A re-telling of the true 12th century love story of Heloise and Abelard. Abelard is a great philosopher and theologian who has taken, like many academics of the time, a vow of celibacy. When he is hired as a tutor for the brilliant and beautiful Hel...
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Someday, when he recounts the story of his life, he will write a chapter about these days. He will title this chapter: "OF HOW, BROUGHT LOW BY HIS LOVE FOR HELOISE, HE WAS WOUNDED IN BODY AND SOUL".
Do not believe it.
We are too quick to re-write our narratives in a favourable light, especially when one aspires to be a pious monk later on in life as my Abelard did.
Through his words, I will be turned into a caricature of female desire; I will be the siren in the Odyssey. I will be a temptress, bringing men down from their noble path.
Do not believe it; I was there.
I saw the ways he looked at me. He'd bring lesson plans, but we would never get through them. I would debate him on every single point. It was somewhat of a game: we would try to see who would cede first in an argument. The arguments would be long-winding and convoluted; we would not even care, truly, which side we were on. We would pick a side each, as kids do in games of sports, and we would argue it with all the passion we had in us. When one of us would eventually give up, we would both dive into a fit of laughter.
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And then there were the memorization games. We would name off every plant we could - every type of bird or stone, too. We would quiz each other: "what plant is known for headache remedy?" I would ask, and "Feverfew," he would nearly should and slam an excited fist on the desk between us. He taught me all he knew about medicine, and in mere weeks I came to know just as much as he did.
Then there were the languages: we would switch seamlessly between Greek and Latin, Hebrew and French... I would read a passage of some piece of literature in any of the languages, strolling around my room like an actor does with arms wide and words accentuated. To make him laugh was the goal.
When it was his turn, he would very nearly make me cry. I would recline on my bed, watching him recite his touching verses of poetry. He was a romantic at heart. A theologian by trade.
In theology... this was where things were most interesting. You might think, now, it would have been natural for me to be drawn to debates of theology, seeing as I am the abbess who sits before you. But at one time, in those simpler times, it was merely one subject for me among many.
