The Chevalier d'Auriac — A Reader’s Guide
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- Source metadata20 pts
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Read the Text
The Justice of M. de Rone.
M. de Rone Cannot Read a Cypher.
The Chateau de la Bidache.
A Good Deed Comes Home to Roost.
'Green as a Jade Cup.'
Monsieur Ravaillac does not Suit.
Maitre Pantin Sells Cabbages.
The Skylight in the Toison d'Or.
'Plain Henri de Bourbon.'
At the Sign of 'The Toison d'Or.'
In no secret shrine doth my Lady sleep, But is ever before mine eyes; By well or ill, by wrong or right-- By the burning sun, or the moon's pale light-- Where the tropics fire or the fulmar flies, In rest or stormful fight.
Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow; Man holdeth the world in fee. By the light of her face, by my Lady's grace, Spread we our sails to the sea. With God above and our hearts below, Fight we the fight for weal or woe.
Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow, God rest their souls who die! By my Lady's grace, by her pure, pale face My pennon flies in its pride of place; Where my pennon flies am I.
Nor wind nor storm may turn me back, For I see the beacon fire. And time shall yield a hard fought field, And, with God's help, an unstained shield I win my heart's desire.
THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC
THE JUSTICE OF M. DE RONE
'_Mille diables!_ Lost again! The devil runs in those dice!' and de Gomeron, with an impatient sweep of his hand, scattered the little spotted cubes on to the floor of the deserted and half-ruined hut, wherein we were beguiling the weariness of our picket duty before La Fere, with a shake of our elbows, and a few flagons of wine, captured from Monsieur the King of Navarre, as we, in our folly, called him still.
A few days before we had cut out a convoy which the Bearnais was sending into the beleaguered town. Some of the good things the convoy bore found their way to the outposts; and on the night I speak of we had made such play with our goblets that it was as if a swarm of bees buzzed in my head. As for de Gomeron, he was in no better case, and his sun-tanned face was burning a purple red with anger at his losses and the strength of the d'Arbois, both of which combined to give a more than usually sinister look to his grim and lowering features. In short, we were each of us in a condition ripe for any mischief: I hot with wine and the fire of five-and-twenty years, and de Gomeron sullenly drunk, a restrained fury smouldering in his eyes.
We had been playing by the light of a horn lantern, and as the flame of it flickered to and fro in the wind, which bustled in unchecked through a wide gap in the wall of the hut, where the remains of a door clung to a bent and twisted hinge, the shadow of de Gomeron on the wall behind him moved its huge outlines uneasily, although the man himself sat silent and still, and there was no word spoken between us. Hideous and distorted, this phantom on the wall may have been the soul of de Gomeron, stolen out of the man's body and now hovering behind him, instinct with evil; and this conceit of mine began to appear a reality, when I turned my glance at the still figure of my companion, showing no sign of life, except in the sombre glitter of the eyes that gazed at me steadily.
The Chevalier d'Auriac opens with a narrator who is quick to anger and quicker to pour wine. In Chapter I, the Chevalier downs a goblet of Chambertin after a dispute, and the pattern recurs: when Belin urges calm, the narrator again drains a full goblet. Burgundy becomes a shorthand for emotional turbulence, a liquid measure of the hero's impatience. The voice is breathless, confessional, and prone to dramatic asides—'I was mentally on the rack,' he admits later. This is a narrator who feels everything at full pressure, and the prose mirrors that intensity with short, punchy sentences and sudden shifts in tone.
A Voice That Cannot Stay Still
The narrator's voice is the engine of the novel. He speaks in the first person, but his account is anything but calm. Sentences often begin with exclamations or abrupt declarations: 'Excellent,' said Belin. 'There is nothing like Burgundy to steady the mind.' The narrator himself uses dashes and ellipses to convey hesitation or sudden resolve. When d'Ayen enters, the narrator's internal fury is palpable: 'I took no notice, and rose to depart.' The prose is lean, relying on action and dialogue rather than lengthy description. Even in moments of reflection, the narrator's thoughts are restless—'I gave full rein to my jealous and bitter temper.' This is a man who acts first and narrates later, and the urgency of his voice keeps the reader off balance.
Wine as a Barometer of Mood
Burgundy appears repeatedly as a marker of the narrator's state of mind. In Chapter I, he pours himself a goblet after a tense encounter; later, when Belin tries to calm him, he again 'poured myself out another full goblet of the Chambertin, and drained it at a draught.' The wine is not merely a period detail—it signals moments of high emotion and poor judgment. When d'Ayen arrives, the narrator's drinking is contrasted with the baron's painted cheeks and feathered hat, a visual clash of raw feeling versus artifice. The motif is consistent: wine steadies the mind, as Belin says, but it also loosens the narrator's tongue and fuels his impulsiveness. Readers should watch for each mention of drink as a clue to the narrator's volatility.
From Open Roads to Closed Rooms
The excerpts show a shift in setting from outdoor action to interior tension. Early chapters promise movement—Jacques sets out for Ezy, the narrator watches him ride along the Malaquais—but the most charged scenes occur in confined spaces. Belin's chamber becomes a stage for verbal duels; the narrator's own room is where he 'gave full rein to my jealous and bitter temper.' The contrast is deliberate: the open road offers escape, while closed rooms force confrontation. The narrator's restlessness is physical as well as emotional; he is always on the verge of leaving, but the plot keeps him pinned in place. This push-pull between movement and stasis gives the narrative a claustrophobic energy, even when the action seems to be heading outward.
Readers will find that the narrator's voice is the book's greatest strength and its most demanding feature. His impulsiveness drives the plot, but it also clouds his judgment—and the reader's. Pay attention to what he says in haste, and what he leaves unsaid. The wine, the sudden exits, the muttered asides: these are not decoration but the very substance of a character who cannot help but reveal himself. Approach the novel as a confession, not a chronicle, and let the narrator's own words guide you through the intrigue.
That rainy afternoon, the wine-soaked urgency of The Chevalier d'Auriac stayed with me long after the final page—the way its narrator’s impulsive honesty felt like a warm fire in a cold room. Then, almost by chance, I found myself resting beside A Crooked Mile — Background and Themes, and the quiet shift from open roads to locked doors felt familiar, like recognizing an old street in dusk light. One book simply leaned into the other.
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