Stanley John Weyman
A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664584731
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I. THE SPORT OF FOOLS.
CHAPTER II. THE KING OF NAVARRE.
CHAPTER IV. MADEMOISELLE DE LA VIRE.
CHAPTER VI. MY MOTHER’S LODGING.
CHAPTER IX. THE HOUSE IN THE RUELLE D’ARCY.
CHAPTER X. THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS.
CHAPTER XI. THE MAN AT THE DOOR.
CHAPTER XII. MAXIMILIAN DE BETHUNE, BARON DE ROSNY.
CHAPTER XIV. M. DE RAMBOUILLET.
CHAPTER XVI. IN THE KING’S CHAMBER.
CHAPTER XVII. THE JACOBIN MONK.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE OFFER OF THE LEAGUE.
CHAPTER XIX. MEN CALL IT CHANCE.
CHAPTER XXII. ‘LA FEMME DISPOSE.’
CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST VALOIS.
CHAPTER XXV. TERMS OF SURRENDER.
CHAPTER XXVII. TO ME, MY FRIENDS!
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CASTLE ON THE HILL.
CHAPTER XXIX. PESTILENCE AND FAMINE.
CHAPTER XXXI. UNDER THE GREENWOOD.
CHAPTER XXXII. A TAVERN BRAWL.
CHAPTER XXXIV. ‘’TIS AN ILL WIND.’
CHAPTER XXXV. ‘LE ROI EST MORT!’
A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE.
CHAPTER I. THE SPORT OF FOOLS.
The death of the Prince of Conde, which occurred in the spring of 1588, by depriving me of my only patron, reduced me to such straits that the winter of that year, which saw the King of Navarre come to spend his Christmas at St. Jean d’Angely, saw also the nadir of my fortunes. I did not know at this time—I may confess it to-day without shame—wither to turn for a gold crown or a new scabbard, and neither had nor discerned any hope of employment. The peace lately patched up at Blois between the King of France and the League persuaded many of the Huguenots that their final ruin was at hand; but it could not fill their exhausted treasury or enable them to put fresh troops into the field.
The death of the Prince had left the King of Navarre without a rival in the affections of the Huguenots; the Vicomte de Turenne, whose turbulent; ambition already began to make itself felt, and M. de Chatillon, ranking next to him. It was my ill-fortune, however, to be equally unknown to all three leaders, and as the month of December which saw me thus miserably straitened saw me reach the age of forty, which I regard, differing in that from many, as the grand climacteric of a man’s life, it will be believed that I had need of all the courage which religion and a campaigner’s life could supply.
I had been compelled some time before to sell all my horses except the black Sardinian with the white spot on its forehead; and I now found myself obliged to part also with my valet de chambre and groom, whom I dismissed