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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In "At the Sign of the Eagle," Gilbert Parker crafts a captivating narrative set in the idyllic yet tumultuous backdrop of Canada during the early 20th century. The novel intertwines themes of love, ambition, and social dynamics, employing a rich, descriptive literary style that brings the diverse cast of characters and their struggles to life. Parker's keen observations of societal norms and the innate desire for personal freedom provide an insightful exploration of the human condition, reminiscent of the literary movements of naturalism and romanticism that were prominent during his time. Gilbert Parker, a Canadian author and politician, drew extensively from his own experiences to create this vivid portrayal of life in a Canadian community. His background, including his travels and interest in human resilience, profoundly shaped his storytelling. Parker's unique perspective as a voice for Canada in the early 1900s allows him to weave a profound commentary on identity and cultural heritage, highlighting the complexities of love and ambition amidst societal constraints. Readers seeking a profound exploration of human emotions and societal constructs will find "At the Sign of the Eagle" an enriching experience. Parker's masterful prose and deep thematic engagement invite readers to reflect on timeless dilemmas, making it an essential addition to the study of early Canadian literature. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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At the Sign of the Eagle
Table of Contents
“Well, what do you think of them, Molly?” said Sir Duke Lawless to his wife, his eyes resting with some amusement on a big man and a little one talking to Lord Hampstead.
“The little man is affected, gauche, and servile. The big one picturesque and superior in a raw kind of way. He wishes to be rude to some one, and is disappointed because, just at the moment, Lord Hampstead is too polite to give him his cue. A dangerous person in a drawing-room, I should think; but interesting. You are a bold man to bring them here, Duke. Is it not awkward for our host?”
“Hampstead did it with his eyes open. Besides, there is business behind it—railways, mines, and all that; and Hampstead’s nephew is going to the States fortune-hunting. Do you see?”
Lady Lawless lifted her eyebrows. “‘To what base uses are we come, Horatio!’ You invite me to dinner and—‘I’ll fix things up right.’ That is the proper phrase, for I have heard you use it. Status for dollars. Isn’t it low? I know you do not mean what you say, Duke.”
Sir Duke’s eyes were playing on the men with a puzzled expression, as though trying to read the subject of their conversation; and he did not reply immediately. Soon, however, he turned and looked down at his wife genially, and said: “Well, that’s about it, I suppose. But really there is nothing unusual in this, so far as Mr. John Vandewaters is concerned, for in his own country he travels ‘the parlours of the Four Hundred,’ and is considered ‘a very elegant gentleman.’ We must respect a man according to the place he holds in his own community. Besides, as you suggest, Mr. Vandewaters is interesting. I might go further, and say that he is a very good fellow indeed.”
“You will be asking him down to Craigruie next,” said Lady Lawless, inquisition in her look.
“That is exactly what I mean to do, with your permission, my dear. I hope to see him laying about among the grouse in due season.”
“My dear Duke, you are painfully Bohemian. I can remember when you were perfectly precise and exclusive, and—”
“What an awful prig I must have been!”
“Don’t interrupt. That was before you went aroving in savage countries, and picked up all sorts of acquaintances, making friends with the most impossible folk. I should never be surprised to see you drive Shon McGann—and his wife, of course—and Pretty Pierre—with some other man’s wife—up to the door in a dogcart; their clothes in a saddle-bag, or something less reputable, to stay a month. Duke, you have lost your decorum; you are a gipsy.”
“I fear Shon McGann and Pierre wouldn’t enjoy being with us as I should enjoy having them. You can never understand what a life that is out in Pierre’s country. If it weren’t for you and the bairn, I should be off there now. There is something of primeval man in me. I am never so healthy and happy, when away from you, as in prowling round the outposts of civilisation, and living on beans and bear’s meat.”
He stretched to his feet, and his wife rose with him. There was a fine colour on his cheek, and his eye had a pleasant fiery energy. His wife tapped him on the arm with her fan. She understood him very well, though pretending otherwise. “Duke, you are incorrigible. I am in daily dread of your starting off in the middle of the night, leaving me—”
“Watering your couch with your tears?”
“—and hearing nothing more from you till a cable from Quebec or Winnipeg tells me that you are on your way to the Arctic Circle with Pierre or some other heathen. But, seriously, where did you meet Mr. Vandewaters—Heavens, what a name!—and that other person? And what is the other person’s name?”
“The other person carries the contradictory name of Stephen Pride.”
“Why does he continually finger his face, and show his emotions so? He assents to everything said to him by an appreciative exercise of his features.”
“My dear, you ask a great and solemn question. Let me introduce the young man, that you may get your answer at the fountain-head.”
“Wait a moment, Duke. Sit down and tell me when and where you met these men, and why you have continued the acquaintance.”
“Molly,” he said, obeying her, “you are a terrible inquisitor, and the privacy of one’s chamber were the kinder place to call one to account. But I bend to your implacability.... Mr. Vandewaters, like myself, has a taste for roving, though our aims are not identical. He has a fine faculty for uniting business and pleasure. He is not a thorough sportsman—there is always a certain amount of enthusiasm, even in the unrewarded patience of the true hunter; but he sufficeth. Well, Mr. Vandewaters had been hunting in the far north, and looking after a promising mine at the same time. He was on his way south at one angle, I at another angle, bound for the same point. Shon McGann was with me; Pierre with Vandewaters. McGann left me, at a certain point, to join his wife at a Barracks of the Riders of the Plains. I had about a hundred miles to travel alone. Well, I got along the first fifty all right. Then came trouble. In a bad place of the hills I fell and broke an ankle bone. I had an Eskimo dog of the right sort with me. I wrote a line on a bit of birch bark, tied it round his neck, and started him away, trusting my luck that he would pull up somewhere. He did. He ran into Vandewaters’s camp that evening. Vandewaters and Pierre started away at once. They had dogs, and reached me soon.
“It was the first time I had seen Pierre for years. They fixed me up, and we started south. And that’s as it was in the beginning with Mr. John Vandewaters and me.”
Lady Lawless had been watching the two strangers during the talk, though once or twice she turned and looked at her husband admiringly. When he had finished she said: “That is very striking. What a pity it is that men we want to like spoil all by their lack of form!”
“Don’t be so sure about Vandewaters. Does he look flurried by these surroundings?”
