had him removed to the little priory of Saint Marcel, a
dependency of Cluni, where he died, April 21, 1142.

In accordance with the wishes of Heloise and of Abelard himself, Peter
the Venerable sent his remains secretly to the Paraclete, writing to
Heloise: "May the Lord keep him for you, to give him back to you through
His mercy." There was a heart still in the breast of this old monk; we
trust that his prayer has been answered, even as we trust that the
absolution which he sent at Heloise's request has washed away the sins
of her lover: "I, Peter, Abbot of Cluni, who received into the monastery
of Cluni Peter Abelard, and granted that his body be borne secretly to
the Abbess Heloise and the convent of the Paraclete, by the authority of
God Almighty and of all the saints, absolve him, by virtue of my office,
from all his sins."

We hear nothing more of Heloise, except that she provided for her child,
left with Abelard's sister in Brittany; but we know that she lived her
life not only bravely, but honorably. For twenty-two years more she
lived on at the convent over which her husband had established her, and
here she died, on the 16th of May, 1164. Her body was buried beside that
of her husband in the cemetery of the Paraclete, and a touching legend
relates that when, according to the order given by herself, her body was
deposited in the tomb of her husband, "Abelard stretched out his arms to
receive her and closed them in a last embrace." Through all the
centuries love has guarded their remains; though often shifted, their
resting place is still known: in the famous Cimetiere de L'Est, Pere
Lachaise, at Paris, the traveller still sees the tomb of Abelard and
Heloise.

It is not her learning that has made Heloise famous; it is the accident
of her connection with Abelard which has served to keep her name alive.
It is not because she was learned or because she was loved by Abelard
that we admire her. Her greatness is a moral greatness rare in her time,
and not due to her intellect or to the tragic circumstances of her life.
The remarkable thing is that, overwhelmed in the ruin of her lover,
forced into a convent at twenty, where she obeys him and imitates him,
she yet does not change in her heart, she does not suffer the mystic
death of the cloister; of her love she never repents, though she does
repent of her faults; to the law of monastic asceticism her conscience
refuses to submit, let Abelard preach as he will, for