Réponse :
Two years ago. she said, when I was so sick, I noticed that I had the same dream every night. I denied walking in the country: I saw from afar a white house, low and long, surrounded by a grove of lime trees. To the left of the house, a meadow bordered by poplars pleasantly broke the symmetry of the scenery, and the tops of these trees, which could be seen from a distance, swayed above the lime trees.
In my dream, I was drawn to this house and I was going towards it. A barrier painted in white closed the entrance. Then we followed an alley whose curve was very graceful. This path was lined with trees under which I found the spring flowers: primroses, periwinkles and anemones, which withered as soon as I picked them. When you came out of this alley, you were a few steps from the house. In front of it stretched a large lawn, mown like English lawns and almost bare. Only a band of purple flowers ran there.
The house, built of white stone, had a slate roof. The door, a light oak door with carved panels, was at the top of a small flight of steps. I wanted to visit this house, but no one answered my calls. I was deeply disappointed, I rang, I screamed, and finally I woke up.
This was my dream and it repeated to itself for many months with such precision and fidelity that I ended up thinking that I had certainly, in my childhood, seen this park and this castle. However, I could not, in the waking state, recall it, and this research became for me an obsession so strong that one summer, having learned to drive a small car myself, I decided to spend my holidays on the roads of France, in search of the house of my dream.
I won't tell you about my travels. I explored Normandy, Touraine, Poitou; I found nothing and was not surprised. In October I returned to Paris and throughout the winter continued to dream of the White House. Last spring, I resumed my walks around Paris. One day, as I was crossing a valley close to Isle-Adam, I suddenly felt a pleasant shock, this curious emotion that one experiences when one recognizes, after a long absence, people or places. that we loved.
Although I had never been to this region, I was perfectly familiar with the landscape that stretched to my right. Poplar tops towered over a mass of lime trees. Through the still light foliage of these, one guessed a house. So I knew I had found the castle of my dreams. I was aware that a hundred meters further, a narrow path would cut the road. The path was there. I took it. He led me past a white barrier.
From there started the alley that I had so often followed. Under the trees, I admired the soft colored carpet formed by periwinkles, primroses and anemones. When I emerged from the vault of the lime trees, I saw the green lawn and the little steps, at the top of which was the light oak door. I got out of my car, quickly climbed the stairs, and rang the bell.
I was terrified that no one answered, but almost immediately a servant appeared. He was a man with a sad face, very old and wearing a black jacket. Seeing me, he seemed very surprised, and looked at me attentively, without speaking.
"I am going to ask you a somewhat strange favor," I said. I don't know the owners of this house, but I would be happy if they could allow me to visit it.
- The castle is for rent, Madame, he said regretfully, and I am here to show it.
- For rent? I said. What unexpected luck! ... How can the owners themselves not live in such a beautiful house?
- The owners lived there, madam. They have left her since the house is haunted.
- Haunted? I said. That will hardly stop me. I didn't know that, in the French provinces, people still believed in ghosts ...
'I wouldn't believe it, Madame,' he said seriously, 'if I had not myself met so often in the park, at night, the ghost who put my masters to flight.
- What a story ! I say, trying to smile.
"A story," said the old man reproachfully, "which you at least, Madame, should not laugh at, since that ghost was you."
Explications :
c'est une histoire que je viens de traduire qui s'appelle la maison d'andré maurois