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Updated: June 1, 2025
His name was Jean. He was married, father of that child who became my great-grandfather, and he lived with his younger brother, Francois d'Arville, in our castle in Lorraine, in the midst of the forest. Francois d'Arville had remained a bachelor for love of the chase. They both hunted from one end of the year to the other, without stopping and seemingly without fatigue.
And often, later, when he talked again of that day, he would say, with tears in his eyes: "If only poor Jean could have seen me strangle the beast, he would have died content, that I am sure!" The widow of my ancestor inspired her orphan son with that horror of the chase which has transmitted itself from father to son as far down as myself. The Marquis d'Arville was silent.
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