Abélard rejoice in his weakness and his humiliation. His pride now takes
offence, and he denies the ties; and so does Héloïse. The old uncle is
enraged and indignant. Abélard, justly fearing his resentment,--yea,
being cruelly maltreated at his instigation,--removes his wife to the
convent where she was educated, and induces her to take the veil. She
obeys him; she obeys him in all things; she has no will but his. She
thinks of nothing but his reputation and interest; she forgets herself
entirely, yet not without bitter anguish. She accepts the sacrifice, but
it costs her infinite pangs. She is separated from her husband forever.
Nor was the convent agreeable to her. It was dull, monotonous, dismal;
imprisonment in a tomb, a living death, where none could know her
agonies but God; where she could not even hear from him who was
her life.

Yet immolation in the dreary convent, where for nearly forty years she
combated the recollection of her folly, was perhaps the best thing for
her. It was a cruel necessity. In the convent she was at least safe from
molestation; she had every opportunity for study and meditation; she was
free from the temptations of the world, and removed from its scandals
and reproach. The world was crucified to her; Christ was now her spouse.

To a convent also Abélard retired, overwhelmed with shame and penitence.
At St. Denis he assumed the strictest habits, mortified his body with
severe austerities, and renewed with ardor his studies in philosophy and
theology. He was not without mental sufferings, but he could bury his
grief in his ambition. It would seem that a marked change now took place
in the character of Abélard. He was less vain and conceited, and sought
more eagerly the consolations of religion. His life became too austere
for his brother monks, and they compelled him to leave this aristocratic
abbey. He then resumed his lectures in the wilderness. He retreated to a