France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
“What astonishes me,” interrupted Blazius, “is that such an
accomplished young gentleman as your lordship seems to be should be
willing to remain here in this isolated spot, where Fortune cannot
reach you even if she would. You ought to go to Paris, the great
capital of the world, the rendezvous of brave and learned men, the El
Dorado, the promised land, the Paradise of all true Frenchmen. There
you would be sure to make your way, either in attaching yourself to the
household of some great nobleman, a friend of your family, or in
performing some brilliant deed of valour, the opportunity for which
will not be long to find.”
These words, although rather high-flown, were not devoid of sense, and
de Sigognac could not help secretly admitting that there was some truth
in them. He had often, during his long rambles over the desolate
Landes, thought wishfully of undertaking what the pedant had just
proposed; but he had not money enough for the journey even, and he did
not know where to look for more. Though brave and high-spirited, he was
very sensitive, and feared a smile of derision more than a
sword-thrust. He was not familiar with the prevailing fashions in
dress, but he felt that his antiquated costume was ridiculous as well
as shabby, and sure to be laughed at anywhere but among his own simple
peasantry. Like most of those who are disheartened and crushed by
extreme poverty, he only looked at the dark side of things, and made no
allowance for any possible advantages. Perhaps he might have been
delicately as well as generously assisted by some of his father’s old
friends if he would only have let them know of his situation, but his
pride held him back, and he would have died of starvation rather than
ask for aid in any form.
“I used to think sometimes of going to Paris,” he answered slowly,
after some hesitation, “but I have no friends or even acquaintances
there; and the descendants of those who perhaps knew my ancestors when
they were rich and powerful, and in favour at court, could scarcely be
expected to welcome a poverty-stricken Baron de Sigognac, who came
swooping down from his ruined tower to try and snatch a share of any
prey that chanced to lie within reach of his talons. And besides—I do
not know why I should be ashamed to acknowledge it—I have not any of
the appurtenances suitable to my rank, and could not present myself
upon a footing worthy of my name. I doubt if I have even money enough
for the expenses of the journey alone, and that in the humblest
fashion.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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