In summer 1970 I lived six weeks in Paris while researching Byzantine Greek manuscripts in the Bibliothèque nationale. I spent one Sunday at Nôtre-Dame and the Louvre. On that day fifty-two years ago I penned some notes, just recently unearthed, that are a kind of manifesto of my intellectual biography in the half-century since.
A Sunday in Paris
Things have happened the way they have happened, and not some other way.
It’s Mass one goes to in Nôtre-Dame on Sunday morning. In the afternoon