Authors: Robert Merle
This letter made my Angelina so present to me that I dreamt, as I held it, that I was holding her in my loving arms. Alas, her suitor gone, nothing had been resolved! She was still in Barbentane, still as inaccessible as the wife of the Grand Turk, and still under the
watchful eye of an inflexible father whom I’d rescued from the attack of the brigands but whose confessor led him by the end of his nose.
Comparing my fate with those of my brothers, I felt some cause for bitterness, which I had to combat in order to avoid being eaten up by it. I certainly didn’t resent Samson’s marriage to Gertrude, and had even helped to arrange it, albeit half-heartedly. But there was not much to envy there, however, since I felt that they might have trouble adjusting to their life together. But François! He didn’t have to travel the highways and byways of France or overcome any dangerous threats to enjoy his dinner! Quite the contrary! Sitting around the house, being spoon-fed! By killing the Baron de Fontenac, I simply roasted his chestnuts for him, and now he gets to marry his Diane and manage Fontenac! And, what’s more, although may God keep him from it for as long as possible, he’ll be Baron de Mespech! But I, who have galloped, sought out adventure, suffered—I’m still the younger brother without any estate and my great love now out of reach.
But I’m not writing this to cry and lament my condition. That’s just not who I am and it’s not my philosophy. If the wise man claims that every test makes him wiser but sadder, I don’t feel, after what happened in Paris, any great melancholy, or, for that matter, very much wiser. But when Barberine comes to wake me at dawn—my lazy Little Sissy hoping to sleep till noon—I let her encompass me in her care and warmth as I open my eyes to the new day. And I love the world I open them to! How can I moan and complain? Isn’t it enough to be alive? I thank the Lord every day for having kept me safe and well in Paris so that I can sink my teeth once more into life. ’Sblood! My brother may be Baron de Mespech and half-Baron de Fontenac, but may I say without appearing too proud that I much prefer my life to his, and my experiences to his possessions? I have in my wallet (minus the ring and the necklace) the 200 écus that Anjou gave me,
and the 300 I got for the pearls. So I don’t have much money—or much baggage, other than my physician’s bonnet and “Jarnac’s thrust”, the secret sword thrust Giacomi taught me. But Giacomi and Miroul are no mean companions, nor is my good Swiss from Berne, though I don’t know whether he wants to spend his life in Mespech, since he loves his battles. And, to speak frankly, there are days when I can’t see myself settling down as a doctor in Périgueux, and even less so in Sarlat, since I have too great an itch to urge my Pompée forward onto the great highways of France.
These are only dreams, and what becomes of dreams is “another pair of sleeves”, as my friend and ally Pierre de Bourdeille, lord of Brantôme, would say: a bizarre expression that I have never actually heard anyone use but him; nor have I read it except from his pen. The Devil only knows what that “other pair” is doing there, the first pair not being mentioned. In any case, if sleeves there are, as our cousin Bourdeille intends, perhaps I’ll sew them on gradually with age, if God consent to lend me a hand and keep me hearty and healthy enough to do so.
*
Alas, I was only too right. The nun with the red shoes, as I learnt later, was named Mademoiselle d’Yverni. She was a Huguenot, though the niece of a cardinal. Arrested nearby, they promised her life if she’d relinquish her religion, and when she refused, she was stabbed and thrown in the Seine. [Note by Pierre de Siorac.]
†
Today the rue Saint-André-des-Arts. [Author’s note.]
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Born in 1908, R
OBERT
M
ERLE
was originally an English teacher before serving as an interpreter with the British army during the Second World War, which led to his capture by the German army at Dunkirk. He published his hugely popular
Fortunes of France
series over four decades, from 1977 to 2003, the final instalment appearing just a year before his death in 2004.
The Brethren
is the first book in the series, followed by
City of Wisdom and Blood
and
Heretic Dawn
.
Pushkin Press
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London WC2H 9JQ
Original text © 2016 Estate of Robert Merle
English translation © 2016 T. Jefferson Kline
Fortunes of France: Heretic Dawn
first published in French as
Paris, ma bonne ville
in 1980
This translation first published by Pushkin Press in 2016
ISBN 978 1 782272 08 3
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