Poor Miss Finch , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Wilkie Collins

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

291 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. You are here invited to read the story of an Event which occurred in an out-of-the-way corner of England, some years since.

Informations

Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819917533
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

PART THE FIRST
CHAPTER THE FIRST
Madame Pratolungo presents Herself
You are here invited to read the story of an Eventwhich occurred in an out-of-the-way corner of England, some yearssince.
The persons principally concerned in the Event are:- a blind girl; two (twin) brothers; a skilled surgeon; and acurious foreign woman. I am the curious foreign woman. And I takeit on myself - for reasons which will presently appear - to tellthe story.
So far we understand each other. Good. I may makemyself known to you as briefly as I can.
I am Madame Pratolungo - widow of that celebratedSouth American patriot, Doctor Pratolungo. I am French by birth.Before I married the Doctor, I went through many vicissitudes in myown country. They ended in leaving me (at an age which is of noconsequence to anybody) with some experience of the world; with acultivated musical talent on the pianoforte; and with a comfortablelittle fortune unexpectedly bequeathed to me by a relative of mydear dead mother (which fortune I shared with good Papa and with myyounger sisters). To these qualifications I added another, the mostprecious of all, when I married the Doctor; namely - a stronginfusion of ultra-liberal principles. Vive laRe'publique!
Some people do one thing, and some do another, inthe way of celebrating the event of their marriage. Having becomeman and wife, Doctor Pratolungo and I took ship to Central America- and devoted our honey-moon, in those disturbed districts, to thesacred duty of destroying tyrants.
Ah! the vital air of my noble husband was the air ofrevolutions. From his youth upwards he had followed the gloriousprofession of Patriot. Wherever the people of the Southern NewWorld rose and declared their independence - and, in my time, thatfervent population did nothing else - there was the Doctorself-devoted on the altar of his adopted country. He had beenfifteen times exiled, and condemned to death in his absence, when Imet with him in Paris - the picture of heroic poverty, with a browncomplexion and one lame leg. Who could avoid falling in love withsuch a man? I was proud when he proposed to devote me on the altarof his adopted country, as well as himself - me, and my money. For,alas! everything is expensive in this world; including thedestruction of tyrants and the saving of Freedom. All my money wentin helping the sacred cause of the people. Dictators andfilibusters flourished in spite of us. Before we had been a yearmarried, the Doctor had to fly (for the sixteenth time) to escapebeing tried for his life. My husband condemned to death in hisabsence; and I with my pockets empty. This is how the Republicrewarded us. And yet, I love the Republic. Ah, you monarchy-people,sitting fat and contented under tyrants, respect that!
This time, we took refuge in England. The affairs ofCentral America went on without us.
I thought of giving lessons in music. But myglorious husband could not spare me away from him. I suppose weshould have starved, and made a sad little paragraph in the Englishnewspapers - if the end had not come in another way. My poorPratolungo was in truth worn out. He sank under his sixteenthexile. I was left a widow - with nothing but the inheritance of myhusband's noble sentiments to console me.
I went back for awhile to good Papa and my sistersin Paris. But it was not in my nature to remain and be a burden onthem at home. I returned again to London, with recommendations: andencountered inconceivable disasters in the effort to earn a livinghonorably. Of all the wealth about me - the prodigal, insolent,ostentatious wealth - none fell to my share. What right has anybodyto be rich? I defy you, whoever you may be, to prove that anybodyhas a right to be rich.
Without dwelling on my disasters, let it be enoughto say that I got up one morning, with three pounds, sevenshillings, and fourpence in my purse; with my fervid temper, and myrepublican principles - and with absolutely nothing in prospect,that is to say with not a halfpenny more to come to me, unless Icould earn it for myself.
In this sad case, what does an honest woman who isbent on winning her own independence by her own work, do? She takesthree and sixpence out of her little humble store; and sheadvertises herself in a newspaper.
One always advertises the best side of oneself. (Ah,poor humanity!) My best side was my musical side. In the days of myvicissitudes (before my marriage) I had at one time had a share ina millinery establishment in Lyons. At another time, I had beenbedchamber-woman to a great lady in Paris. But in my presentsituation, these sides of myself were, for various reasons, not sopresentable as the pianoforte side. I was not a great player - farfrom it. But I had been soundly instructed; and I had, what youcall, a competent skill on the instrument. Brief, I made the bestof myself, I promise you, in my advertisement.
The next day, I borrowed the newspaper, to enjoy thepride of seeing my composition in print.
Ah, heaven! what did I discover? I discovered whatother wretched advertising people have found out before me. Abovemy own advertisement, the very thing I wanted was advertised for bysomebody else! Look in any newspaper; and you will see strangerswho (if I may so express myself) exactly fit each other,advertising for each other, without knowing it. I had advertisedmyself as "accomplished musical companion for a lady. With cheerfultemper to match." And there above me was my unknown necessitousfellow-creature, crying out in printers' types: - "Wanted, acompanion for a lady. Must be an accomplished musician, and have acheerful temper. Testimonials to capacity, and first-ratereferences required." Exactly what I had offered! "Apply by letteronly, in the first instance." Exactly what I had said! Fie upon me,I had spent three and sixpence for nothing. I threw down thenewspaper, in a transport of anger (like a fool) - and then took itup again (like a sensible woman), and applied by letter for theoffered place.
My letter brought me into contact with a lawyer. Thelawyer enveloped himself in mystery. It seemed to be a professionalhabit with him to tell nobody anything, if he could possibly helpit.
Drop by drop, this wearisome man let thecircumstances out. The lady was a young lady. She was the daughterof a clergyman. She lived in a retired part of the country. Moreeven than that, she lived in a retired part of the house. Herfather had married a second time. Having only the young lady aschild by his first marriage, he had (I suppose by way of a change)a large family by his second marriage. Circumstances rendered itnecessary for the young lady to live as much apart as she couldfrom the tumult of a houseful of children. So he went on, untilthere was no keeping it in any longer - and then he let it out. Theyoung lady was blind!
Young - lonely - blind. I had a sudden inspiration.I felt I should love her.
The question of my musical capacity was, in this sadcase, a serious one. The poor young lady had one great pleasure toillumine her dark life - Music. Her companion was wanted to playfrom the book, and play worthily, the works of the great masters(whom this young creature adored) - and she, listening, would takeher place next at the piano, and reproduce the music morsel bymorsel, by ear. A professor was appointed to pronounce sentence onme, and declare if I could be trusted not to misinterpret Mozart,Beethoven, and the other masters who have written for the piano.Through this ordeal I passed with success. As for my references,they spoke for themselves. Not even the lawyer (though he triedhard) could pick holes in them. It was arranged on both sides thatI should, in the first instance, go on a month's visit to the younglady. If we both wished it at the end of the time, I was to stay,on terms arranged to my perfect satisfaction. There was ourtreaty!
The next day I started for my visit by therailway.
My instructions directed me to travel to the town ofLewes in Sussex. Arrived there, I was to ask for the pony-chaise ofmy young lady's father - described on his card as Reverend TertiusFinch. The chaise was to take me to the rectory-house in thevillage of Dimchurch. And the village of Dimchurch was situatedamong the South Down Hills, three or four miles from the coast.
When I stepped into the railway carriage, this wasall I knew. After my adventurous life - after the volcanicagitations of my republican career in the Doctor's time - was Iabout to bury myself in a remote English village, and live a lifeas monotonous as the life of a sheep on a hill? Ah, with all myexperience, I had yet to learn that the narrowest human limits arewide enough to contain the grandest human emotions. I had seen theDrama of Life amid the turmoil of tropical revolutions. I was tosee it again, with all its palpitating interest, in the breezysolitudes of the South Down Hills.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
Madame Pratolungo makes a Voyage on Land
A WELL-FED boy, with yellow Saxon hair; a littleshabby green chaise; and a rough brown pony - these objectsconfronted me at the Lewes Station. I said to the boy, "Are youReverend Finch's servant?" And the boy answered, "I be he."
We drove through the town - a hilly town of desolateclean houses. No living creatures visible behind the jealously-shutwindows. No living creatures entering or departing through thesad-colored closed doors. No theater; no place of amusement exceptan empty town-hall, with a sad policeman meditating on its sprucewhite steps. No customers in the shops, and nobody to serve thembehind the counter, even if they had turned up. Here and there onthe pavements, an inhabitant with a capacity for staring, and(apparently) a capacity for nothing else. I said to ReverendFinch's boy, "Is this a rich place?" Reverend Finch's boybrightened and answered, "That it be!" Good. At any rate, theydon't enjoy themselves here - the infamous rich!
Leaving this town of unamused citizens immured indomestic tombs, we g