Since childhood, she has known every nook and cranny of it. Creuse is the country of his mother and his ancestors. His maternal grandfather belongs to a line of migrant masons. The silent Marchois built a cottage with his own hands in a hamlet in the Creuse, then a pavilion in the Paris suburbs. In “The Gold of the Rivers”, Françoise Chandernagor confesses her attachment to her region located in the Massif Central. Its nature, its inhabitants, its history.
The author of “L’Allée du Roi” (ed. Julliard, 1981), member of the Académie Goncourt, praises its wildness and harshness. She spent her early years there, she wishes to live her last moments there. The aroma of milk expressed from the udder resembles a sweet madeleine. His current home stands 8 kilometers from the family cradle. The property is in the middle of the woods, between two ponds. From the road, you can’t see it.
When do you become an adult? At the age of 6, she and her family had a car accident. In the pouring rain at the end of September, they drove towards Issoudun. Everything is going crazy. The little girl hears her father’s white voice: “I can’t do anything. » After three spins, the car finally stops. Françoise Chandernagor notes that she has forever lost the confidence of childhood. Suddenly, she grew up. There are many road deaths in the valley.
His grandmother was the victim of accidents several times. But “The Gold of the Rivers” is also crossed by surprises and joys. She talks about her tenderness for the cows; his ice bath in his alder pond on the day of the eclipse of August 11, 1999; his meeting with the granddaughter of George Sand; its night fishing prohibited. His home is his passion. The former member of the Council of State admits to belonging to the line of plowing masons.
An anxious, insomniac, resourceful child
At the beginning of autumn, when she is bitten by a viper, she finds herself in danger. The house is isolated. She explains that she chose the Creuse for the slowness, the silence, the beauty, but nothing is ever convenient there. Françoise Chandernagor wonders: “Was I once so wild? » She portrays herself as an anxious, insomniac, resourceful child. His attachment to the past is an ethic. The author castigates the consequences of globalization and global warming, does not ignore the ravages of alcoholism, describes with tenderness the anonymous marginalized people of her childhood, criticizes the Zadists, evokes a tolerant and dechristianized countryside, praises the goods intangible. She evokes the mysterious origins of her paternal family, of the “indigent” and “foreigners”, to salute a time when the social elevator worked. In the quest for her paternal ancestors lies her vocation as a writer.
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A book dedicated to its publisher
The author accepts her conservative remarks, an attachment to roots and traditions, as a tribute to the Creuse. The bustle of the capital is mocked. His happiness can be summed up in three words: “Trees, books, children. » Françoise Chandernagor hopes to die in her house, facing her window. Grasses, oaks, birds. The location of the grave has already been chosen: at the bottom of the garden of his home, purchased forty years previously, near the small beech wood.
“The gold of the rivers” is dedicated to Richard Ducousset. He was his publisher at Albin Michel; he is her friend forever. In her story with golden hues, where past, present and future hold hands, Françoise Chandernagor celebrates those she does not forget. They blend into his life, like his house into its landscape. We no longer distinguish one from the other.
“The gold of the rivers”, by Françoise Chandernagor, ed. Gallimard, 300 pages, 21 euros.
©DR
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