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    Martin Paz
    Martin Paz
    Martin Paz
    Ebook69 pages58 minutes

    Martin Paz

    By Jules Verne

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    About this ebook

    Dangers and romance intertwine in one in the adventure novel "Martin Paz" from 1852. The Indian chief Martin Paz falls in love with a girl named Sarah. Sarah's father, Samuel, has however already arranged the marriage of his daughter to the influential and wealthy mestizo Certa. Martin Paz will fight for his love and for her freedom. What he will find about Samuel is however something he could not have expected. Will Paz manage to rescue Sarah from the vicious hands of Certa? How will he get her out from the "abyss" she is sinking into? Can he save her yet again after his own people stab a knife in his back? Will Martin and Sarah be finally together or the death is going to win the round this time? -
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSAGA Egmont
    Release dateOct 13, 2020
    ISBN9788726506068
    Martin Paz
    Author

    Jules Verne

    Jules Gabriel Verne was born in the seaport of Nantes, France, in 1828 and was destined to follow his father into the legal profession. In Paris to train for the bar, he took more readily to literary life, befriending Alexander Dumas and Victor Hugo, and living by theatre managing and libretto-writing. His first science-based novel, Five Weeks in a Balloon, was issued by the influential publisher Pierre-Jules Hetzel in 1862, and made him famous. Verne and Hetzel collaborated to write dozens more such adventures, including 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in 1869 and Around the World in 80 Days in 1872. In later life Verne entered local politics at Amiens, where had had a home. He also kept a house in Paris, in the street now named Boulevard Jules Verne, and a beloved yacht, the Saint Michel, named after his son. He died in 1905.

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      Book preview

      Martin Paz - Jules Verne

      Martin Paz

      I.

      THE sun had just set behind the snowy peaks of the Cordilleras; but beneath this lovely Peruvian sky the atmosphere, across the transparent veil of night, was impregnated with a luminous freshness. It was the hour when one might live in a European air, and seek the soft breezes on the verandas.

      Whilst the earliest stars were rising in the horizon, many promenaders were thronging the streets of Lima, wrapped in light mantles, and talking sedately about matters the most trifling. Multitudes were moving towards the Plaza Mayor, the forum of the ancient City of Kings.

      Street vendors were taking advantage of the coolness to ply their daily trade, and were shouting praises of their wares with much ado. The women, carefully wrapped in mantillas which concealed their faces, were gliding among the groups of smokers. Some señoras, in ball costume, their heads uncovered, except by their abundant tresses adorned with natural flowers, were lounging in wide, open carriages. Indians passed to and fro without raising their eyes, knowing themselves too much despised to be observed, betraying neither by word nor gesture the dull envy which was devouring them; and they were thus in marked contrast with the half-breeds, who, outcasts like themselves, rebelled more loudly against their fate.

      As for the Spaniards, the proud descendants of Pizarro, they walked with erect heads, as in the time when their ancestors founded the City of Kings. Their traditional contempt was visited both upon the Indians whom they had conquered, and the half-breeds, born of the union between them and the denizens of the New World. The Indians, like all races reduced to servitude, thought only of breaking their chains, and hated equally the conquerors of the ancient empire of the Incas, and the half-breeds, a sort of middle class, full of insolent arrogance.

      But these half-breeds, Spaniards in the contempt with which they look down upon the Indians, and Indians in their hatred of the Spaniards, were consumed between these two equally active feelings.

      A group of young half-breeds were talking near the pretty fountain which rises in the middle of the Plaza Mayor. Wrapped in their punchos (garments of cotton cut in long squares, and pierced by an opening to give passage to the head), wearing loose pantaloons of many colors, their heads covered with straw hats with enormously wide brims, they were talking, shouting, and gesticulating.

      You are right, André, said a little obsequious man, whom they called Millaflores.

      Millaflores was the parasite of André Certa, who was a young half-breed, the son of a rich merchant who had been killed in one of the last insurrections of the conspirator Lafuente.

      André Certa had inherited a large fortune, and he spent it freely for the benefit of his friends, of whom he asked nothing but humble complaisance in exchange for his handfuls of gold.

      What good are these changes of government, these eternal pronunciamentos which distract and agitate Peru? resumed André in a loud voice. "It matters not whether Gambarra or Santa Cruz is in power, if equality does not reign among us."

      Well said, well said! cried little Millaflores, who, even under a government of equality, could never have become the equal of a man of talent.

      How! André went on; I, the son of a merchant, — I am only allowed to drive a carriage drawn by mules! Have not my ships brought riches and prosperity to Peru? Is not the useful aristocracy of dollars worth all the empty titles of Spain?

      ’T is a shame! replied a young half-breed. And see! There is Don Fernand going by in his two-horse carriage. Don Fernand d’Aguillo! He has scarcely enough to feed his coachman, and he comes strutting across the Plaza! Good, there is another,— the Marquis Don Vegal!

      A splendid carriage at this moment entered the Plaza Mayor. It was that of the Marquis Don Vegal, Knight of Alcantara, of Malta, and of Charles III. But this great lord came thither rather for distraction than ostentation. Sad thoughts absorbed his mind; his head was bowed, as if in sorrow; and he did not hear the envious criticisms of the half-breeds, as his horses opened a passage through the crowd.

      I hate that man! said André Certa.

      You will not hate him long, replied one of the young cavaliers.

      No; for all these nobles are enjoying the last splendors of their luxury, and I know whither their plate and family jewels are going.

      Yes, you know something about it, for you frequent the house of Samuel the Jew.

      And there, on the old Jew’s ledgers, are inscribed the names of his aristocratic debtors, and in his coffers are being buried the remains of these vast fortunes! And on the day that all these Spaniards will be beggars, like their Cæsar de Bazan, we will have our opportunity.

      "You especially,

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