had he remained in his obscurity at St. | is without merit when reason furnishes it with Gildas. He published several more works a basis. . . . Mary is praised because she preon theological and philosophical matters, ceded reason by faith; Zacharias is punished and amongst them the celebrated "Sic et for having sought in reason support for his Non," which at once completed the evi- faith. Our new theologian speaks quite to the dence which his enemies were diligently contrary.... From the very first line of his collecting against him. extravagant philosophy he defines faith as an

This work was specially attacked by St. opinion, an estimation, a preliminary conjecBernard. The saint indited several epis-upon human reason, instead of resting, as they ture as if the mysteries of our faith depended tles on the subject of Abeilard's heresies should, upon the unshakable foundations of as manifested in his teaching and writings; truth! What! you would submit to me as but so bitter and unfair was the spirit of doubtful everything in the world the most certhese letters that Abeilard, encouraged by tain! Saint Augustine does not speak in this his supporters, was obliged to point out manner. Faith,' says he, is not a conjecture the calumnies they contained. This resist- or an opinion which is formed within us by reance developed the forces and animosity flection; it is an internal conviction avowed by of the other side to a formidable extent, the conscience. Let us then leave those proband all the advocates of religious conser-lematic theories to the peripatetic philosophers vation rallied around the standard raised by St. Bernard.

who make it a rule to doubt everything, and who in effect know nothing. For let us adhere to the definition of the doctor of nations.

St. Bernard now believed himself strong Faith,' says this apostle, is the foundation of enough to urge the contest on to its ex- all that we hope for, and a certain proof of those treme issues, and he accordingly addressed things which we do not see.' Faith, then, is a violent letters on the subject of Abeilard's foundation and not an opinion not a deducdoctrines, and the dangers which would tion of our vein thoughts; it is a certainty, and of necessity result from them, to the bish-not a probability." ops, the cardinals, and even to the Pope himself. As a specimen of his style of composition we give the following letter addressed to his Holiness:

"Brother Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux, offers his humble homage to Pope Innocent, his gracious father.

"It is you, Holy Father, who must be addressed when the kingdom of God is in peril or suffering scandal from attack upon the faith. Such is the privilege of the apostolical chair, because to Peter alone it was said, I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail you! To the successor of St. Peter we must then look for the fulfilment of what follows: When you become strengthened, strengthen then your brethren.' It is necessary at this time to fulfil this command, to exercise your apostolic authority, to manifest your zeal to the honour of your ministry.

There has arisen in France a man who, from being a philosopher, has become a theologian who, having passed his youth in the exercise of the dialectic art, comes before us in his mature years to unfold his fancies upon the holy writings - who, believing himself ignorant of nothing in heaven or upon earth, decide I all questions without hesitation... who, prepared to give reasons for all things, undertakes to explain even those things which are above reason, contrary to every rule of faith, and contrary to reason itself. Here is the sense he assigns to these words of the sage, He who believes lightly is rash.' He says that to believe lightly is to make faith go before reason, although the sage does not speak of the faith which we owe to God, but of the too ready belief we accord to the statements of men. - Moreover, Pope Gregory said this Divine faith

In another letter against Abeilard addressed to Cardinal Haimeric, Chancellor of the Church of Rome, Bernard says:

"I have read with my own eyes all that I have heard of the books and the doctrine of Peter Abeilard. I have weighed his expressions, and recognize the pernicious sentiments they contain. This corruption of the faithful, this Contagious spirit adapted to the estrangement of simple minds, pretends to submit to his reason that which cannot be seized except by a willing and docile faith.

The true believer accepts without argument; but this new teacher, not content with having God for the guarantee of his creation, insists that his reason must be the arbitrator. Instead of what the prophet says, If ye will not believe, surely ye shall not be established,' this new theologian calls that lightness of faith' which springs from the heart, misapplying this passage of Solomon, He who believes lightly is rash.' Abeilard mounts as high as heaven, and descends into the abysses; no height, no depth, is hidden from his knowledge. In his own eyes he is a great man, disputing upon the faith against the faith itself, insinuating himself into the secrets of God, and fabricating heresies for us."

To Cardinal Gregorius he wrote as follows:

"I send you the writings of Peter Abeilard in order that you may become acquainted with the spirit of the philosopher. You will perceive that he supposes degrees in the Trinity, like Arius; that he raises free judgment above grace, like Pelagius; that he treats Jesus Christ like Nestorius. . What! after having

escaped from the jaws of the lion,* should we | Abeilard face to face? He has appointed the not be on our guard against the poisonous day upon which the theologian shall sustain bebreath of the dragon? The rage of the former fore the assembled bishops the impious asseris buried in his tomb; the latter would perpet- tions against which I dared to protest. I reuate his pernicious doctrines for ages to come." fuse to appear; because, in all truth, I am only a child; because my adversary has been trained Such epistles as the foregoing could not by the disputations of his younger days; and fail to raise a storm against Abeilard. besides, I think it is not proper to compromise Accused of every offence which was odious the authority of the faith founded upon the and intolerable in the eyes of the dominant word of God by an appeal to the subtle arguChurch and accused with so much tact ments of human reasoning. Therefore, I reply and ability a defence of some sort was that no other accusers are required than his own necessary. writings. In addition, this matter does not Urged by the representations of his fol- concern me personally; it appertains to the lowers, Abelard protested against the ac-bishops who are the guardians and the intercusations made against him. He was even preters of the faith."

induced to express his intention of defend- This letter gives a very good insight ining himself before the Council General to the character of Bernard. First, he which was to judge him. With the evi-shows himself a worthy son of the Church dence of his latter writings before him, militant, who desires condemnation withand with his knowledge of what the Church out giving an opportunity for defence or of Rome was, it is difficult to understand how Abeilard could have for a moment imagined that any defence he could make would avail him against the judgment of a selected body of the servants of the Church; and indeed at the last moment he appears to have seen how futile the effort would have been.

justification; and then he declines, on very frivolous grounds, to substantiate his charges against the man whom he is openly accused of calumniating.

In this state of affairs some negotiations appear to have taken place, which cannot now be defined, but which may easily be guessed at. But probably the common Nevertheless, the expected intellectual understanding so frequently arrived at in combat between two such famous men as our modern Law Courts-that if the acAbeilard and Bernard excited the most in-cused will plead guilty, the rigour of the tense interest among all parties. It was law will be tempered towards him- -was known that, as the champion of distinct and conflicting views, both had been ordered to attend before the Council to plead their respective causes. The anticipated combat was to be a struggle between fixed, unprogressing superstition on the one hand, and free discussion and examination on the other.

The eighth day of Pentecost of the year 1140 was appointed for the assembling of the Council at Sens. In addition to prelates and theologians from almost every corner of the known world, there also flocked to the town all the nobility and gentry of France, with the entire Court of Paris, and the King himself at their head.

From the first St. Bernard had professed an extreme reluctance to enter into the contest, not that he doubted the cause he advocated, but because (he said) he considered himself unworthy to defend that cause. Before the day appointed for the meeting of the Council he wrote as follows to the Archbishop of Sens:

"The Archbishop of Sens calls upon me who am I, meanest of all! to contend with

Alluding to the antipope, Peter the Lion.

brought into play in this instance. Matters having apparently been arranged in this manner, Bernard accepted the task of ostensibly coming forward as the prosecutor of Abeilard. The following letter was accordingly written by him:

"I am obliged to yield to the representations world is preparing for this conflict, an l' they of my friends. They see indeed that all the perceive that my absence would be an excuse for the falling off of the weak in faith, and a subject of triumph for those who are in error; I yield then, although with regret, and with tears in my eyes, without other preparation than that recommended by the evangelist,

And ye shall be brought before governors and kings for my sake; but take no thought how or what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in this same hour what ye shall speak;' and also this assurance, The Lord is on my side, and I will not fear what man can do unto me.

her as he then stood was madness itself. | there is little doubt that he would have Far gone in years, broken-hearted and established a reformed Christianity in the broken-spirited, enfeebled by physical diseases, what could the wreck, the shadow, of the Abeilard of former days do? There was nothing left for him but submission, and then to seek an obscure and peaceful corner in which to linger out the rest of his weary life. If Church reform was necessary, it must be done by some one whose strength and vigour of mind and body bore some proportion to the task, not by the Reformer who stood be- tives: fore the Council at Sens, prepared to drink the cup of humiliation to the very dregs. Abeilard might, it is true, have still shown fight, but it would have been without purpose, and without a result more satisfactory than would follow from a humble submission at once. As was said of Heloise, so it might be said of Abeilard - both were less consecrated to religion than to the memory which lay between them. They were less consecrated to God than to each other.

very stronghold of Catholicism on a purified, simple, and intelligible basis. As it was, broken down by his misfortunes and shorn of everything which could make life worth struggling for, he issued the following apology, which his opponents flattered themselves was a recantation, but which is in reality a clear and beautiful defence of the purity of his principles and the perfectly disinterested character of his mo

With those feelings and anticipations, it is no wonder that Abeilard at the last moment chose to secure for his closing years that peace which could only be found by a full and complete submission. When called upon to speak before the Council, he accordingly declined a controversy. Thereupon the task of Bernard was restricted to simply pointing out what he considered heretical in the productions of his opponent, leaving him the choice of retraction or refutation. Abeilard, in reply, contented himself with registering a formal appeal to the Pope.

The Council unanimously pronounced Abeilard's condemnation, and Bernard and the Church were jubilant. "I have seen," Bernard wrote in the midst of his triumph (quoting the language of David), "I have seen the impious lifted as high as the cedars of Lebanon. I passed, and they were there no longer."

The decision of the Council of Sens, as well as Abeilard's appeal came before Pope Innocent in due course, and the latter, after having considered both sides of the question, confirmed the judgment of the Council, and condemned Abeilard to an "eternal silence on all theological matters."

Abeilard's position was thus clearly and unmistakably determined. However his inability to cope with the Church of Rome may be deplored or excused, it was certainly not to the advantage of mankind in general that he did not, or could not persevere in the contest. Had he done so,'

To all the children of Holy Church, Abeilard the least of all. It is commonly said that the best things are corrupted; and, as Saint Jerome has observed, that to write many books is to draw down many censures. In comparison with the works of others, mine are of criticism, although in my books I do not dislittle consequence. I cannot, however, avoid cover my errors, and I do not pretend to maintain them, if any are found therein. Perhaps I have erred in writing on some subjects otherwise than I should have done; but I call God to witness-who is the sentiment of my soul that I have said nothing from malice, or by a voluntary perversity. I have spoken much in divers public schools, and I have never given my instruction as disguised bread or hidden water. . . . If in the multitude of my words dangerous assertions have entered, as it is written, In much speaking it is impossible not to never led me into heresy, and I have always sin,' the task of defending my opinions has been ready in satisfying exigencies, to modify what I had incautiously said, or to retract it entirely. Such are my sentiments; I never had others."

This will bear favourable comparison with the best of Bernard's effusions. It carries with it an air of conviction which is completed and confirmed by a knowledge of the age and condition of the man at the time he penned it.

Essayists and historians like Macaulay have been unable to suppress their admiration for the policy of the Church of Rome, which has enabled it during so many centuries to hold its place in the world with so little loss of power and influence. But the Church committed a grave error when it adopted that policy of opposing reform as heresy. Had the Abeilards of its history been listened to, and favoured to the same extent as the Bernards, reform would have prevented rebellion, and a vast and united Christian Church would long ere this have familiarized a large proportion of mankind with the practice, and not merely the theory of Christian principles.

After the publication of his defence, Abeilard sought and received an asylum in the Abbey of Cluny, at the head of which establishment was his old friend Peter the Venerable. There he lingered out the last two years of his remarkable life, a meek and silent old man, weary of the world which had dealt so harshly with him, weary of himself, of the disputes of theologians and philosophers, and of the deceptive glory and brilliancy of his past His friend, Peter the Venerable, records that he lived in the strictest seclusion and with great austerity, only partaking of the scantiest and coarsest nourishment. His love for Heloise was all that remained of his old passions and feelings; and that was unchanged and unabated.

career.

His last letter to her before his departure from the scene of his earthly cares affords a touching illustration of his con

stancy:

Before his death an interview was brought about between him and St. Bernard, through the intermediary of Peter the Venerabie. Such an interview was in itself an historical episode, and one well worthy of depiction by the poet or painter.

When death came to him on the 21st of

April, 1142, in his sixty-third year, he was prepared to meet it, and one of the most remarkable men of his age passed from this life, let us hope, to another and happier world, "where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."

In accordance with his last wishes his

body was entombed at Paraclet, the chief mourner being his wife Heloise. For twenty-two years she lived to watch by his tomb, the most constant of women, the "You have been the victim of my love, be- most unfortunate of wives. On the 17th come now the victim of my repentance. Accom- of May, 1164, the final act in this touchplish faithfully that which God demands of you. ing drama was performed according to It is a manifestation of his greatness that the the wishes of the unhappy couple, and only foundation of his goodness to man lies in the body of Heloise was lowered into the our weaknesses; let us mourn over ours at the tomb of Abeilard. A popular legend asfoot of the altar. He only waits for our con-serts that on opening the tomb for the trition and humility to put an end to our mis-interment of Heloise, the faithful husband fortunes. Let our repentance be as public as who had so long awaited the coming of our crimes were. We are a sad example of the his beloved wife extended his fleshless imprudence of youth. Let us show our generation and posterity that the repentance of our arms to receive her. errors has merited their forgiveness; and let us The united remains of husband and wife make them admire in us the power of the grace were not permitted to rest tranquilly in which has been able to triumph over the tyr- the grave where they had been deposited. anny of our passions. Do not be discouraged The vicissitudes of their lives seemed to by occasional returns of tenderness, for it is a be continued after their death. In the virtue to combat and overcome such attacks. year 1800 their bones were transported to May your knowledge of human weaknesses teach the cemetery of Père La Chaise, Paris, you to support the faults of your companions. where a handsome Gothic monument was If I have corrupted your mind, compromised erected over them. The visitor to the your salvation, tarnished your reputation, destroyed your honour, pardon me, and remember cemetery will find the tomb in the older that it is Christian mercy to forgive the evil I part of the grounds on the right of the have done you. Providence calls us to him; do main entrance, and will perceive by the not oppose him, Heloise. Do not write to me immortelles, in all stages of freshness and any more. This is the last letter you will re-decay, heaped upon it, that there are still ceive from me, but in whatsoever place I die I sympathetic souls who mourn the fate of shall leave directions for my body to be con- those unhappy lovers of the Middle Age. veyed to Paraclet. Then I shall require prayers |

WE may forgive German novelists for some mistakes they may make in delineating social life in England. An advertisement is going the round of the German papers, stating that a German firin in England has been established since 1853, for marrying foreigners to English "parties." Indeed, it is stated that the firm

has "rich parties" always on hand, from all parts of Europe, ready to be married. Discretion and delicacy are guaranteed, and unexceptionable references are offered. Among the latter is the Emperor of Germany himself! comic novelist might make something out of this Teutonic idea. Athenæum.

A

CHAPTER XXIX.

NUNA AND HER LOVERS.

"I tell you what, Stephen," Will said on the morning of the third day, I'm going down to Ashton on busi

Ir sounds very simple to repeat a well-ness; shall you object to look up your known fact, and yet in that part of the hu- friend at The Bladebone' for an hour or man drama called love, unless we keep to so? fact, it is much easier to be unreal than it is to be probable. The truth in question is, that however well a man may love a woman, he is always aroused to a more precipitate course of action with regard to her by the existence of a rival, whether this rival be merely the creation of his own brain or a real cause of anxiety.

The dinner-party at the Rectory had so rekindled Will's longing to make Nuna his wife, that if he had been free from the necessity of entertaining Stephen Pritchard, he must have gone down to Ashton next day, and learnt his fate. And when his mother repeated Paul's words, he would have gone off to the Rectory and have left his cousin to amuse himself, only that the good lady informed him the Beauforts were by that time on their way to Beanlands, and would not return for two days or more.

"Not at all. I rather think, Will between ourselves, that we shall find Whitmore gone back to London; he can't amuse himself, you know, as I can. He must be amused. I can't conceive what he does in that place: why there's not even a shop."

"All the shops he wants, I fancy," said Will, savagely. "Dennis Fagg gets capital cigars, and the ale at The Bladebone' has a reputation; come, Steve. I'm not going to have our village run down."

The dog-cart was brought round, and after some "chaff" fully returned between Mr. Pritchard and Larry, the cousins betook themselves to Ashton. Mr. Bright put up at "The Bladebone," and then, leaving Stephen to find out his friend, he went off alone to the rectory.

It was the morning after the Rector's return from Beanlands, and he had gone to visit the poor cripple who had been ill when he left home. Nuna too had gone out to see little Lottie, a fast friend of hers since her accident.

Mr. Bright therefore found Miss Matthews alone.

"I wonder why Nuna dislikes her," Will thought; "she looks so very ladylike, and her hands are so white. I should have fancied her quite a gentle, elegant creature." The word elegant, according to Mr. Bright, covered a multitude of sins, only he was not choice in applying

How Will fumed and raved at his men during that interval, and contradicted his mother, and behaved himself altogether in a most refractory manner to all who came within the circle of his life, is not to be here chronicled; only towards Stephen Pritchard did he maintain an outward show of decorum. Will, as has been said, had been to Harrow, and there had imbibed rather than grasped a certain fragmentary and misty notion of classics and mathematics, and it may be that during this process the amount of reverence due to talent may have in some inexplicable it. manner grown into his brain; for although Stephen made no display of his cleverness, he could show the proof of it in type and cheques, and this last proof is, to such a mind as Will's, irrefutable: genius in rags to such a mind is a myth and a humbug, but genius, directly it gets its name before the public in fact, has a name and prodaces gold-is genius, and is to be respected accordingly; and as most people are of Will Bright's way of thinking, there is no use in preaching against it, only that genius, being a Divine gift, must be the same everywhere-living in comfort or dying in debt-adaptability being the one plank that changes its position.

In Stephen Pritchard were united the rare accidents of power and adaptability; no wonder he imposed reverence on Mr. Bright.

"I hope dear Nuna will be in soon; it was so extremely kind in you to send her that curiously beautiful plant. I'm sure she values it extremely; she has it upstairs in her own room."

A warm glow of pleasure rose in his face; his fear had been that Nuna might reject the gift; he could not help building on this foundation, but he waited for Miss Matthews to speak again.

us

"Why don't you come and see often?" she said. "If I were not afraid of vexing you, I would tell you what I used to think last autumn."

She laughed in such a conscious way, that Will began to hate her: she had made him nervous and uncomfortable.

"What did you think?"

"Oh, nothing to vex you; only I fancy, had I been a certain young lady,