Bérenger, the father, was a noble of a rare type. He had fortunately received a little culture before setting out in the service of Hoel IV., Duke of Brittany and Count of Nantes, and he in turn communicated his taste and his knowledge to his children. From the fact, too, that he and his wife Lucia adopted the monastic life a few years after Abélard’s departure, we may gather that they were also above the moral level of their class. It is not idle to note that Abélard’s mind encountered no evil or irreligious influences when it first opened. All the circumstances that are known to us suggest a gentle, uplifting, and reverential education. He was the eldest of the sons of Bérenger; and, partly, no doubt, because greater care had been taken with his education, partly in the necessary consciousness of mental power, he early determined to leave home, and wander over the land in search of learning. His words give one the impression that he shouldered a wallet, and sallied forth alone, after the adventurous fashion of the day. However that may be, he says that he resolved to leave the chances of the favour of Mars to his brothers, and set out to woo the gentler Minerva. Abandoning the rights of primogeniture and the possible grace of kings, he passed away from the great castle, and turned eagerly in the direction of the nearest school. It was not uncommon in those ‘Dark Ages’ for a young noble to resign the comfort of the château and the glamour of a courtly life in this way. The scholastic fever, which was soon to inflame the youth of the whole of Europe, had already set in. You could not travel far over the rough roads of France without meeting some foot-sore scholar, making for the nearest large monastery or episcopal town. Before many years, it is true, there was a change, as the keen-eyed Jew watched the progress of the fever. There arose an elaborate system of conveyance from town to town, an organisation of messengers to run between the château and the school, a smiling group of banks and bankers. But in the earlier days, and, to some extent, even later, the scholar wandered afoot through the long provinces of France. Here and there a noble or a wealthy merchant would fly past in his silks and furs, with a body-guard of a dozen stout fellows; or a poor clerk would jog along on his ass, looking anxiously towards each wood or rock that bordered the road ahead. Robbers, frequently in the service of the lord of the land, infested every province. It was safest to don the coarse frieze tunic of the pilgrim, without pockets, sling your little wax tablets and style at your girdle, strap a wallet of bread and herbs and salt on your back, and laugh at the nervous folk who peeped out from their coaches over a hedge of pikes and daggers. Few monasteries refused a meal or a rough bed to the wandering scholar. Rarely was any fee exacted for the lesson given. For the rest, none were too proud to earn a few sous by