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Two swordsmen of Gascony

Henry Bedford-Jones

26 pages
Blue Book - 1940 - États-Unis
Nouvelle

Intérêt: **

 

 

 

Cette nouvelle du très prolifique écrivain Henry Bedford-Jones est parue initialement dans le numéro de novembre 1940 du magazine Blue Book. Elle a été rééditée en 2019 dans le recueil The world was their stage publié par Altus Press.

Dans son œuvre abondante, Bedford-Jones a écrit plusieurs romans consacrés directement ou indirectement à d’Artagnan (D’Artagnan, the sequel to The Three Musketeers, The King's passport, D'Artagnan's letter) et un autre sur Cyrano (Cyrano, 1930). Dans Two swordsmen of Gascony, il met en scène la rencontre des deux personnages. Avec une bizarrerie : il écrit le nom de son héros « d’Artaignan »…

L’histoire se déroule en 1640 au siège d’Arras, auquel les d’Artagnan et Cyrano historiques ont effectivement participé. Le jeune d’Artagnan, 18 ans, assiste, à son arrivée au camp, à un combat qui oppose Bergerac, 21 ans, à un adversaire plus âgé. Très impressionné par la virtuosité de Cyrano à l’épée, le jeune homme se lie aussitôt à lui.

Arrive au camp une roulotte transportant le mystérieux docteur Sarasin, à la fois médecin et mage, et sa fille, l’ensorcelante Henriette. Les deux jeunes soldats en tombent immédiatement amoureux. Cyrano lui fait la cour ouvertement, d’Artagnan beaucoup plus discrètement. Henriette, de son côté, semble jouer des deux hommes et s’emploie à faire croire à chacun qu’il est le préféré.

Complètement subjugué par la belle, Cyrano affiche sa passion. D’Artagnan, de son côté, demeure plus circonspect, d’autant que certains détails dans le comportement du docteur et de sa fille l’intriguent, comme la disposition de plusieurs lanternes sur leur roulotte par exemple.

Quand l’armée lance une attaque contre les assiégés d’Arras, elle est reçue par un feu nourri : l’ennemi avait été prévenu à l’avance. D’Artagnan comprend alors que Sarasin et sa fille sont des espions et les démasque.

Toute simple, l’intrigue ne présente pas en soi un intérêt considérable. Mais le récit vaut par la mise en scène de la rencontre entre les deux (futurs) héros. Les deux personnages sont bien campés et leur première conversation dans une auberge est très séduisante. On y voit Cyrano se lancer dans de grandes prévisions sur leur avenir à tous les deux (dont le lecteur sait bien sûr qu’elles se révèleront exactes), tandis qu’un autre personnage appelé à devenir immensément célèbre fait une brève apparition… (voir extrait ci-dessous). Un joli texte, donc, très bien écrit comme c’est généralement le cas chez Bedford-Jones.

Merci à Mihai-Bogdan Ciuca de m’avoir signalé ce livre.


Extrait

"What tragedy is this siege! That is, for a poet. Did I tell you I was a poet?"

"Yes," said Artaignan. "Why is this siege tragic? I think it's superb! All the great regiments, the great soldiers, the great men, of France are gathered here—"

"And not one of them will be remembered for it." Bergerac wagged a long finger before his hooked nose. "Comrade, look at the two of us: a great man like you, destined to become a marshal of France, a soldier with an eye of steel—and me."

"The greatest swordsman in the army, I think," said Artaignan with simple naiveté.

Bergerac flushed with pleasure at the compliment, but shook his head.

"No, comrade; I am a poet, a writer, a satirist. I shall write books. They shall make me famous. I shall be remembered in France, you will be remembered, as having been here at the siege of Arras! The others, great men today, will be forgotten by posterity. I know a great man when I see one. You shall become famous, I tell you!"

Artaignan was astonished. "You, a superb swordsman, intend to become a writer?"

"Aye." Bergerac emptied his bottle and called for another. "I'll impart you a secret. I swagger; I second others in duels; I have no quarrels of my own—why? Regard this nose, my friend. I'm a sensitive man; a look, a word, wounds me to the quick. So I force myself to become an incomparable swordsman. I kill poor devils to build up a reputation. I am first in every assault on the walls yonder.... Do I hate those Spaniards and Germans? Not I. Why, I detest fighting! But you see, I am doomed to it. Later, I shall leave the army and write books, and be happy. And we, you and I, shall be the only men remembered by France as having taken part in the siege of Arras!"

"Your pardon, monsieur," spoke up a quiet voice. "What you say is quite true; but a third name will, I am positive, be mentioned with yours."

The two turned. Artaignan started to speak, checked himself .The young man who had entered unobserved, and who stood close to them, was both remarkable and impressive, to his quick eye.

Not, perhaps, to an older eye; it is an odd fact that youth often perceives in youth all the promise of the future. In this bronzed and hearty young fellow an older man might have seen only a queerly attired, fantastic youngster. Artaignan, with quick prescience, beheld a youth of eighteen who had the manners and knowledge and presence of a man of thirty; the brown, mobile face, the deep and penetrating eyes, startled him.

"Ha!" exclaimed Bergerac. "Who can rank with a poet and a soldier, fellow?"

The young man smiled. He wore a black suit tricked out with gold lace, a black coat, a black hat with black plume.

"I have two personalities, gentlemen," he said, his voice richly mellow. "I am the grand equerry, at the moment, of the great and inimitable Doctor Sarasin, a renowned physician and student of the Grand Magic, who will cure the ills of your body and tell you the past, present and future. He, with his daughter and his equipage, is now outside."

"The devil!" ejaculated Bergerac. "Is this your path to fame?"

"No. Having guided the eminent Doctor here, I now leave him and return to my own affairs at Amiens. "The visitor bowed, half mockingly. "I am, gentlemen, neither a Gascon nor a noble. I am a strolling player, at your service; an actor, a capable actor, but one who also can write a comedy, a tragedy, a bit of farce, what you like! And when next you hear of me, Messieurs of the Guards, I shall have a great play performed at Paris itself. I shall be a writer of comedies at which the whole world shall laugh!"

"You seem to know the future yourself," said Bergerac.

The other bowed again.

"Thank you. I do. At least, I know my own future!"

"I believe you!" exclaimed Artaignan with energy. He spoke impulsively; something in those mobile features moved and spurred him. "Monsieur, join us in a bottle of wine now, and share our future! A marshal of France, a poet and writer of books, a writer of plays to shake the world's belly with laughter—excellent!"

"Thank you, but I must leave you and be off. "The other turned to the door.

Bergerac halted him with a sudden bellow.

"Stop! Who the devil are you? What name shall be linked with ours in fame?"

The young man, pausing in the doorway, flung them a laughing look.

"The name of Molière, comrades. Adieu!" With this reply, he was gone.

 


 

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