The deepest currents of passion seldom break the surface of literature. Romantic classics abound; but however skilled a writer may be in verbalising an emotional experience, he cannot publicly evoke the heat of blood, the yearning of soul, bared in perfect intimacy between two beings. But letters can do this, and songs never meant to be sung by any but the lover, or the beloved.
The Letters of Heloise and Abelard perpetuate perfectly the bitterness of love thwarted and betrayed. How these letters were preserved no one quite knows. But they are as authentic as the two people from whose tormented lives they were wrung.