Aragon? A poem! So why not a novel? Intrigued, I immersed myself in this story narrating the days between Palm Sunday and "Tomorrow Easter" where the big fat Louis XVIII courageously took to their heels as the "Ogre" is back. This is not a historical novel, is a novel climates: flight, betrayal, why is shunned and why betrays we betray France or simply a monarch and "his" Princes ...? It follows in particular the young Géricault, painter who "photograph" the scenes of the stampede by imagining a future canvas. Roman thick, thick, which must tame this does not happen by itself, on the rare action with uncertain contours; prose is dense, the words chosen carefully, with numerous digressions of the author, which avoids that the call within a few pages afraid not go through. And when there is, at the end of 835 pages, one leaves exhilarated: it is rewarding! Well, I confess, however, I prefer the "Unfinished Novel" or "Le Fou d'Elsa."
