Look, Christophe, it snowed... My sister took my hand and kept it in hers. We remained glued to the window, drunk with surprise, laughing to hold our breath. We were shivering, the snowflakes were flying on all sides, covering the roofs and attics, the trees in the square...
It's Christmas and it's snowing in Versailles, like every year. The young boy walks rue de la Paroisse with his sister and parents embracing, looking for presents and under the bright lights. Later, he will graze the golden gates, seeking the silhouette of a little king in the windows of the castle. The snow makes us children. Place Hoche, an unloved general turns his back on the church. From the snow-covered Trianon, in the middle of the night, haunting music seems to escape which frightens the sister and the brother. And who is this slender, red skater on the ice, waving to the young man? So go the memories, magical and tender, until the first evenings in the residences of the city...
In the tradition of the most beautiful Christmas tales, Christophe Bataille offers us a short paradise, which seems to escape as quickly as the snow melts in our hands. After La Brûlure, where the heat of summer defied life, Noël à Versailles awakens the charms of childhood in all readers, at the foot of the Christmas tree or in the whitewashed paths of the park. What if the snow had taken refuge in this unforgettable tale?
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