“I have just opened the curtain: on the balcony, the sun has extended its soft cushions.
I will not go out;
these rays promise me no happiness;
why did their sight immediately caress me like a hope, a hope of nothing, a hope disaffected by any object, and yet, in its pure state, a timid and tender hope?
Read also: Proust, columnist at
Le Figaro
When I was 12 I played on the Champs-Élysées with a little girl I loved, whom I never saw again, who got married, who is now a mother and whose name I have read the other day among
Figaro
subscribers
.
But as I did not know her parents, I could only see her there and she did not come there every day, because of lessons, catechisms, snacks, children's mornings, shopping with her mother, a whole lot. an unknown life, full of a painful charm, because it was hers, and it separated her from me.
When I knew she would not come, I took my teacher on a pilgrimage to
This article is for subscribers only.
You have 88% left to discover.
Subscribe: 1 € the first month
Can be canceled at any time
Enter your email
Already subscribed?
Log in