Stanley John Weyman

The House of the Wolf (1890) Get set for a thrill ride of supernatural proportions with Stanley J. Weyman's The House of the Wolf. Though billed as a romance, this suspenseful tale is packed with action and adventure that will appeal to a broad audience. Stanley John Weyman (7 August 1855 - 10 April 1928) was an English novelist sometimes referred to as the "Prince of Romance". Weyman (pronounced "why-man") was born at Ludlow, Shropshire. The second son of a solicitor, he was educated at Shrewsbury School, and at Christ Church, Oxford. He took his degree in modern history in 1877, and was called to the bar at the Inner Temple in 1881, joining the Oxford circuit. He practised as a barrister for eight years until, in 1889, he wrote his first novel entitled The House of the Wolf. This was followed over the following two decades by the novels which were to make his reputation, among them historical romances set amidst the turmoil of 16th and 17th century France. (His entire output is discussed in the annotated bibliography included in the external links below.) He became a great traveller, sometimes in company with his fellow bestselling novelist Henry Seton Merriman. While for years his historical romances enchanted thousands of readers - Robert Louis Stevenson and Oscar Wilde were among the enthusiasts - but today his books are largely neglected. Graham Greene was a great admirer of Weyman, whom he mentions several times in his Collected Essays. In a BBC interview in 1970, Greene said, "I made a collection once of what I called the key books in my life, which included Anthony Hope, Rider Haggard, Captain Gilson, ... and I do occasionally re-read them. Stanley Weyman in particular."

They were about to shut the Porte St. Gervais, the north gate of Geneva. The sergeant of the gate had given his men the word to close; but at the last moment, shading his eyes from the low light of the sun, he happened to look along the dusty road which led to the Pays de Gex, and he bade the men wait. Afar off a traveller could be seen hurrying two donkeys towards the gate, with now a blow on this side, and now on that, and now a shrill cry. The sergeant knew him for Jehan Brosse, the bandy-legged tailor of the passage off the Corraterie, a sound burgher and a good man whom it were a shame to exclude. Jehan had gone out that morning to fetch his grapes from M ens; and the sergeant had pity on him.

In the dining-room of a small house on the east side of Arlington Street, which at that period--1742--was the Ministerial street, Mr. and Mrs. Northey sat awaiting Sophia. The thin face of the honourable member for Aldbury wore the same look of severity which it had worn a few weeks earlier on the eventful night when he had found himself called upon to break the ties of years and vote in the final division against Sir Robert; his figure, as he sat stiffly expecting his sister-in-law, reflected the attitudes of the four crude portraits of dead Northeys that darkened the walls of the dull little room. Mrs. Northey on the other hand sprawled in her chair with the carelessness of the fine lady fatigued; she yawned, inspected the lace of her neglig e, and now held a loose end to the light, and now pondered the number of a lottery ticket. At length, out of patience, she called fretfully to Mr. Northey to ring the bell. Fortunately, Sophia entered at that moment.

It was the eve of All Saints, and the famous autumn horse-fair was in progress at F camp--F camp on the Normandy coast, the town between the cliffs, which Boisros , in the year '93, snatched for the Great King by a feat of audacity unparalleled in war. This only by the way, however; and that a worthy deed may not die. For at the date of this fair of which we write, the last day of October, 1637, stout Captain Boisros , whom Sully made for his daring Lieutenant-General of the Ordnance, had long ceased to ruffle it; the Great King had lain in his grave a score of years or more; and though Sully, duke and peer and marshal, still lived, an aged, formal man, in his ch teau of Villebon by Chartres, all France, crouching under the iron hand of the Cardinal, looked other ways.

When we reached the terraced walk, which my father made a little before his death, and which, running under the windows at the rear of the Ch teau, separates the house from the new lawn, St. Alais looked round with eyes of scarcely-veiled contempt. "What have you done with the garden?" he asked, his lip curling. "My father removed it to the other side of the house," I answered. "Out of sight?" "Yes," I said; "it is beyond the rose garden." "English fashion " he answered with a shrug and a polite sneer. "And you prefer to see all this grass from your windows?" "Yes," I said, "I do." "Ah And that plantation? It hides the village, I suppose, from the house?" "Yes."

M. de Tavannes smiled. Mademoiselle averted her eyes, and shivered; as if the air, even of that close summer night, entering by the door at her elbow, chilled her. And then came a welcome interruption. "Tavannes " "Sire " Count Hannibal rose slowly. The King had called, and he had no choice but to obey and go. Yet he hung a last moment over his companion, his hateful breath stirring her hair. "Our pleasure is cut short too soon, Mademoiselle," he said, in the tone, and with the look, she loathed. "But for a few hours only. We shall meet to-morrow. Or, it may be-earlier." She did not answer, and "Tavannes " the King repeated with violence. "Tavannes Mordieu " his Majesty continued, looking round furiously. "Will no one fetch him? Sacr nom, am I King, or a dog of a-"

Monsieur des Ageaux was a man of whom his best friends could not say that he shone, or tried to shine, in the pursuit of the fair sex. He was of an age, something over thirty, when experience renders more formidable the remaining charms of youth; and former conquests whet the sword for new emprises. And the time in which he lived and governed the province of P rigord for the King was a time in which the favour of ladies, and the good things to be gained thereby, stood for much, and morality for little. So that for the ambitious the path of dalliance presented almost as many chances of advancement as the more strenuous road of war.