PERIPATETICUS PALATINUS (23)
Abelard wrote for the use of the Paraclete some 133 hymns (excellently
edited by Szövérffy, 1975). They are the finest Latin poetry of the twelfth
century. Besides being a philosopher and theologian, Abelard was the
greatest poet of his age. He tells us that in the early days of his affair
with Heloise he wrote love-songs for her, that many of them had become
popular and were still being sung at the time he was writing, in the 1130s.
These have not survived, so far as we know; although we have many anonymous
Latin love-lyrics coming down from the period. Perhaps someone - Fr
Chrysogonus perhaps - will one day identify some of them as from the hand of
Abelard. But the hymns themselves are, in a sense, love-songs to Heloise.
It is possible to see personal references in many of them.
The hymns are one of the glories of Latin literature, endlessly inventive,
with many different metres previously unheard of. The only one in common
use nowadays is the O quanta qualia sunt illa sabbata, written for Saturday
vespers and familiar in the translation of J.M. Neale, 'O what their joy and
their glory must be, Those endless sabbaths the blessed ones see.' One
should note one line: Quis rex, quae curia, quale palatium. In Neale's
translation, 'What are the monarch, his court, and his throne?' But
palatium does not mean a throne, it means a palace; and it is the Latin
name for Le Pallet, where Abelard was born and spent his childhood; hence
Peripateticus Palatinus. It was too the haven to which he had abducted
Heloise and where she had borne their child. Heaven, says Abelard, will be
a Palatium.
I have an article coming out in Mittellateinisches Jarbuch looking at
Abelard's technique in some of the hymns. But don't wait for it: do
yourself the favour of reading some of his hymns for yourself. They are a
body of poetry comparable in stature (forgive me if I grow a little
expansive - I write this after an evening's Gaudeamus Igitur in the tavern
with Doctor Ceramicus) - comparable in stature, I would say, with
Shakespeare's sonnets or Dante's Vita Nuova. One can only begin to imagine
how Heloise felt to have them to sing at the Paraclete.
* * * * *
Doctor Elasticus.
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