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- Herausgeber: Enrico Conti
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
The Inheritors: An Extravagant Story (1901) is a quasi-science fiction novel on which Ford Madox Ford and Joseph Conrad collaborated. It looks at society's mental evolution and what is gained and lost in the process. Written before the first World War, its themes of corruption and the effect of the 20th Century on British aristocracy appeared to predict history. In the novel, the metaphor of the "fourth dimension" is used to explain a societal shift from a generation of people who have traditional values of interdependence, being overtaken by a modern generation who believe in expediency, callously using political power to bring down the old order. Its narrator is an aspiring writer who himself makes a similar transition at a personal level only to feel he has lost everything.
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The Inheritors: An Extravagant Story
Joseph Conrad andFord M. Hueffer
“Sardanapalus builded seven cities in a day.
Let us eat, drink and sleep, for tomorrow we die.“
To the best of our knowledge, the text of this
work is in the “Public Domain”.
HOWEVER, copyright law varies in other countries, and the work may still be under
copyright in the country from which you are accessing this website. It is your
responsibility to check the applicable copyright laws in your country before
downloading this work.
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter one
“Ideas,” she said. “Oh, as for ideas —”
“Well?” I hazarded, “as for ideas —?”
We went through the old gateway and I cast a glance over my shoulder. The noon sun was shining over the masonry, over the little saints’ effigies, over the little fretted canopies, the grime and the white streaks of bird-dropping.
“There,” I said, pointing toward it, “doesn’t that suggest something to you?”
She made a motion with her head — half negative, half contemptuous.
“But,” I stuttered, “the associations — the ideas — the historical ideas —”
She said nothing.
“You Americans,” I began, but her smile stopped me. It was as if she were amused at the utterances of an old lady shocked by the habits of the daughters of the day. It was the smile of a person who is confident of superseding one fatally.
In conversations of any length one of the parties assumes the superiority — superiority of rank, intellectual or social. In this conversation she, if she did not attain to tacitly acknowledged temperamental superiority, seemed at least to claim it, to have no doubt as to its ultimate according. I was unused to this. I was a talker, proud of my conversational powers.
I had looked at her before; now I cast a sideways, critical glance at her. I came out of my moodiness to wonder what type this was. She had good hair, good eyes, and some charm. Yes. And something besides — a something — a something that was not an attribute of her beauty. The modelling of her face was so perfect and so delicate as to produce an effect of transparency, yet there was no suggestion of frailness; her glance had an extraordinary strength of life. Her hair was fair and gleaming, her cheeks coloured as if a warm light had fallen on them from somewhere. She was familiar till it occurred to you that she was strange.
“Which way are you going?” she asked.
“I am going to walk to Dover,” I answered.
“And I may come with you?”
I looked at her — intent on divining her in that one glance. It was of course impossible. “There will be time for analysis,” I thought.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
