Christine Siméone, de France Inter, en son "coup de coeur" pour "Proust pour tous" du 14 mars, a mentionné son intérêt pour les lecteurs hantés par un livre et m'a prise comme modèle, ce qu'avait déjà fait Dominique Guiou, qui a fondé sa collection DUETTO sur ces prémisses. Et quand le lendemain, à 5 h30, tandis que je me prélassais au lit et entendant le pas de Jules partant au travail résonner 4 étages plus bas sur les dalles de la cour, je me suis dit: "s'il se retourne et lève les yeux vers la fenêtre de sa chambre éclairée, aura-t-il pour moi les mêmes sentiments que le narrateur pour Albertine?" et ce simple fait que je n'aurais sans doute pas noté (Jules partant avant l'aurore au boulot) s' est métamorphosé en un cadeau de vie, une vie multipliée par la lecture d'un livre qui vous hante.
Christine Siméone, of France Inter, in her "I love."Proust pour tous"" March 14, mentioned her interest for readers haunted by a book, and I was used as an example, which had also been done by Dominique Guiou, who had founded his DUETTO collection on that argument. And when, the following day, at 5:30, as I was still in bed and hearing Jules' steps on the yard's pavement, 4 floors lower, I told to myself: if he raises his eyes towards his lit bedroom's window, will he have the feelings of the narrator for Albertine? that simple fact (Jules leaving so early to go to work) would have been unnoticed without the reading of a book that multiply your life.
The carriage drove on. I remained for a moment alone upon the pavement. To be sure, these luminous rays which I could see from below and which to anyone else would have seemed merely superficial, I endowed with the utmost consistency, plenitude, solidity, in view of all the significance that I placed behind them, in a treasure unsuspected by the rest of the world which I had concealed there and from which those horizontal rays emanated, a treasure if you like, but a treasure in exchange for which I had forfeited my freedom, my solitude, my thought. If Albertine had not been there, and indeed if I had merely been in search of pleasure, I would have gone to demand it of unknown women, into whose life I should have attempted to penetrate, at Venice perhaps, or at least in some corner of nocturnal Paris. But now all that I had to do when the time came for me to receive caresses, was not to set forth upon a journey, was not even to leave my own house, but to return there. And to return there not to find myself alone, and, after taking leave of the friends who furnished me from outside with food for thought, to find myself at any rate compelled to seek it in myself, but to be on the contrary less alone than when I was at the Verdurins’, welcomed as I should be by the person to whom I abdicated, to whom I handed over most completely my own person, without having for an instant the leisure to think of myself nor even requiring the effort, since she would be by my side, to think of her. So that as I raised my eyes to look for the last time from outside at the window of the room in which I should presently find myself, I seemed to behold the luminous gates which were about to close behind me and of which I myself had forged, for an eternal slavery, the unyielding bars of gold. The Captive