Le Comte de Monte Cristo t.2

Ironic—but that rereading had not been purely by chance. I had been toying with the idea of writing a modern, doubtless iconoclastic, version of the Dumas novel. Vengeance, of course, remained the driving force of the action, but the plot took place in our era, and Monte Cristo was a woman. So I did not have time to commit this crime of lГЁse-majestГ©. As a punishment, I would have preferred to be transformed into M. Danglars, Franz d'Г‰pinay, the AbbГ© Faria, or, at the very least, to copy out one thousand times: "I must not tamper with masterpieces." But the gods of literature and neurology decided otherwise. Some evenings I have the impression that Grandpapa Noirtier patrols our corridors in a century-old wheelchair sadly in need of a drop of oil. To foil the decrees of fate, I am now planning a vast saga in which the key witness is not a paralytic but a runner. You never know. Perhaps it will work. The Dream As a rule, I do not recall my dreams. At the approach of day their plots inevitably fade. So why did last December's dreams etch themselves into my memory with the precision of a laser beam? Perhaps that is how it is with coma ...»