Synopsis
George Augustus Moore (1852-1933) était un romancier, écrivain de nouvelles, poète, critique d'art, mémoriste et dramaturge irlandais. Son premier livre, un recueil de poèmes appelé Les Fleurs de la Passion, est paru en 1878 et une deuxième collection, Poèmes païens, suivi en 1881. Son premier roman, A Modern Lover (1883), a été interdit en Angleterre en raison de sa représentation explicite des poursuites amoureuses de son héros. Son prochain livre, A Mummer's Wife (1885) est largement reconnu comme le premier roman majeur dans le style réaliste en langue anglaise. D'autres romans réalistes de Moore de cette période incluent Esther Waters (1894), l'histoire d'une femme de ménage célibataire qui tombe enceinte et est abandonnée par son amant de pied de pied, et A Drama in Muslin (1886), une histoire satirique du commerce du mariage dans la société anglo-irlandaise. Son roman de 1887 A Mere Accident est une tentative de fusionner ses influences symbolistes et réalistes. Il a également publié un recueil de nouvelles : Celibates (1895). En 1913, il a voyagé à Jérusalem pour rechercher des antécédents pour son roman The Brook Kerith : A Syrian Story (1916).
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Présentation de l'éditeur
Evelyn I nnes The thin winter day had died early, and at four oclock it was dark night in the long room in which Mr I nnes gave his concerts of early rnusic. An Elizabethan virginal had come to him to be repaired, and he had worked all the afternoon, and when overtaken by the dusk, he had impatiently sought a candle end, lit it, and placed it so that its light fell upon the jacks. .. .O nly one more remained to be adjusted. He picked it up, touched the quill and dropped it into its place, rapidly tuned the instrument, and ran his fingers over the keys. I ron-grey hair hung in thick locks over his forehead, and, shining through their shadows, his eyes drew attention from the rest of his face, so that none noticed at first the small and firmly cut nose, nor the scanty growth of beard twisted to a point by a movement habitual to the weak, white hand. His face was in his eyes :they reflected the flame of faith and of mission ;they were the eyes of one whom fate had thrown on an obscure wayside of dreams, the face of a dreamer and propagandist of old-time music and its instruments. He sat at the virginal, like one who loved its old design and sweet tone, in such strict keeping with the music he was playing a piece by W. Byrd, John, come kiss me now and when it was finished, his fingers strayed into another, Nancie, by Thomas Morley.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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