Mike Fletcher by George Moore (ebook pc reader .txt) 📕

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

So 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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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.

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