The Romance of the Rose

To my only love after Christ, Peter Abelard; Heloise, abbess of the Paraclete.

Thy most recent letter did astonish me to tears. I shalt write this only once to unburden my heart to thee like I did in former days when we still communed and loved one another as equals. On my oath to Christ, I shalt never do it againe.

The desire I felt for thee in my youth hast not yet abandoned me. Nor have my fervent prayers and renunciation of my flesh availed any victory from my lustful desires. I fear I have disappointed thee greatly.

Like the apostle Paul, in his pleading and agony before God for release from the thorn in his flesh, sin has mastered me. O wretched woman that I am! who shalt deliver me from the body of this death?

And you answer, So then with the mind, I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh the law of sin.

But it is not so.

Our Lord Jesus hast warned us in Matthew's gospel, Whosever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.

It is the intent of our thoughts and hearts that God judges from His throne in the Eternal City. I have long since mastered my flesh. But my memories shalt not release me from the prison of those remembered joys and pleasures of our bodies when we were joined as one.

God was both cruel and kind when He cut thy sin violently away from thee. I wept bitter tears for the hours of thine suffering. Thanks be to God for His kindness that those lusts trouble thee no longer. But mine give me no rest.

I remember how my passion was sated in thine naked arms with such aches and sighs that it troubles my dreams, interrupts my fervent praying and tears my thoughts asunder from God's most Holy word.

How can Christ sanctify me when I have no desire to repent? Or how can He atone for sins that still live within my grieving heart?

I loved thee truly, Peter, and love thee ever. I took my vows and the veil at thy command to honor thy word with the only means yet remaining me. This habit that I daily don and the veil hiding my features from the world are mere trappings of my hypocrisy.

No peace do I find in my prayers nor relief reading my Psalter. We share one another's dishonoring. But only thou have truly repented our fornication. In the darkness of my loneliness, my only joy is to read your words and learn together at a distance much like we once did face to face.

Abandon me not to the cold arms of death, my love, I beg thee upon my knees! Thou spoke over much of sickness and dying in thy latest letter, my tears wetting the pages and smudging thy words to my horror. Speak not of thy body returned to me only to intern tearfully in clay. I don't wish to see thee dead, but living, my love!

Do not lean hard upon me by begging me to lift you up in prayer that you might more truly know the peace and salvation of God! It is I who needs thy praying. Remember, I chose not this life. Thou chose it for me. But say the word and I would fly to thee and sink into the comfort of thy chaste arms once more.

It would suffice to feel the warmth of thy embrace and caress againe thy handsome brow. What imagined joys to watch together againe the sun ascend into the heavens, to study the Holy Scriptures and read from Aristotle like we did when thy lips first tasted and approved of mine.

Do you remember our joy of discovery in our close reading of the text? Can you see it? You whispered breathlessly, your finger tapping the book. Like a piercing of the veil?

I see and apprehend, I answered softly back.

Character reveals moral purpose, you continued while I blushed with desire.

What we choose or avoid must us define! I almost shouted. And I chose thee and thy me in return, our passions blooming with the truth that we each recognized even when contemplating the consummation of our sinful passions. Our hearts see so much more than our eyes ever behold, my darling.

Are we truly unworthy before God? We who first loved one another's minds and only later reveled in one another's flesh? Why did God wait to punish till we had married to expiate our sin and then in our chasteness condemned us to the rod of suffering?

For a woman marriage is a form of prostitution. She must surrender herself to a man that he might provide her wellbeing and upkeep. I did not sleep with thee for protection nor provender. Better a mistress than wife of an Emperor!

Our love produced our son Astrolabe, now grown to manhood and taken orders, following in our footsteps even without the two of us there to guide him. I weep to think we might have been a family and raised our son rather than thy dear and loyal sister. Oh Peter, my regrets could fill many volumes, but I shalt never regret nor repent of loving thee.

Last night I dreamed that our love was distilled into a lovely red rose with thorns so deadly that none could hold it without spilling blood. Ours is the romance of the rose, my love, both a warning and a promise.

I pray that one day people shalt no longer cluck piously at our sin and misfortune nor praise us for our endurance in the faith. How much better that they might remember not our transgressions and piety but rather our constant love for one another.

The grace of the Lord Jesus be with you. Know that thy shalt have my love and admiration for as long as I draw breath.