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The Secret Garden (English Edition) par [Burnett, Frances H]
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The Secret Garden (English Edition) Rei Cen , Format Kindle

4.1 étoiles sur 5 13 commentaires client

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Mistress Mary is quite contrary until she helps her garden grow. Along the way, she manages to cure her sickly cousin Colin, who is every bit as imperious as she. These two are sullen little peas in a pod, closed up in a gloomy old manor on the Yorkshire moors of England, until a locked-up garden captures their imaginations and puts the blush of a wild rose in their cheeks; "It was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place any one could imagine. The high walls which shut it in were covered with the leafless stems of roses which were so thick, that they matted together.... 'No wonder it is still,' Mary whispered. 'I am the first person who has spoken here for ten years.'" As new life sprouts from the earth, Mary and Colin's sour natures begin to sweeten. For anyone who has ever felt afraid to live and love, The Secret Garden's portrayal of reawakening spirits will thrill and rejuvenate. Frances Hodgson Burnett creates characters so strong and distinct, young readers continue to identify with them even 85 years after they were conceived. (Ages 9 to 12)

Extrait

CHAPTER I
There Is No One Left


When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.

One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.

“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”

The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.

There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.

“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.

She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.

“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.

“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”

The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.

“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”

At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.

“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.

“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”

“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.

After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.

During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.

Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out of the bungalow.

When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Every one was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if every one had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her.

But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.

“How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “It sounds as if there was no one in the bungalow but me and the snake.”

Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms.

“What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her.”

Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.

“Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!”

“I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow “A place like this!” “I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?”

“It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. “She has actually been forgotten!”

“Why was I forgotten?” Mary said, stamping her foot. “Why does nobody come?”

The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.

“Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody left to come.”

It was in that...

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 859 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 245 pages
  • Pagination - ISBN de l'édition imprimée de référence : 1478263563
  • Editeur : Open Road Media Teen & Tween; Édition : Rei Cen (27 mai 2014)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B00K5EBDX4
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  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.1 étoiles sur 5 13 commentaires client
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4.1 étoiles sur 5

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Format: Broché
Chacun se rappelle peut-être de la série d'animation "princesse Sarah", et bien voici l'origine de cette série qui eu beaucoup e succès, un livre triste, émouvant, racontant l'histoire de Sara, qui change de vie du jour au lendemain suite à la ruine de son père. Derrière cette merveilleuse histoire, une critique du travail des enfants.
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Par cath le 11 décembre 2011
Format: Broché
Voici une histoire très bien écrite qui se lit avec plaisir et émotion. Ce livre m'a été raconté par ma petite fille de 10 ans, ce qui m'a donné envie de le lire et je n'ai pas été déçue, au contraire. Ceci pour dire qu'il peut être lu avec plaisir à tout âge ! L'héroine est adorable même dans l'adversité, il y a des méchants et des gentils, un mystérieux ami et un happy end (quoique assez téléphoné, mais c'est la loi du genre). Les enfants aimeront les aventures de cette petite fille et les adultes seront charmés par la finesse des observations qui parsèment discrètement le récit.
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Bonjour,

C'est livre n'est pas sans rappeler les histoires de la Comtesse de Ségur (un peu moraliste). L'histoire n'a rien de réaliste, c'est un conte de fée et on se croirait dans un rêve. Parfois cela fait du bien de faire une pause dans la littérature et de lire ce genre d'histoires.

Même si ce livre est plutôt destiné aux enfants, il m'a permis de me replonger dans les livres écrits en anglais, chose que je croyais impossible après plusieurs années sans lire l'anglais ; je me suis aperçue que finalement on ne n'oublie pas tant que ça.
Ecrit dans un anglais assez simple, il peut être une première étape avant d'aborder des livres plus compliqués.

A lire sans complexe !
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Ce n'est pas la version original que j'avais cru commander --- j'avais spécifiquement choisi la version avec illustration par Tasha Tudor comme l'original que j'avais et que j'avais perdu, donc que j'essayai de le remplacer. Cette version est réécrite pour les plus petits. Ceci est une erreur, à cause du manque de clarté dans la description du produit.
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Par cani TOP 1000 COMMENTATEURS le 25 novembre 2014
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
Une gamine gâtée pourrie est envoyée vivre chez un oncle irascible à la mort de ses parents. Habituée à avoir des servants qui se soumettent à tous ses caprices et étant née en Inde elle peine à trouver sa place au sein de ce manoir anglais. Son oncle veuf est inconsolable et ne veut rien avoir à faire avec un enfant, elle est donc prise en main par les servants du domaine, qui ne s'en laissent pas compter par elle et lui remettent gentiment les pieds sur terre. S'ennuyant ferme, elle explore la maison et son jardin. Elle découvre surtout le terrible secret que toute la maisonnée cache...
Un roman d'apprentissage anglais plein de charme qui plaira tant aux adultes qu'aux enfants. Atmosphère bucolico-féérique, personnages sympathiques sans être pour autant superficiels ou gnangnan, une touche d'humour. Un plaisir qui se lit aisément.
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Par M. Santos le 17 juillet 2013
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Ce livre est un de mes préférés! Je ne me lasse pas de le relire encore et encore...Je le racontes aussi à ma fille
de 6 ans et elle me la redemande tous les soirs! Un grand classique à lire absolument (pour les petites et grandes filles!)
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Format: Relié Achat vérifié
Un excellent livre qui ne perd pas son charme avec l'age. On peut le lire aux enfants à partir de 6 ou 7 ans, sans limite d'âge supérieure. La couverture est un peu sombre, mais le texte éveille notre imagination.
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