe you have done me Justice in this Point. I queßion not but you are impatient to know what Means

Means God used to accomplish so great an End; I will tell you, and wonder at the secret Ways of Providence. Some few Days after you sent me your last Letter I fell dangerously ill, the Physicians gave me over; and I expected certain Death. Then it was, that my Passion, which always before seemed innocent, appeared criminal to me. My Memory represented faithfully to me all the past Actions of my Life, and I confess to you, my Love was the only Pain I felt. Death, which till then I had always confidered as at a Distance, now presented itself to me such as it appears to Sinners. I began to dread the Wrath of God, now I was going to experience it; and I repented I had made no better Ufe of his Grace. Those tender Letters I have wrote to you, and those passionate Conversations I have had with you, gave me as much Pain now, as they formerly did Pleasure. Ah! miferable Heloise, said I, if it is a Crime to give oneself up to fuch soft Transports; and if after this Life is ended, Punishment certainly follows them, why didst thou not resist so dangerous an Inclination? Think on the Tortures that are prepared for thee, confider with Terror that Store of Torments, and recollect at the same Time those Pleasures which thy deluded Soul thought so entrancing. Ah, pursued I, dost thou not almost despair for having rioted in such false Pleasures? In short, Abelard, imagine all the Remorse of Mind 1 fuffered,

T

fered, and you will not be astonished at my Change.

Solitude is insupportable to a Mind which is not easy, its Troubles increase in the Midst of Silence, and Retirement heightens them. Since I have been shut up within these Walls, I have done nothing but weep for our Misfortunes. This Cloister has refounded with my Cries, and like a Wretch condemned to eternal Slavery, I have worn out my Days in Grief and Sighing. Instead of fulfilling God's merciful Design upon me, I have offended him; I have looked upon this facred Refuge, like a frightful Prison, and have borne with Unwillingness the Yoke of the Lord. Instead of sanctifying myself by a Life of Penitence, I have confirmed my Reprobation. What a fatal Wandring! But, Abelard, I have torn off the Bandage which blinded me, and if I dare rely upon the Emotions which I have felt, I have made myself worthy of your Esteem. You are no more that amorous Abelard, who, to gain a private Conversation with me by Night, ufed incessantly to contrive new Ways to deceive the Vigilance of our Observers. The Misfortune which happened to you after so many happy Moments gave you a Horror for Vice, and you instantly confecrated the Rest of your Days to Virtue, and seemed to submit to this Neceffity willingly. I indeed, more tender than you, and more fenfible of foft Pleasures, bore this Misfortune with extreme Impatience; you have heard my Exclamati

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ons against your Enemies. You have seen my whole Resentment in those Letters I wrote to you. 'Twas this without Doubt which deprived me of the Esteem of my Abelard: You were alarmed at my Transports, and if you will confess the Truth, you perhaps despaired of my Salvation. You could not foresee that Heloise would conquer so reigning a Passion; but you have been deceived, Abelard; my Weakness, when supported by Grace, hath not hindered me from obtaining a compleat Victory. Restore me then to your good Opinion; your own Piety ought to folicit you to this.

But what fecret Trouble rises in my Soul, what unthought-of Motion opposes the Resolution I have formed of Sighing no more for Abelard? Juft Heaven! Have I not yet triumphed over my Love? Unhappy Heloise! as long as thou drawest a Breath it is decreed thou must love Abelard; weep, unfortunate Wretch that thou art, thou never hadst a more just Occasion. Now I ought to die with Grief; Grace had overtaken me, and I had promised to be faithful to it, but I now perjure myself, and facrifice even Grace to Abelard. This facrilegious Sacrifice fills up the Measure of my Iniquities. After this can I hope God should open to me the Treasures of his Mercy? Have I not tired out his Forgiveness? I began to offend him from the Moment I first saw Abelard; an unhappy Sympathy engaged us both in a criminal Commerce; and God raised us up an Enemy to separate

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