Lettre A Un Otage

Saint-Exupry originally wrote the text for the preface to a novel by his best friend Lon Werth: thirtythree days. The latter then refuge in the Jura in the autumn of 1940, because of his Jewish origins. The book will however appear not and Saint-Exupry was reworked then considerably its preface by removing any direct reference to his friend, who then becomes anonymous in the text, and thus symbolizes the French "hostage" to the occupier. This version was published in June 1943 independently. The work consists of six short chapters, with the recent evidence of the life of the writer (trip to the Portugal, evocation of the Sahara, stay in the United States...), is mixing references with his friendship for dedicated and his commitment to his country. I I n December 1940 when I crossed the Portugal to go to the United States, Lisbon emerged me as a kind of paradise plain and sad. We talked so much of an imminent invasion, and the Portugal hobbyhorse to the illusion of happiness. Lisbon, which had built the most beautiful exhibition which was in the world, smiled a smile a little pale, like these mothers who have point of news of a son in war and trying to save him by their confidence: "my son is living since I mouse...". ""Look, thus said Lisbon, how I am happy and peaceful and well lit,... ". "The entire continent weighed against the Portugal as a mountain wild, heavy of the tribes of prey; Lisbon party defied Europe: "can you take me to target when 5 I put so much care not to hide." When I am so vulnerable!... "The cities from home were, at night, ash colour. I am there was dshabitu of any light, and this radiant capital caused me a vague unease. If the surrounding suburb is dark, too enlightened showcase diamonds attract the prowlers. One can feel them moving. Against Lisbon I felt weigh the night of Europe inhabited by stray groups of bombers, as if they had far sensed this treasure. But the Portugal did not know the appetite of the monster. He refused to believe the bad signs. The Portugal spoke on art with a desperate confidence. Would you dare crush in the cult of art? He had released all of its wonders. Would dare - you crush in its wonders? He showed his big men. Without an army, or guns, he had developed against the scrap from the invading all its sentinels of stone: the poets, the explorers, conquistadors. The past of the Portugal, lack of army and cannons, successfully driving it off the road. Would you dare crush in its 6 legacy of a magnificent past? I Err thus each evening with melancholy through the successes of this exhibition of extreme taste, where all to approach perfection, until if discreet music, chosen with tact, and, on the gardens, flowing gently, without shine, as a simple song of fountain. Would we destroy this wonderful taste of the measure in the world? And I found Lisbon, under his smile, sadder than my extinct cities. I have known, you have possibly known, these somewhat bizarre families who retained their table instead of a death. They denied the irreparable. But it did not seem to me that this challenge was consoling. Of the dead should be of the dead. Then they found in their role of dead, another form of presence. But these families there were suspending their return. They were absent permanent, of the late guests forever. They traded mourning against a wait without content. And these homes seemed to me into a malaise without (7)