By Jean-Paul Malaval
En quittant son Ardèche natale, Silvius Andromas, fils de petit paysan, a fait le bon choix. Et si son amour avec Roxane, fille d’un riche soyeux lyonnais, est porteur de déception, du moins a-t-il appris au touch de sa bellefamille à voler de ses propres ailes. Aisément, Silvius conquiert une place citadel enviable dans le cercle des négociants. Mais on lui reproche d’avoir european raison trop tôt. Silvius et son ami Soarès, dandy énigmatique, ont compris que le monde avait changé. Du déclin de l. a. soie naturelle, il fallait tirer une ambition nouvelle. Tandis que les affaires du extended family familial de Roxane périclitent, celle de son mari connaît des succès dans l. a. creation de l. a. soie artificielle. Les mutations du nouveau siècle forment une ligne de partage impitoyable entre les illusions d’hier et les espérances de demain.
Si longtemps négligé, floué, trompé, humilié, Silvius est-il encore disponible pour Roxane ? Peut-on concilier ardour et raison ?
La Grande Guerre approche. Il est trop tard pour faire des rêves et si Silvius retourne à Fontbelair, à los angeles veille de 1914, c’est pour clore à jamais les portes sur son passé.
Jean-Paul Malaval est l’auteur d’une plentiful oeuvre romanesque qui excelle à saisir les mouvements intimes d’une France partagée entre culture et modernité. Né à Brive, il est aujourd’hui maire d’un village en Corrèze.
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Extra info for Rendez-vous à Fontbelair (Noces de soie, tome 3)
Thomas, you are incorrigible,” said Anne fondly. ” I nodded, having no idea what she meant. As we neared the Tower I stared up at the forbidding wall with its narrow slits. From the squared battlements protruded tall spikes topped with what looked like bundles of blackened rags. I squinted in order to see better. ” I asked, imitating Anne’s accent. She burst out laughing. “Yes, it is a menagerie—of criminals and traitors! ” Emme hissed. ” As I stared, the raglike bundles resolved themselves into skulls with torn flesh like strips of stiff leather.
What monstrous creatures were here? In the dimness I glimpsed the tawny hide of a beast straining against an iron collar, the fur around its face like a giant ruff, sharp teeth bared. Feeling my gorge rise with panic, I pushed my way out of the Tower and ran into the courtyard, gasping the damp air. All the way back to Whitehall, everyone talked of the queen’s menagerie. The roaring beast I had glimpsed was called a lion. The catlike wailing came from a leopard, one of four in an iron cage, Emme said.
I cannot, Your Majesty,” I replied, for I was trembling all over. “Without your gracious help,” I added. Then the queen took my wrists and lifted me to my feet. Her hands were slim, her fingers long and tapered. I counted four rings on each hand. “Do not fear to look upon me, child. Think of me as your mother now,” she said. It was a command, though softly spoken. I lifted up my eyes to meet hers. They were bright and pale. She smiled and it was like the sun beaming from behind a cloud. I no longer saw graying hair against her cheek.