Farewell My Only One. Antoine Audouard

of the Île de la Cité was buzzing with the curious news that the man whom everyone believed had chosen chastity for ever was in love.

      As was bound to happen, the only person not to know what was going on was Heloise’s uncle, who strolled about the Close with a cheerful expression while people muttered behind his back.

      By chance, or it may have been a portent, it was at this time that the figure of Bernard of Clairvaux, with his hollow cheeks and his gleaming eyes, could be seen in Paris, newly emerged from his fearful valley of Absinthe. He came to Paris as if to Babylon, frothing at the lips, the pain in his belly newly awakened as though he had been eating worms and burning embers. He was not seen preaching at schools or on the bridges: he was too wary of those stout fellows who, taught by the masters, walked about the streets of the city passionately proclaiming the merits of a reason, which he suspected served God only in order to destroy him.