Mike Fletcher, George Moore [reading books for 4 year olds .TXT] 📗
- Author: George Moore
Book online «Mike Fletcher, George Moore [reading books for 4 year olds .TXT] 📗». Author George Moore
Number Is Small, Manners Are Reserved, And Morals Severe."
He Was In A Carriage With Two Unmistakably County Squires, And Their
Conversation--Certain References To A Meet Of The Hounds And A Local
Bazaar--Left No Doubt That They Were His Neighbours. Indeed, Lady
Seeley Was Once Alluded To, And Mike Was Agitated With Violent
Desires To Introduce Himself As The Owner Of Belthorpe Park. Several
Times He Opened His Lips, But Their Talk Suddenly Turned Into Matters
Chapter 8 Pg 109So Foreign That He Abandoned The Notion Of Revealing His Identity,
And Five Minutes After He Congratulated Himself He Had Not Done So.
The Next Station Was Wantage Street; And As He Looked To See That The
Guard Had Put Out His Portmanteau, A Smart Footman Approached, And
Touching His Cockaded Hat Said, "Mr. Fletcher." Mike Thrilled With
Pride. His Servant--His First Servant.
"I've Brought The Dog-Cart, Sir; I Thought It Would Be The Quickest;
It Will Take Us A Good Hour, The Roads Are Very Heavy, Sir."
Mike Noticed The Coronet Worked In Red Upon The Yellow Horse-Cloth,
For The Lamps Cast A Bright Glow Over The Mare's Quarters; And
Wishing To Exhibit Himself In All His New Fortune Before His
Fellow-Passengers, Who Were Getting Into A Humbler Conveyance, He
Took The Reins From The Groom; And When He Turned Into The Wrong
Street, He Cursed Under His Breath, Fancying All Had Noticed His
Misadventure. When They Were Clear Of The Town, Touching The Mare
With The Whip He Said--
"Not A Bad Animal, This."
"Beautiful Trotter, Sir. Her Ladyship Bought Her Only Last Spring;
Gave Seventy Guineas For Her."
After A Slight Pause, Mike Said, "Very Sad, Her Ladyship's Death, And
Quite Unexpected, I Suppose. She Wasn't Ill Above A Couple Of Days."
"Not What You Might Call Ill, Sir; But Her Ladyship Had Been Ailing
For A Long Time Past. The Doctors Ordered Her Abroad Last Winter,
Sir, But I Don't Think It Did Her Much Good. She Came Back Looking
Very Poorly."
"Now Tell Me Which Is The Way? Do I Turn To The Right Or Left?"
"To The Right, Sir."
"How Far Are We From Belthorpe Park Now?"
"About Three Miles, Sir."
"You Were Saying That Her Ladyship Looked Very Poorly For Some Time
Before She Died. Tell Me How She Looked. What Do You Think Was The
Matter?"
"Well, Sir, Her Ladyship Seemed Very Much Depressed. I Heard Miss
Fairfield, Her Ladyship's Maid, Say That She Used To Find Her
Ladyship Constantly In Tears; Her Nerves Seemed To Have Given Way."
"I Suppose I Broke Her Heart," Thought Mike; "But I'm Not To Blame; I
Couldn't Go On Loving Any Woman For Ever, Not If She Were Venus
Herself." And Questioning The Groom Regarding The Servants Then At
Belthorpe, He Learnt With Certain Satisfaction That Fairfield Had
Left Immediately After Her Ladyship's Death. The Groom Had Never
Heard Of Harrison (He Had Only Been A Year And A Half In Her
Ladyship's Service).
"This Is Belthorpe Park, Sir--These Are The Lodge Gates."
Mike Was Disappointed In The Lodge. The Park He Could Not
Distinguish. Mist Hung Like A White Fleece. There Were Patches Of
Ferns; Hawthorns Loomed Suddenly Into Sight; High Trees Raised Their
Bare Branches To The Brilliancy Of The Moon.
"Not Half Bad," Thought Mike, "Quite A Gentleman's Place."
"Rather Rough Land In Parts--Plenty Of Rabbits," He Remarked To The
Groom; And He Won The Man's Sympathies By Various Questions
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You In Writing (Or By E-Mail) Within 30 Days Of Receipt That S/He
Does Not Agree To The Terms Of The Full Pr-Mail) Within 30 Days Of Croit Que Les Morts Aimés
Nous Entourent, Sont Présents, Écoutent La Parole Qui S'occupe D'eux,
Jouissent Du Souvenir De Leur Mémoire. Il Finit En Disant: «Le Souvenir
Des Morts, Loin D'être Douloureux, Est Pour Moi Une Joie.»
Je Le Ramène À Lui, À Ruy-Blas. Il Se Plaint De La Demande, Qui Lui Est
Faite D'une Nouvelle Pièce De Son Répertoire. La Répétition D'une Pièce,
Ça L'empêche D'en Faire Une Autre, Et Comme, Dit-Il, Il N'a Plus Que
Quatre Ou Cinq Années À Produire, Il Veut Faire Les Dernières Choses Qu'il
A En Tête. Il Ajoute: «Il Y A Bien Un Moyen Terme, J'ai Des Amis
Excellents Et Très Dévoués, Qui Veulent Bien S'occuper De Tout Le Détail,
Mais Tous Les Mécontents, Tous Les Non Satisfaits De Meurice Et De
Vacquerie, En Réfèrent À Moi, Me Dérangent. Au Fond Il Faudrait
S'éloigner.»
Puis Il Parle De Sa Famille, De Sa Généalogie Lorraine, D'un Hugo, Grand
Brigand Féodal, Dont Il A Dessiné Le Château, Près De Saverne, D'un Autre
Hugo, Enterré À Trèves, Qui A Laissé Un Missel Mystérieux, Enfoui Sous Une
Roche Appelée «La Table» Près De Saarbourg, Et Qu'a Fait Enlever Le Roi De
Prusse.
Il Raconte Longuement Cette Histoire, La Semant De Détails Bizarres De
Cette Archéologie Moyenâgeuse, Qu'il Aime, Et Dont Il Fait Si Souvent
Emploi Dans Sa Prose Et Dans Sa Poésie.
Chapter 8 Pg 112
A Ce Moment, A Lieu Dans Le Salon Une Irruption De Femmes, Un Peu
Dépeignées, Un Peu Allumées Par Le Vin D'un Cru Périgourdin, Qu'on Vient
De Baptiser: Le _Cru De Victor Hugo_, Une Véritable Invasion De Bacchantes
Bourgeoises. Je Me Sauve.
Hugo Me Rattrape Dans L'antichambre, Et Me Fait Très Gentiment, Devant La
Banquette, Un Petit Cours D'esthétique, Qui, Tout En S'adressant À Moi, Me
Semble L'historique Des Évolutions De Son Esprit. «Vous Êtes, Me Dit-Il,
Historien, Romancier,--Je Passe Les Choses Délicatement Flatteuses, Dont
Il Me Gratifie,--Vous Êtes Un Artiste. Vous Savez Combien Je Le Suis! Je
Passerai Des Journées Devant Un Bas-Relief... Mais Cela Est D'un Âge...
Plus Tard, Il Faut La Vision Philosophique Des Choses, C'est La Seconde
Phase... Plus Tard Encore, Et En Dernier, Il Faut Entrer Dans La Vie
Mystérieuse Des Choses, Ce Que Les Anciens Appelaient _Arcana_: Les
Mystères Des Avenirs Des Êtres Et Des Individus.» Et Il Me Serre La Main
En Me Disant: «Réfléchissez À Ce Que Je Vous Dis?»
En Descendant L'escalier, Tout En Étant Touché De La Grâce Et De La
Politesse De Ce Grand Esprit, Il Y Avait, Au Fond
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