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Poor Miss Finch - ebook
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Data wydania:
12 sierpnia 2022
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Poor Miss Finch - ebook
A novel about the fate of a blind girl who dreams of finding happiness. How many difficulties she has to overcome on the path of life! Deception of a loved one, betrayal of loved ones, sudden blindness – a series of tragic circumstances that haunt the heroine.
| Kategoria: | Kryminał |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8292-659-0 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 2,8 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
Contents
Dedication
Part the First
Madame Pratolungo presents Herself
Madame Pratolungo makes a Voyage on Land
Poor Miss Finch
Twilight View of the Man
Candlelight View of the Man
A Cage of Finches
Daylight View of the Man
The Perjury of the Clock
The Hero of the Trial
First Appearance of Jicks
Blind Love
Mr. Finch smells Money
Second Appearance of Jicks
Discoveries at Browndown
Events at the Bedside
First Result of the Robbery
The Doctor’s Opinion
Family Troubles
Second Result of the Robbery
Good Papa again!
Madame Pratolungo Returns to Dimchurch
The Twin’Brother’s Letter
He sets us All Right
He sees Lucilla
Nugent puzzles Madame Pratolungo
He proves Equal to the Occasion
He finds a Way out of it
He crosses the Rubicon
Parliamentary Summary
Herr Grosse
’Who Shall Decide when Doctors disagree?’
Alas for the Marriage!
The Day Between
Part the Second
Nugent shows his Hand
Lucilla tries her Sight
The Brothers Meet
The Brothers change Places
Is there no Excuse for Him?
She Learns to See
Traces of Nugent
A Hard Time for Madame Pratolungo
The Story of Lucilla: told by Herself
Lucilla’s Journal, continued
Lucilla’s Journal, continued
Lucilla’s Journal, concluded
The Italian Steamer
On the Way to the End. First Stage
On the Way to the End. Second Stage
On the Way to the End. Third Stage
The End of the Journey
Epilogue: Madame Pratolungo’s Last WordsDedication
TO MRS. ELLIOT,
(OF THE DEANERY, BRISTOL).
WILL YOU honor me by accepting the Dedication of this book, in remembrance of an uninterrupted friendship of many years?
More than one charming blind girl, in fiction and in the drama, has preceded “Poor Miss Finch.” But, so far as I know, blindness in these cases has been always exhibited, more or less exclusively, from the ideal and the sentimental point of view. The attempt here made is to appeal to an interest of another kind, by exhibiting blindness as it really is. I have carefully gathered the information necessary to the execution of this purpose from competent authorities of all sorts. Whenever “Lucilla” acts or speaks in these pages, with reference to her blindness, she is doing or saying what persons afflicted as she is have done or said before her. Of the other features which I have added to produce and sustain interest in this central personage of my story, it does not become me to speak. It is for my readers to say if “Lucilla” has found her way to their sympathies. In this character, and more especially again in the characters of “Nugent Dubourg” and “Madame Pratolungo,” I have tried to present human nature in its inherent inconsistencies and self-contradictions–in its intricate mixture of good and evil, of great and small–as I see it in the world about me. But the faculty of observing character is so rare, the curiously mistaken tendency to look for logical consistency in human motives and human actions is so general, that I may possibly find the execution of this part of my task misunderstood–sometimes even resented–in certain quarters. However, Time has stood my friend in relation to other characters of mine in other books–and who can say that Time may not help me again here? Perhaps, one of these days, I may be able to make use of some of the many interesting stories of events that have really happened, which have been placed in my hands by persons who could speak as witnesses to the truth of the narrative. Thus far, I have not ventured to disturb the repose of these manuscripts in the locked drawer allotted to them. The true incidents are so “far-fetched”; and the conduct of the real people is so “grossly improbable”!
As for the object which I have had in view in writing this story, it is, I hope, plain enough to speak for itself. I subscribe to the article of belief which declares, that the conditions of human happiness are independent of bodily affliction, and that it is even possible for bodily affliction itself to take its place among the ingredients of happiness. These are the views which “Poor Miss Finch” is intended to advocate–and this is the impression which I hope to leave on the mind of the reader when the book is closed.
W. C.
January 16th, 1872.Chapter the First
Madame Pratolungo presents Herself
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.
The persons principally concerned in the Event are:–a blind girl; two (twin) brothers; a skilled surgeon; and a curious foreign woman. I am the curious foreign woman. And I take it on myself–for reasons which will presently appear–to tell the story.
So far we understand each other. Good. I may make myself known to you as briefly as I can.
I am Madame Pratolungo–widow of that celebrated South American patriot, Doctor Pratolungo. I am French by birth. Before I married the Doctor, I went through many vicissitudes in my own country. They ended in leaving me (at an age which is of no consequence to anybody) with some experience of the world; with a cultivated musical talent on the pianoforte; and with a comfortable little fortune unexpectedly bequeathed to me by a relative of my dear dead mother (which fortune I shared with good Papa and with my younger sisters). To these qualifications I added another, the most precious of all, when I married the Doctor; namely–a strong infusion of ultra-liberal principles. _Vive la République!_
Some people do one thing, and some do another, in the way of celebrating the event of their marriage. Having become man and wife, Doctor Pratolungo and I took ship to Central America–and devoted our honey-moon, in those disturbed districts, to the sacred duty of destroying tyrants.
Ah! the vital air of my noble husband was the air of revolutions. From his youth upwards he had followed the glorious profession of Patriot. Wherever the people of the Southern New World rose and declared their independence–and, in my time, that fervent population did nothing else–there was the Doctor self-devoted on the altar of his adopted country. He had been fifteen times exiled, and condemned to death in his absence, when I met with him in Paris–the picture of heroic poverty, with a brown complexion and one lame leg. Who could avoid falling in love with such a man? I was proud when he proposed to devote me on the altar of his adopted country, as well as himself–me, and my money. For, alas! everything is expensive in this world; including the destruction of tyrants and the saving of Freedom. All my money went in helping the sacred cause of the people. Dictators and filibusters flourished in spite of us. Before we had been a year married, the Doctor had to fly (for the sixteenth time) to escape being tried for his life. My husband condemned to death in his absence; and I with my pockets empty. This is how the Republic rewarded 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 of Central America went on without us.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
Dedication
Part the First
Madame Pratolungo presents Herself
Madame Pratolungo makes a Voyage on Land
Poor Miss Finch
Twilight View of the Man
Candlelight View of the Man
A Cage of Finches
Daylight View of the Man
The Perjury of the Clock
The Hero of the Trial
First Appearance of Jicks
Blind Love
Mr. Finch smells Money
Second Appearance of Jicks
Discoveries at Browndown
Events at the Bedside
First Result of the Robbery
The Doctor’s Opinion
Family Troubles
Second Result of the Robbery
Good Papa again!
Madame Pratolungo Returns to Dimchurch
The Twin’Brother’s Letter
He sets us All Right
He sees Lucilla
Nugent puzzles Madame Pratolungo
He proves Equal to the Occasion
He finds a Way out of it
He crosses the Rubicon
Parliamentary Summary
Herr Grosse
’Who Shall Decide when Doctors disagree?’
Alas for the Marriage!
The Day Between
Part the Second
Nugent shows his Hand
Lucilla tries her Sight
The Brothers Meet
The Brothers change Places
Is there no Excuse for Him?
She Learns to See
Traces of Nugent
A Hard Time for Madame Pratolungo
The Story of Lucilla: told by Herself
Lucilla’s Journal, continued
Lucilla’s Journal, continued
Lucilla’s Journal, concluded
The Italian Steamer
On the Way to the End. First Stage
On the Way to the End. Second Stage
On the Way to the End. Third Stage
The End of the Journey
Epilogue: Madame Pratolungo’s Last WordsDedication
TO MRS. ELLIOT,
(OF THE DEANERY, BRISTOL).
WILL YOU honor me by accepting the Dedication of this book, in remembrance of an uninterrupted friendship of many years?
More than one charming blind girl, in fiction and in the drama, has preceded “Poor Miss Finch.” But, so far as I know, blindness in these cases has been always exhibited, more or less exclusively, from the ideal and the sentimental point of view. The attempt here made is to appeal to an interest of another kind, by exhibiting blindness as it really is. I have carefully gathered the information necessary to the execution of this purpose from competent authorities of all sorts. Whenever “Lucilla” acts or speaks in these pages, with reference to her blindness, she is doing or saying what persons afflicted as she is have done or said before her. Of the other features which I have added to produce and sustain interest in this central personage of my story, it does not become me to speak. It is for my readers to say if “Lucilla” has found her way to their sympathies. In this character, and more especially again in the characters of “Nugent Dubourg” and “Madame Pratolungo,” I have tried to present human nature in its inherent inconsistencies and self-contradictions–in its intricate mixture of good and evil, of great and small–as I see it in the world about me. But the faculty of observing character is so rare, the curiously mistaken tendency to look for logical consistency in human motives and human actions is so general, that I may possibly find the execution of this part of my task misunderstood–sometimes even resented–in certain quarters. However, Time has stood my friend in relation to other characters of mine in other books–and who can say that Time may not help me again here? Perhaps, one of these days, I may be able to make use of some of the many interesting stories of events that have really happened, which have been placed in my hands by persons who could speak as witnesses to the truth of the narrative. Thus far, I have not ventured to disturb the repose of these manuscripts in the locked drawer allotted to them. The true incidents are so “far-fetched”; and the conduct of the real people is so “grossly improbable”!
As for the object which I have had in view in writing this story, it is, I hope, plain enough to speak for itself. I subscribe to the article of belief which declares, that the conditions of human happiness are independent of bodily affliction, and that it is even possible for bodily affliction itself to take its place among the ingredients of happiness. These are the views which “Poor Miss Finch” is intended to advocate–and this is the impression which I hope to leave on the mind of the reader when the book is closed.
W. C.
January 16th, 1872.Chapter the First
Madame Pratolungo presents Herself
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.
The persons principally concerned in the Event are:–a blind girl; two (twin) brothers; a skilled surgeon; and a curious foreign woman. I am the curious foreign woman. And I take it on myself–for reasons which will presently appear–to tell the story.
So far we understand each other. Good. I may make myself known to you as briefly as I can.
I am Madame Pratolungo–widow of that celebrated South American patriot, Doctor Pratolungo. I am French by birth. Before I married the Doctor, I went through many vicissitudes in my own country. They ended in leaving me (at an age which is of no consequence to anybody) with some experience of the world; with a cultivated musical talent on the pianoforte; and with a comfortable little fortune unexpectedly bequeathed to me by a relative of my dear dead mother (which fortune I shared with good Papa and with my younger sisters). To these qualifications I added another, the most precious of all, when I married the Doctor; namely–a strong infusion of ultra-liberal principles. _Vive la République!_
Some people do one thing, and some do another, in the way of celebrating the event of their marriage. Having become man and wife, Doctor Pratolungo and I took ship to Central America–and devoted our honey-moon, in those disturbed districts, to the sacred duty of destroying tyrants.
Ah! the vital air of my noble husband was the air of revolutions. From his youth upwards he had followed the glorious profession of Patriot. Wherever the people of the Southern New World rose and declared their independence–and, in my time, that fervent population did nothing else–there was the Doctor self-devoted on the altar of his adopted country. He had been fifteen times exiled, and condemned to death in his absence, when I met with him in Paris–the picture of heroic poverty, with a brown complexion and one lame leg. Who could avoid falling in love with such a man? I was proud when he proposed to devote me on the altar of his adopted country, as well as himself–me, and my money. For, alas! everything is expensive in this world; including the destruction of tyrants and the saving of Freedom. All my money went in helping the sacred cause of the people. Dictators and filibusters flourished in spite of us. Before we had been a year married, the Doctor had to fly (for the sixteenth time) to escape being tried for his life. My husband condemned to death in his absence; and I with my pockets empty. This is how the Republic rewarded 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 of Central America went on without us.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
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