Qui est-ce? Rimbaud? L'Abb� travesti? Une esclave de la mode? Ma�tresse spectrale des po�tes suffrants? Qui sait? Elle nous enfi�vrera peut-�tre. L'Abb�, disons-le, restera une �nigme.
Unquestionably, there has been something Rimbaud-like about the Abb�, but unlike our young poet he has never been tempted to become an arms dealer in the Middle East. No, really, some have inquired . . . all specific requests for information are being forwarded. Constatons tout simplement que l'Abb� travaille, lui, dans la cathedrale du coeur. . . un �l�ve parmi des ma�tres du d�sir ardent . . . ("Let's simply note that the Abb� works in the cathedral of the heart . . . a student among masters of ardent desire . . .) The Abb� has become a composite, a symbol for any person of a certain experience in matters of the heart, both romantic and mystical, and who finds him- or herself humbled and perhaps closer to the Divine as a result. It is said lovers are drunk on Love, mystics on the Presence of God. One drunkenness flows into the other . . . So the Abb�, too, cannot be dogmatic . . .
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