Back in the day in Montmartre, the Montmartre of Bruant, Canetti and Patachou, among other small trades that no longer exist, among the blacksmiths, street singers and other tradesmen, there were pleasant and rather strong ladies known as “marchandes des quatre-saisons” (four seasons’ merchants) … 

Their fruit and vegetable stalls brought nature to Paris, and they urged shoppers with their more or less poetic calls to buy the strawberry or carrot of the day.

They were the last echoes of the Parisian shouts, and I can’t help but think, as I recall them, of our authors and composers who so often “go” for less than four seasons.

Oh Yes! Who could disagree? 

- Today’s poor cicadas are still often left with nothing when the showbiz winds blow.

“Friday’s laugh is Sunday’s disappointment …”, “Sic transit gloria mundi…” (« Thus goes the glory of the world »). In short, same old song. 

After all the glitz and glamour, it’s quite common for some of us to stumble. What can we do, where can we turn to for help? 

At a time when institutions are under suspicion, when it is hard to imagine that hands can reach out. There are still communities where solidarity is the watchword and solitude the enemy to fight. Our Comité du ❤️ is one of those. 

Created by some of our greatest elders and inspired by Maurice Chevalier, it continues, a quarter of this century later, to breathe new life into our fellow colleagues who have been ill-treated by life.

Never hesitate to call on it, or to bring to its attention any distress that is too discreet. It is always there for you, for everyone, four seasons out of four. 

Claude Lemesle, author, vice-president of the Comité du cœur

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