"Depression! Sacrosanct depression! The word is spreading, at a gallop, and rinforzando, the rumor is making its way, the devil, it’s spread all over, and for some days now it’s been haunting the Elysée Palace. From Lisbon, the journalist from Le Monde who covers him, Mr. Philippe Ridet, wrote “Another life is beginning for the chief of State. What president will he be now that he is alone? Depressive, weakened?” One of his counselors wants to reassure us: “The exercise of power”, he says, “will triumph over the depression.” But no, the harm has been done: whatever his entourage might say, the public eye will no longer let him be, it will scrutinize the shades of his pallor, the luster of his eyes, his complexion, the tilt of his head, his gait, the circles under his eyes… Woe to him at the first sign of fatigue! We are henceforth living in a world where good old tiredness no longer exists: it’s the blues, depression, darling, where are you? Quick, my anti-depressor!"