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The Chaplet of Pearls — Reading Notes
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Project Gutenberg
2004
Not confirmed
Saint Bartholomew's Day, Massacre of, France, 1572 -- Fiction
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Edition facts
Words
187,090
Reading time
814 min
Text sections
22
This digital edition of The Chaplet of Pearls — Reading Notes is described by source-level measurements including 187,090 words, 13 hr 34 min estimated reading time, and 22 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 23.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Saint Bartholomew's Day, Massacre of, France, 1572 -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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Project Gutenberg record #5274
Charlotte M. Yonge's historical romance set during the French Wars of Religion follows Berenger and Eustacie amid the Saint Bartholomew's Day Massacre. The novel contrasts white and black Ribaumont, explores grief and hope through sand-drifted landscapes, and uses a chaplet of pearls as a symbol of fractured bonds.
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- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
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CHAPTER I. THE BRIDAL OF THE WHITE AND BLACK
CHAPTER II. THE SEPARATION
CHAPTER III. THE FAMILY COUNCIL
CHAPTER V. THE CONVENT BIRD
CHAPTER VI. FOULLY COZENED
CHAPTER VII. THE QUEEN’S PASTORAL
CHAPTER VIII. ‘LE BROUILLON’
CHAPTER IX. THE WEDDING WITH CRIMSON FAVOURS
CHAPTER X. MONSIEUR’S BALLET
CHAPTER XI. THE KING’S TRAGEDY
CHAPTER XII. THE PALACE OF SLAUGHTER
CHAPTER XIII. THE BRIDEGROOM’S ARRIVAL
CHAPTER XIV. SWEET HEART
CHAPTER XV. NOTRE-DAME DE BELLAISE
CHAPTER XVI. THE HEARTHS AND THICKETS OF THE BOCAGE
CHAPTER XVII. THE GHOSTS OF THE TEMPLARS
CHAPTER XVIII. THE MOONBEAM
CHAPTER XIX. LA RUE DES TROIS FEES
CHAPTER XXI. UNDER THE WALNUT-TREE
CHAPTER XXII. DEPARTURE
CHAPTER XXIII. THE EMPTY CRADLE
CHAPTER XXIV. THE GOOD PRIEST OF NISSARD
CHAPTER XXV. THE VELVET COACH
CHAPTER XXVI. THE CHEVALIER’S EXPIATION
CHAPTER XXVII. THE DYING KING
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ORPHANS OF LA SABLERIE
CHAPTER XXIX. IN THE KING’S NAME
CHAPTER XXX. CAGED IN THE BLACKBIRD’S NEST
CHAPTER XXXI. THE DARK POOL OF THE FUTURE
CHAPTER XXXII. ‘JAM SATIS’
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SCANDAL OF THE SYNOD OF MONTAUBAN
CHAPTER XXXIV. MADAME LA DUCHESSE
CHAPTER XXXV. THE ITALIAN PEDLAR
CHAPTER XXXVI. SPELL AND POTION
CHAPTER XXXVII. BEATING AGAINST THE BARS
CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE ENEMY IN PRESENCE
CHAPTER XXXIX. THE PEDLAR’S PREDICTION
CHAPTER XL. THE SANDS OF OLONNE
CHAPTER XLI. OUR LADY OF HOPE
CHAPTER XLII. THE SILVER BULLET
CHAPTER XLIII. LA BAISER D’EUSTACIE
CHAPTER XLIV. THE GALIMAFRE
It is the fashion to call every story controversial that deals with times when controversy or a war of religion was raging; but it should be remembered that there are some which only attempt to portray human feelings as affected by the events that such warfare occasioned. ‘Old Mortality’ and ‘Woodstock’ are not controversial tales, and the ‘Chaplet of Pearls’ is so quite as little. It only aims at drawing certain scenes and certain characters as the convulsions of the sixteenth century may have affected them, and is, in fact, like all historical romance, the shaping of the conceptions that the imagination must necessarily form when dwelling upon the records of history. That faculty which might be called the passive fancy, and might almost be described in Portia’s song,--
‘It is engendered in the eyes, By READING fed--and there it dies,’--
that faculty, I say, has learnt to feed upon character and incident, and to require that the latter should be effective and exciting. Is it not reasonable to seek for this in the days when such things were not infrequent, and did not imply exceptional wickedness or misfortune in those engaged in them? This seems to me one plea for historical novel, to which I would add the opportunity that it gives for study of the times and delineation of characters. Shakespeare’s Henry IV. and Henry V., Scott’s Louis XI., Manzoni’s Federigo Borromeo, Bulwer’s Harold, James’s Philip Augustus, are all real contributions to our comprehension of the men themselves, by calling the chronicles and memoirs into action. True, the picture cannot be exact, and is sometimes distorted--nay, sometimes praiseworthy efforts at correctness in the detail take away whatever might have been lifelike in the outline. Yet, acknowledging all this, I must still plead for the tales that presumptuously deal with days gone by, as enabling the young to realize history vividly--and, what is still more desirable, requiring an effort of the mind which to read of modern days does not. The details of Millais’ Inquisition or of his Huguenot may be in error in spite of all his study and diligence, but they have brought before us for ever the horrors of the _auto-da-fe_, and the patient, steadfast heroism of the man who can smile aside his wife’s endeavour to make him tacitly betray his faith to save his life. Surely it is well, by pen as by picture, to go back to the past for figures that will stir the heart like these, even though the details be as incorrect as those of the revolt of Liege or of La Ferrette in ‘Quentin Durward’ and ‘Anne of Geierstein.’
The title's 'chaplet of pearls' suggests a rosary or a string of precious beads, but in Charlotte M. Yonge's hands it becomes a metaphor for the fragile connections between characters torn apart by religious conflict. The novel opens with a bridal between the 'White and Black' branches of the Ribaumont family, immediately establishing a central tension: the union of Catholic and Huguenot lineages. Yonge's preface explicitly distances her work from controversy, claiming instead to 'portray human feelings as affected by the events that such warfare occasioned.' This framing invites readers to attend to the emotional and psychological textures rather than doctrinal debates.
Sand and Silence: The Landscape of Loss
One of the most striking patterns in the excerpts is the recurring image of sand—not as a beachside idyll but as a creeping, suffocating force. In Chapter XXIV, the narrator describes 'that peculiar sand-drift which is the curse of so many coasts, slowly, silently, irresistibly flowing, blowing, creeping in, and gradually choking all vegetation and habitation.' This is not mere setting; it mirrors the psychological state of Berenger, who walks through 'soft, sinking sand' in a daze of grief. The landscape is 'solitary beyond expression,' populated only by rabbits and 'sea-gull floating with white, ghostly wings.' Yonge uses the physical environment to externalize inner desolation, making the reader feel the weight of loss as a tangible, engulfing presence.
Action as Antidote to Horror
When Berenger learns of Eustacie's fate, his response is not passive sorrow but a desperate need for action. The text states: 'Action alone could quench the horror of what he had recognized as her own lot, and the very pursuit of this one thread of hope seemed needful to him to make it substantial.' This phrase captures a key psychological mechanism: the protagonist uses movement and purpose to stave off despair. Captain Hobbs, a practical counterpoint, tries to impose reason—pointing out the dangers of night travel and the need for tides—but Berenger 'would hear of nothing but walking at once to Nissard.' The contrast between the grieving husband's impulsive drive and the sailor's cautious pragmatism creates a tension that propels the narrative forward.
The White and Black Ribaumont: A Family Divided
The subtitle 'The White and Black Ribaumont' signals a binary that runs through the novel. The opening chapter is titled 'The Bridal of the White and Black,' suggesting a marriage that attempts to bridge a schism. Yet the excerpts show how this division persists: the brothers Berenger and Philip are united in their search, but the world around them is fractured. Yonge's preface compares her work to Scott's 'Old Mortality' and 'Woodstock,' which are 'not controversial tales' but rather explorations of 'human feelings as affected by the events that such warfare occasioned.' The reader is thus primed to see the Ribaumont family not as allegorical figures but as individuals caught in historical currents beyond their control.
Readers approaching The Chaplet of Pearls should attend to Yonge's careful construction of atmosphere—the way sand, sea, and sky become extensions of her characters' inner lives. The novel rewards those who read slowly, noticing how a single image (a sea-bird's 'wild wailing cry') can carry emotional weight across chapters. The incomplete excerpts leave many questions unanswered, but the patterns of contrast and repetition offer a reliable guide through the narrative's emotional landscape.
There’s something about the pearls in Yonge’s novel—how they hold the memory of what’s broken—that makes me think of Hyperion, the quiet ache of loss there, too. I reread both years ago, and the sand-drifting grief of one still lingers in the other’s starlit silences. Hyperion — Context and Discussion feels like an old friend’s voice, catching the same wistful breath.
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