Le Rhin, Tome I by Victor Hugo
Le Rhin, Tome I by Victor Hugo
Le beau Pécopin aimait la belle Bauldour, et la belle Bauldour aimait le beau Pécopin. Pécopin était fils du burgrave de Sonneck, et Bauldour était fille du sire de Falkenburg. L'un avait la forêt, l'autre avait la montagne. Or quoi de plus simple que de marier la montagne à la forêt? Les deux pères s'entendirent, et l'on fian?a Bauldour à Pécopin.
Ce jour-là, c'était un jour d'avril, les sureaux et les aubépines en fleurs s'ouvraient au soleil dans la forêt, mille petites cascades charmantes, neiges et pluies changées en ruisseaux, horreurs de l'hiver devenues les graces du printemps, sautaient harmonieusement dans la montagne, et l'amour, cet avril de l'homme, chantait, rayonnait et s'épanouissait dans le c?ur des deux fiancés.
Le père de Pécopin, vieux et vaillant chevalier, l'honneur du Nahegau, mourut quelque temps après les accordailles, en bénissant son fils et en lui recommandant Bauldour. Pécopin pleura, puis peu à peu, de la tombe où son père avait disparu, ses yeux se reportèrent au doux et radieux visage de sa fiancée, et il se consola. Quand la lune se lève, songe-t-on au soleil couché?
Pécopin avait toutes les qualités d'un gentilhomme, d'un jeune homme et d'un homme. Bauldour était une reine dans le manoir, une sainte vierge à l'église, une nymphe dans les bois, une fée à l'ouvrage.
Pécopin était grand chasseur, et Bauldour était belle fileuse. Or il n'y a pas de haine entre le fuseau et la carnassière. La fileuse file pendant que le chasseur chasse. Il est absent, la quenouille console et désennuie. La meute aboie, le rouet chante. La meute qui est au loin et qu'on entend à peine, mêlée au cor et perdue profondément dans les halliers, dit tout bas avec un vague bruit de fanfare: Songe à ton amant. Le rouet, qui force la belle rêveuse à baisser les yeux, dit tout haut et sans cesse avec sa petite voix douce et sévère: Songe à ton mari. Et, quand le mari et l'amant ne font qu'un, tout va bien.
Mariez donc la fileuse au chasseur, et ne craignez rien.
Cependant, je dois le dire, Pécopin aimait trop la chasse. Quand il était sur son cheval, quand il avait le faucon au poing ou quand il suivait le tartaret du regard, quand il entendait le jappement féroce de ses limiers aux jambes torses, il partait, il volait, il oubliait tout. Or en aucune chose il ne faut excéder. Le bonheur est fait de modération. Tenez en équilibre vos go?ts et en bride vos appétits. Qui aime trop les chevaux et les chiens fache les femmes; qui aime trop les femmes fache Dieu.
Lorsque Bauldour, et cela arrivait souvent, lorsque Bauldour voyait Pécopin prêt à partir sur son cheval hennissant de joie et plus fier que s'il e?t porté Alexandre le Grand en habits impériaux, lorsqu'elle voyait Pécopin le flatter, lui passer la main sur le cou, et, éloignant l'éperon du flanc, présenter au palefroi un bouquet d'herbe pour le rafra?chir, Bauldour était jalouse du cheval. Quand Bauldour, cette noble et fière demoiselle, cet astre d'amour, de jeunesse et de beauté, voyait Pécopin caresser son dogue et approcher amicalement de son charmant et male visage cette tête camuse, ces gros naseaux, ces larges oreilles et cette gueule noire, Bauldour était jalouse du chien.
Elle rentrait dans sa chambre secrète, courroucée et triste, et elle pleurait. Puis elle grondait ses servantes, et après ses servantes elle grondait son nain. Car la colère chez les femmes est comme la pluie dans la forêt; elle tombe deux fois. Bis pluit.
Le soir Pécopin arrivait poudreux et fatigué. Bauldour boudait et murmurait un peu avec une larme dans le coin de son ?il bleu. Mais Pécopin baisait sa petite main, et elle se taisait; Pécopin baisait son beau front, et elle souriait.
Le front de Bauldour était blanc, pur et admirable comme la trompe d'ivoire du roi Charlemagne.
Puis elle se retirait dans sa tourelle et Pécopin dans la sienne. Elle ne souffrait jamais que ce chevalier lui pr?t la ceinture. Un soir il lui pressa légèrement le coude, et elle rougit très-fort. Elle était fiancée et non mariée. Pudeur est à la femme ce que chevalerie est à l'homme.
According to Wikipedia: "Victor-Marie Hugo (26 February 1802 – 22 May 1885) was a French poet, playwright, novelist, essayist, visual artist, statesman, human rights activist and exponent of the Romantic movement in France. In France, Hugo's literary fame comes first from his poetry but also rests upon his novels and his dramatic achievements. Among many volumes of poetry, Les Contemplations and La Légende des siècles stand particularly high in critical esteem, and Hugo is sometimes identified as the greatest French poet. Outside France, his best-known works are the novels Les Misérables and Notre-Dame de Paris (known in English also as The Hunchback of Notre Dame). Though a committed conservative royalist when he was young, Hugo grew more liberal as the decades passed; he became a passionate supporter of republicanism, and his work touches upon most of the political and social issues and artistic trends of his time. He is buried in the Panthéon."
Notre-Dame de Paris (titre complet : Notre-Dame de Paris. 1482) est un roman historique de l'écrivain français Victor Hugo, publié en 1831.Le titre fait référence à la cathédrale de Paris, Notre-Dame, qui est un des lieux principaux de l'intrigue du roman. Le roman se compose de 59 chapitres répartis en onze livres. Dans la première édition du roman, paru chez Charles Gosselin en mars 1831, trois chapitres sont coupés en raison des contraintes de longueur imposées par l'éditeur : ce sont le chapitre « Impopularité » (IV, 4) ainsi que les deux chapitres formant le livre V (« Abbas beati Martini » et « Ceci tuera cela »). Ces chapitres sont publiés dans la deuxième édition, définitive, du roman et reproduits dans la présente édition
Les Misérables is a French historical novel by Victor Hugo, first published in 1862, that is considered one of the greatest novels of the 19th century. In the English-speaking world, the novel is usually referred to by its original French title. However, several alternatives have been used, including The Miserables, The Wretched, The Miserable Ones, The Poor Ones, The Wretched Poor, The Victims and The Dispossessed. Beginning in 1815 and culminating in the 1832 June Rebellion in Paris, the novel follows the lives and interactions of several characters, particularly the struggles of ex-convict Jean Valjean and his experience of redemption.
Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."
My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.
After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."
Janet was adopted when she was a kid -- a dream come true for orphans. However, her life was anything but happy. Her adoptive mother taunted and bullied her all her life. Janet got the love and affection of a parent from the old maid who raised her. Unfortunately, the old woman fell ill, and Janet had to marry a worthless man in place of her parents' biological daughter to meet the maid's medical expenses. Could this be a Cinderella's tale? But the man was far from a prince, except for his handsome appearance. Ethan was the illegitimate son of a wealthy family who lived a reckless life and barely made ends meet. He got married to fulfill his mother's last wish. However, on his wedding night, he had an inkling that his wife was different from what he had heard about her. Fate had united the two people with deep secrets. Was Ethan truly the man we thought he was? Surprisingly, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the impenetrable wealthiest man in the city. Would he find out that Janet married him in place of her sister? Would their marriage be a romantic tale or an utter disaster? Read on to unravel Janet and Ethan's journey.
I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.
She was a world-renowned divine doctor, the CEO of a publicly traded company, the most formidable female mercenary, and a top-tier tech genius. Marissa, a titan with a plethora of secret identities, had hidden her true stature to marry a seemingly impoverished young man. However, on the eve of their wedding, her fiance, who was actually the lost heir to a wealthy dynasty, called off the engagement and subjected her to degradation and mockery. Upon the revelation of her concealed identities, her ex-fiance was left stunned and desperately pleaded for her forgiveness. Standing protectively before Marissa, an incredibly influential and fearsome magnate declared, "This is my wife. Who would dare try to claim her?"
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