Mike Fletcher - George Moore (best books to read now TXT) 📗
- Author: George Moore
Book online «Mike Fletcher - George Moore (best books to read now TXT) 📗». Author George Moore
"Very Well, I Don't Mind, Anything To Oblige A Friend."
Lizzie Besought Mike Not To Play Again, And She Nearly Upset The
Apple-Cart By Angrily Telling Thigh She Did Not Wish Her House To Be
Turned Into A Gambling Hell. Thigh Rose From The Table, But Frank
Apologized For His Wife, And Begged Of Him To Sit Down. The Incident
Was Not Without A Good Effect, For It Removed Thigh's Suspicions, If
He Had Any, And Convinced Him That He Was "In For A Real Good Thing."
He Laid On The Table A Cheque, Signed Beacham Brown, For A Hundred
Pounds; Mike Produced His Nearly Completed Manuscript. Thigh Looked
Over The Ms., Judging Its Length.
"It Is All Here?"
"No, There's One Chapter To Come; That's Gain: «C'est Gelé! C'est
Mort!... Voyez, Le Bois Doit Être Blanc». Et Il Me Faisait Voir Une Petite
Teinte Brune, La Teinte D'un Bois Qui Devient Du Bois À Fagot.
Vraiment, Quoique Ça Paraisse Imbécile De Dire, C'est Fait Pour Moi, Pour
Moi Seul, Elle Est Vraiment Singulière La Malechance Que Je Rencontre En
Tout Et Partout. Moi, Resté Si Longtemps Indifférent À La Nature, Si Peu
Soucieux De Ses Beautés, Il Arrive Qu'une Année, Je Me Toque D'arbustes,
Que Je Plante, Que Je Fais Tout Mon Bonheur Et Ma Passion D'un Petit Coin
De Verdure Idéal, Eh Bien, Cette Année Il Faut Qu'il Gèle, Comme Il N'a
Pas Gelé Depuis Cent Ans, Et Tout Ce Que J'ai Planté, Tout Ce Que J'aimais
Des Arbres Plantés Par Mon Prédécesseur, Tout Cela «Est Gelé, Est Mort»,
Comme Le Disait Maître Theulier.
Chapter 7 Pg 93* * * * *
_Mardi 9 Janvier_.--Dîner De Brébant. Ernest Picard, Avec Lequel Je Dîne
Pour La Première Fois, A Le Ventripotent Aspect De Ces Petits Manieurs
D'argent De Village, À La Fois Percepteur Et Régisseur D'un Grand
Propriétaire Habitant Paris, Et Cela Avec Un Oeil Goguenard, Et Une Parole
D'avocat, Spirituellement Malicieuse. A Propos Des Récentes Élections
Académiques Il Déclare Qu'il Ne Connaît Pas De Corruption Électorale
Semblable À Celle De L'institut.
On Le Met Sur Les Derniers Événements. Il Dit Qu'il A Eu Dès D'abord La
Plus Grande Défiance De Trochu, Pour Avoir Vu Sa Signature, Une Signature
Au Paraphe Tremblé, Qui Lui A Fait Penser De Suite À Un Ramollissement Du
Cerveau, Et Il Explique Le Défenseur De Paris, Par Ce Ramollissement, Tout
En Le Reconnaissant Très Complexe, Et Ne Pouvant Donner La Clef De Ce
Mélange De Roublarderie Et De Mysticisme.
Puis, Il Affirme Que Tous Nos Malheurs Viennent Du Mois D'octobre 1869,
Sont Dûs À Une Douzaine D'hommes Qui Se Sont Laissé Emporter Par Leurs
Passions. Sans La Scission Produite Par Ces Inventeurs Du Mandat Impératif
Dans L'opposition, Ernest Picard A La Conviction Que L'opposition Attirait
À Elle La Masse Flottante Existant Dans L'assemblée, Et Qu'elle Devenait
Une Majorité Empêchant La Guerre Et Tous Nos Désastres.
* * * * *
_10 Janvier_.--Aujourd'hui, Chez Le Français, Le Journal A Remplacé Le
Catéchisme. Un Premier Paris De Machin Ou De Chose Devient Un Article De
Foi, Que L'abonné Accepte Avec La Même Absence De Libre Examen Que Chez Le
Catholique D'autrefois Trouvait Le Mystère De La Trinité.
* * * * *
_11 Janvier_.--Un Interne Soutenait Que Dans Les Hôpitaux, Pour Les
Malades Misérables, Le Bain, La Chemise Blanche, Les Draps Propres, Le
Passage De La Saleté À La Propreté, Amenait Une Amélioration Médicalement
Constatée.
* * * * *
_11 Janvier_.--Ces Jours-Ci, Trouvant Dans La Rue De La Paix Un
Encombrement De Voitures De Maîtres, Tout Semblable À Celui D'une Première
Au Théâtre Français, Je Me Demandais Quel Était Le Grand Personnage Qui
Avait Sa Porte Assiégée Par Tant De Grand Monde, Quand, Levant Les Yeux
Au-Dessus D'une Porte Cochère, Je Lus: «Worth». Paris Est Toujours Le
Paris De L'empire.
* * * * *
_16 Janvier_.--Rien Ne M'agace Comme Les Gens Qui Viennent Vous Supplier
De Leur Faire Voir Des Choses D'art, Qu'ils Touchent Avec Des Mains
Irrespectueuses, Qu'ils Regardent Avec Des Yeux Ennuyés.
* * * * *
_17 Janvier_.--Flaubert Est, Dans Le Moment, Si Grincheux, Si Cassant, Si
Irascible, Si Érupé À Propos De Tout Et De Rien, Que Je Crains Que Mon
Pauvre Ami Ne Soit Atteint De L'irritabilité Maladive Des Affections
Nerveuses À Leur Germe.
* * * * *
_28 Janvier_.--Aujourd'hui, Après Deux Années Sans Un Achat, J'ai, Pour La
Première Fois, La Tentation D'un Dessin.
* * * * *
_Lundi 29 Janvier_.--La Première Personne Que J'aperçois À L'église, C'est
Elle! Je La Vois À Travers Le Jour Des Ogives Du Choeur. Elle A La Tête
Penchée Sur L'ép Cruel."
Chapter 7 Pg 94Tears Swam In His Eyes, And Covering His Face In His Hands He Burst
Into A Storm Of Heavy Sobbing.
Mike Was Sincere, But "There Is Something Not Wholly Disagreeable To
Us In Hearing Of The Misfortunes Even Of Our Best Friends," And Mike
Felt The Old Thought Forced Into His Mind That He Who Had Come From
The Top Had Gone To The Bottom, And That He Who Came From The Bottom
Was Going--Had Gone To The Top. Taking Care, However, That None Of
The Triumph Ebullient Within Him Should Rise Into His Voice, He
Said--
"I Am Really Sorry For You, Frank. You Mustn't Despair; Perhaps The
Child Won't Live, And Perhaps The Paper Will Succeed. It Must
Succeed. It Shall Succeed."
"Succeed! Nothing Succeeds With Me. I And My Wife And Child Are
Beggars On The Face Of The Earth. It Matters Little To Me Whether The
Paper Succeeds Or Fails. Thigh Has Got Pretty Nearly All Of It. When
My Debts Are Paid I Shall Not Have Enough To Set Myself Up In Rooms."
At The End Of A Painful Silence, Mike Said--
"We've Had Our Quarrels, But You've Been A Damned Good Friend To Me;
It Is My Turn Now To Stand To You. To Begin With, Here Is The Three
Hundred That I Won From Thigh. I Don't Want It. I Assure You I Don't.
Then There Are Your Rooms In Temple Gardens; I'll Take Them Off Your
Hands. I'll Pay All The Arrears Of Rent, And Give You The Price You
Paid For Your Furniture."
"What Damned Nonsense! How Can You Do That? Take Three Hundred Pounds
From You--The Price Of Your Book. You Have Nothing Else In The
World!"
"Yes, I Have; It Is All Right, Old Chap; You Can Have The Money. The
Fact Is," He Said, "Lady Seeley Has Left Me Her Whole Fortune; The
Letter I Just Received Is From The Solicitors. They Say Three
Thousand A Year In Various Securities, And A Property In Berkshire.
So You See I Can Afford To Be Generous. I Shall Feel Much Hurt If You
Don't Accept. Indeed, It Is The Least I Can Do; I Owe It To You."
The Men Looked At Each Other, Their Eyes Luminous With Intense And
Quickening Emotions. Fortune Had Been So Derisive That Mike Feared
Frank Would Break Into Foolish Anger, And That Only A Quarrel And
Worse Hatred Might Result From His Offer Of Assistance.
"It Was In My Box You Met Her; I Remember The Night Quite Well. You
Were With Harding." [Footnote: See _Spring Days_.] The Men Exchanged
An Inquiring Look. "She Wanted Me To Go Home And Have Supper With
Her; She Was In Love With Me Then; I Might Have Been Her Lover. But I
Refused, And I Went Into The Bar And Spoke To Lizzie; When She Went
Off On Duty I Went And Sat With You And Harding. Not Long After I Saw
You At Reading, In The Hotel Overlooking The River. I Was With
Lizzie." [Footnote: See _Spring Days_.]
"You Can't Accuse Me Of Having Cut You Out. You Could Have Got Her,
And--"
"I Didn't Want Her; I Was In Love With Lizzie, And I Am Still. And
Strange As It May Appear To You, I Regret Nothing, At Least Nothing
That Concerns Lizzie."
Mike Wondered If This Were True. His Fingers Fidgeted With The
Cheques. "Won't You Take Them?"
Frank Took Them. It Was Impossible To Continue The Conversation.
Frank Made A Remark, And The Young Men Bade Each Other Good-Night.
As Mike Went Up The Staircase To His Room, His Exultation Swelled,
And In One Of Those Hallucinations Of The Brain Consequent Upon
Nerve Excitement, And In Which We Are Conscious Of Our Insanity, He
Chapter 7 Pg 95Wondered The Trivial Fabric Of The Cottage Did Not Fall, And His Soul
Seemed To Pierce The Depth And Mystery Imprisoned In The Stars. He
Undressed Slowly, Looking At Himself In The Glass, Pausing When He
Drew Off His Waistcoat, Unbuttoning His Braces With Deliberation.
"I Can Make Nothing Of It; There Never Was Any One Like Me.... I
Could Do Anything, I Might Have Been Napoleon Or Cæsar."
As He Folded His Coat He Put His Hand Into The Breast Pocket And
Produced The Unposted Letter.
"That Letter Will Drive Me Mad! Shall I Burn It? What Do I Want With
A Wife? I've Plenty Of Money Now."
He Held The Letter To The Flame Of The Candle. But He Could Nyour Desires And Unmortified Passions May Not Hinder You From That Which
Hath Been Ordained For You.
O Salman! All That The Sages And Mystics Have Said Or Written Have Never
Exceeded, Nor Can They Ever Hope To Exceed, The Limitations To Which Man's
Finite Mind Hath Been Strictly Subjected. To Whatever Heights The Mind Of
The Most Exalted Of Men May Soar, However Great The Depths Which The
Detached And Understanding Heart Can Penetrate, Such Mind And Heart Can
Never Transcend That Which Is The Creature Of Their Own Conceptions And
The Product Of Their Own Thoughts. The Meditations Of The Profoundest
Thinker, The Devotions Of The Holiest Of Saints, The Highest Expressions
Of Praise From Either Human Pen Or Tongue, Are But A Reflection Of That
Which Hath Been Created Within Themselves, Through The Revelation Of The
Lord, Their God. Whoever Pondereth This Truth In His Heart Will Readily
Admit That There Are Certain Limits Which No Human Being Can Possibly
Transgress. Every Attempt Which, From The Beginning That Hath No
Beginning, Hath Been Made To Visualize And Know God Is Limited By The
Exigencies Of His Own Creation--A Creation Which He, Through The Operation
Of His Own Will And For The Purposes Of None Other But His Own Self, Hath
Called Into Being. Immeasurably Exalted Is He Above The Strivings Of Human
Mind To Grasp His Essence, Or Of Human Tongue To Describe
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