| EXCERPTS Table of Contents Translator/Editor Notes Cover Page p.25 p.35 p.88 p.94 p.151 p.190 EPILOGUE What remains today of those horrible, tragic, deafening days? Vast cemeteries under the silent vigil of the moon. I think especially of the American necropolis of St.-Laurent-sur-Mer, which I know best. On this grand, impressive site overlooking the sea lies an immense carpet of perfectly-tended grounds, the final resting place for nearly 9,000 tombs. The Carrara marble crosses and stars of David are in perfect alignment. The site is never without visitors. Often, French schoolchildren come to lay flowers on the tombs, offering their small bouquets of gratitude to the soldiers who, without realizing it, died for them as well. Today, after so many years, I returned to the Château de Villeray and its powerful emotions and memories. The Le Roy Ladurie children, having now grown to be parents and grandparents, are its proprietors. Marie, my friend François' sister, received us simply, as if we had returned to pick up a conversation interrupted the night before. We found the magnificent entrance hall just as before, with its superb mosaic flooring intact. Still hanging on the wall was the large Gobelins tapestry that we had saved in 1944, and used as a tarpaulin to secure possessions on our cart. In the dining room, the monumental fireplace still stands, with its light yellow licks of smoke left by ill-burning damp wood. In the parlor, next to the immense grand piano stands the harp that I had so admired when I first saw it. There, the family assembled every evening with the château workers, to offer prayers. Fear had deepened religious fervor. And with a single stunning blow, the memory of the Fear comes back: the Fear that gripped my belly for days. It was a cramp, the size of a fist, centered constantly in my solar plexis. Today, in these rather empty, grand rooms, I see again my dear friends, all the friends who have disappeared. And I want only to weep. ARMAND-October 4, 2003 |