I’ve used this phrase, which is Latin for “the history of [my] calamities,” facetiously before, in a post which describes a turbulent period in my life–some forty years ago now
Today, though, I reference the work by twelfth century scholar Peter Abelard, who died 882 years ago, on April 21, 1142.
Although a brilliant scholar and philosopher, Abelard is (perhaps unfortunately) best known for his passionate love affair with his student and future wife, Héloïse du Paraclet, a pretty nifty lady in her own right who is credited–among other things–with being boots-on-the-ground and hugely influential in the the nascent courtly love tradition of Medieval European literature.
Peter and Héloïse met during her education at the hands of the Catholic Church, and while he was a scholar at Notre Dame (Paris, not Indiana, FFS.) By then (at the age of about sixteen), she was already widely known as an exceptional student, multi-lingual, and of strong mind and opinions. To say that Peter fell for the young lady would be the understatement of the (twelfth) century.
When, as the result of the subsequent affair, Héloïse became pregnant by Peter, her uncle–a Canon in the Catholic church–insisted that the pair marry, which they did, and Héloïse was delivered of a son she named Astrolabe. (Don’t look at me; I don’t pick these names.)
Uncle Canon Fulbert immediately became highly critical of the marriage and (according to Peter) spread gossip intended to hurt Peter’s advancing career in the Catholic church, then sent a gang of thugs to castrate him.
Peter became a monk. Héloïse became a nun. Astrolabe was raised by his mother’s family, may have taken holy orders himself, and probably spent most of his life at his mother’s nunnery. (There’s an interesting paper here, which references and collates most of the scant information available on the mystery of Abelard and Héloïse’s son, including the mind-blowing speculation that the letters in the name “Astrolabus Puer Dei” (Astrolabe Son of God”) can be rearranged to spell “Petrus Abaelardus II” (I haven’t verified this myself; anagrams do my head in. Too many notes.)
But it’s a sad story, all round.
Better (much better), perhaps, to remember Abelard for his scholarly brilliance, his eidetic memory, his skill logic and debate, his enlightened philosophical views, his development of the concept of “limbo” (which–it seems to me–he must have spent a fair amount of time in, IRL).
Especially since his Historia Calamitatum (available on Project Gutenberg, here), a fairly short work detailing his sufferings, is a masterpiece of self-pity and conspiracy theorizing.
It’s fairly strong on the “persecution” vibe to start with, (he comes across as a bit of a show off, maybe even a narcissist), a youth whose teachers (brilliant in their own right) are gobsmacked by his own scholarly acumen, and whom he then imagines to be envious of his glittering accomplishments which he believes far exceed their own. (Stop me if you’ve heard this before.)
He hits rock bottom (as it were) with the story of his love for Héloïse. Believing (of course) that his advances would be received with due appreciation:
It was this young girl whom I, after carefully considering all those qualities which are wont to attract lovers, determined to unite with myself in the bonds of love, and indeed the thing seemed to me very easy to be done. So distinguished was my name, and I possessed such advantages of youth and comeliness, that no matter what woman I might favour with my love, I dreaded rejection of none…
Barf. So much for a passionate love affair.
In furtherance of his pursuit of “a target of opportunity,” our Peter plots a hatch, gets himself admitted to the household of Uncle Canon Fulbert, and inveigles the man into taking him on as a tutor for his niece.
I should not have been more smitten with wonder if he had entrusted a tender lamb to the care of a ravenous wolf.
Wait. Wut?
By this point, I’m starting to feel a bit of (largely unwelcome) sympathy with Uncle Canon Fulbert.
Once he’s knocked his girlfriend up, our priapic hero claims to have approached Uncle Canon Fulbert with a plan to marry Héloïse, which he subsequently did. all the while proclaiming his lamentations and shame for having to do so. Along the way, in the vein of perhaps protesting too much, he asserts that Héloïse herself wasn’t wild about the idea because, after all (he says she declared):
How unfitting, how lamentable it would be for me, whom nature had made for the whole world, to devote myself to one woman solely, and to subject myself to such humiliation!
Wow. Andrew Tate, call your office! I don’t care how transgressive you think you are, you’re almost 900 years too late.
Abelard goes on, and on, paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter…LOL.
Sorry. Just not buying it. You might be shouting across the centuries, but you’re not reaching me.
Nevertheless, he and Héloïse did get married. And when the rumors start, Abelard sends Héloïse to a nunnery (a precursor of Hamlet?) and “had them make ready for her all the garments of a nun, suitable for the life of a convent, excepting only the veil, and these I bade her put on.”
When her uncle and his kinsmen heard of this, they were convinced that now I had completely played them false and had rid myself forever of Héloïse by forcing her to become a nun. [Hello?] Violently incensed, they laid a plot against me, and one night, while I, all unsuspecting, was asleep in a secret room in my lodgings, they broke in with the help of one of my servants, whom they had bribed. There they had vengeance on me with a most cruel and most shameful punishment, such as astounded the whole world, for they cut off those parts of my body with which I had done that which was the cause of their sorrow. This done, straightway they fled, but two of them were captured, and suffered the loss of their eyes and their genital organs. One of these two was the aforesaid servant, who, even while he was still in my service, had been led by his avarice to betray me.
Ouch.
The rest of Abelard’s Historia details his studies post the affair. The word “persecution” again rings loud throughout, as does his assertion of his own superiority to the abbots, his fellow students, the councils, the brethren, the “new enemies” the “monks,” his “lords” and God-only-knows who else. He sounds, for most of it, like the poster child for Mark 6:4, “A prophet is not without honor, but in his own country.” And like its regular corollary, for those who like to invoke it: “You’re super-lucky to have such a magnificent fellow as me in your lives, and I can’t help it if you’re too stupid to see that.” (I don’t expect such a thing was the original New Testament intent, but by God, as it were, it seems to be the effect.)
God is my witness that whensoever I learned of the convening of a new assemblage of the clergy, I believed that it was done for the express purpose of my condemnation.
Yeah, Peter. It’s all about you.
It goes on and on like this until the end. Wah, wah, wah.
Look, I’m sorry for what happened to him. Canon Uncle Fulbert sounds like a bastard. But Abelard? Cannot help thinking he had something to do, start to finish, with the trajectory of his story.
And so, yes. Stick to his scholarly work and leave the personal aside.
And yet.
There’s a poem–Carmen ad Astralabium–to his son. Something one might not expect from a man generally considered to be a determinedly absentee dad. One that starts out,
Astralabe, my son, sweetness of a fatherly life
And follows with a lengthy series of advice to his son on how to live his best life.
I’m having difficulty finding a freely-available translation from the original Latin . But if I do find one, I’ll post it.
Because I can’t think of anything more redemptive for this deeply troubled man.
