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A Study in Scarlet (Anglais) Cassette – Livre audio, Version intégrale

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Description du produit

Extrait

CHAPTER I

Mr. Sherlock Holmes


In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy’s country. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires,with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawur. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England. I was despatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes, and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Barts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom.

“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” he asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets. “You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut.”

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination.

“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. “What are you up to now?”

“Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.”

“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion, “you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me.”

“And who was the first?” I asked.

“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get some one to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.”

“By Jove!” I cried; “if he really wants some one to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.”

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine glass. “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.”

“Why, what is there against him?”

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”

“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.

“No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors.”

“Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked.

“No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.”

“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge with any one, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?”

“He is sure to be at the laboratory,” returned my companion. “He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning till night. If you like, we will drive round together after luncheon.”

“Certainly,” I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels.

As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.

“You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get on with him,” he said; “I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible.”

“If we don’t get on it will be easy to part company,” I answered. “It seems to me, Stamford,” I added, looking hard at my companion, “that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s temper so formidable, or what is it? Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it.”

“It is not easy to express the inexpressible,” he answered with a laugh. “Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes—it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid,15 not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge.”

“Very right too.”

“Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.”

“Beating the subjects!”

“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes.”

“And yet you say he is not a medical student?”

“No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him.” As he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the farther end a low arched passage branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. There was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. “I’ve found it! I’ve found it,” he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. “I have found a re-agent which is precipitated by hœmoglobin, and by nothing else.” Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could not have shone upon his features.

“Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Stamford, introducing us.

“How are you?” he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. “You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.”

“How on earth did you know that?” I asked in astonishment.

“Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. “The question now is about hœmoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?”

“It is interesting, chemically, no doubt,” I answered, “but practically——”

“Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don’t you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come over here now!” He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working. “Let us have some fresh blood,” he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. “Now, I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction.” As he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar.

“Ha! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. “What do you think of that?”

“It seems to be a very delicate test,” I remarked.

“Beautiful! beautiful! The old guaiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes.”

“Indeed!” I murmured.

“Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes test, and there will no longer be any difficulty.”

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination.

“You are to be congratulated,” I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm.

“There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive.”

“You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” said Stamford with a laugh. “You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the ‘Police News of the Past.’ ”

“Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. “I have to be careful,” he continued, turning to me with a smile, “for I dabble with poisons a good deal.” He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strong acids.

“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. “My friend here wants to take diggings; and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together.”

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to row because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I’m well, but those are the principal ones at present.”

“Do you include violin playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one——”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. “I think we may consider the thing as settled—that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you.”

“When shall we see them?”

“Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we’ll go together and settle everything,” he answered.

“All right—noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel.

“By the way,” I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, “how the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?”

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. “That’s just his little peculiarity,” he said. “A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out.”

“Oh! a mystery is it?” I cried, rubbing my hands. “This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is man,’ you know.”

“You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye. “You’ll find him a knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns more about you than you about him. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably interested in my new acquaintance. --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Revue de presse

“[Holmes] is probably the only literary creation since the creations of Dickens which has really passed into the life and language of the people.”—G. K. Chesterton --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

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J'aime beaucoup ce que fait Gris Grimly. Même si je préfère son travail fait sur Edgar Allan Poe que je trouve juste fantastique, le travail fait sur cet ouvrage est de très bonne facture également.
C'est un ouvrage illustré par Grimly, il n'y a donc pas de dessins à chaque coin de page.
Elément que j'ai trouvé sympathique, le livre semble avoir eu les pages découpées pour permettre la lecture, comme pour les ouvrages anciens (j'espère être clair!)
Anglais très facile, même si quelques mots peuvent obliger le lecteur à aller faire un tour dans le dico, en fonction de son niveau dans la langue.
Remarque sur ce commentaire Une personne a trouvé cela utile. Avez-vous trouvé ce commentaire utile ? Oui Non Commentaire en cours d'envoi...
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Par Hawthorne le 16 février 2013
Format: Poche
La première aventure de Sherlock Holmes et John Watson, le tout en anglais. Cette édition de poche bénéficie d'une couverture magnifique, un bijou pour votre bibliothèque.
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Amazon.com: 4.4 étoiles sur 5 409 commentaires
41 internautes sur 42 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Excellent! 16 août 2010
Par LeeHoFooks - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
This was the first Sherlock Holmes story I had ever read. I always thought the Sherlock Holmes stories were about a generic genius detective and his kind-of-bumbling sidekick. Was I ever wrong! The characters have so many more dimensions than their pop culture portrayals would lead one to believe.

Yes, Holmes is a genius... when it comes to solving crimes. He's a knowledgeable chemist and forensics specialist, he's a skilled actor and boxer, and his powers in deductive reasoning are superb. He also isn't aware that the Earth revolves around the sun. When he finds out, he simply says that he'll forget it later. (It serves no purpose for detective work.) Did I mention that he suffers from what we would today call bipolar disorder? Oh yeah -- he's also developing a cocaine habit.

And Watson? He's the overweight, bumbling goof that follows Holmes around and has to have simple things explained to him, right? Not so. Watson is a physician, and a wounded veteran of an early British Army campaign in Afghanistan. He came home to London, suffering from what we would today call PTSD, and moved in with an eccentric friend of a friend who needed a roommate who turned out to be Holmes. He's a well-educated person and the perfect Victorian gentleman -- a fitting character to partner with and complement the odd-but-brilliant Holmes.

As for the story, I don't want to give away too much. (It is a mystery, after all.) But I will say the surprising plot turns kept me reading, without seeming like the twists for the sake of twists many mysteries and thrillers plague their readers with. (You should take note, James Patterson.) A story is framed within the main story -- a Western tale of revenge within a Victorian murder mystery, believe it or not. And the killer is just as deep and 3-dimensional as the detectives. But I've said too much. Go read it for yourself!
3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Accessible, Suspenseful, and Funny 3 juin 2016
Par J.P. Winters - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
I wasn't too sure about how much I would enjoy this novella when I headed into it. My only familiarity with Sherlock Holmes was the modern movie portrayals by Benedict Cumberbatch and Robert Downey Jr.. Still I thought I owed it to myself to jump in and see what the original books were all about.

I turned out enjoying it much more than I thought I would. Doyle does a great job of drawing you in and making you curious not only about Holmes (who is quite the lovable wacko) but also Watson, whose narration is a lot more interesting than a blank camera looking at Holmes, which is what I expected.

There is a story within the story, which totally threw me for a loop and made me think for a second there were two completely separate stories within the novella, but it gets tied in very nicely and it all makes perfect sense in the end. Overall, glad I delved a little deeper into Holmes than the obvious pop culture versions I know of the character. I'd like to read more of Doyle's Holmes stories in the future.
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Watson Meets Holmes 10 décembre 2016
Par Warren A. Lewis - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
This book contains two short stories. The first one is where Dr. Watson (narrator) and Sherlock Holmes meet and work their first case together. The story isn't very good, but other reviews indicate this may not be the complete version and may have been butchered into a version that is not the equal of the original. The second story, about an old man and child who are found on the prairie is exceptionally good. Holmes and Watson do not appear until the end where a manhunt that began in the American west ends on a London street. The two stories off set to a medium rating. This kindle version has the first story in its table of contents, the second story is not recognized.
2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 The First Sherlock Holmes Story - Sets The Stage 30 juillet 2016
Par FCD117 - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
This is not my favorite Sherlock Holmes story. However it sets the stage for the subsequent stories. There is a lengthy digression about Mormons in America that is part of the story, but I did not enjoy that part.

However this story is the first and does Introduce us to the main characters and provides the foundation for subsequent stories. Therefore I think it is the right place to start. I would not skip it. The stories so get better. It is worth the effort!
34 internautes sur 36 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Introducing Sherlock Holmes... and a Kindle Review 30 novembre 2011
Par Albert J. Valentino - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
A Study in Scarlet is the first story introducing Sherlock Holmes to the world and how Watson and the great detective first meet and become roommates. It is also the first book I read on my first/new Kindle.

Kindle Edition: This version cost me 99 cents and was money very well spent. It is nicely formatted with the 'Go To' letting you go to the Table of Contents - not all older Kindle books do that. The TOC does have workable links to go to each chapter but you cannot use the left - right ends of the 5 way controller to flip to each chapter - not a big deal. Other than the cover photo of Holmes by Sidney Paget this version does not include any illustrations.

The Story: A Study in Scarlet is the first story in the Holmes Canon, and includes how Watson and Holmes meet.... 'This is a novel, not a short story'. The second story in the canon is also a novel, A The Sign of the Four. This was then followed by the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes which is a book of short stories beginning with, A Scandal in Bohemia. Later on Doyle penned two other novels including the well known, Hound of the Baskervilles - actually written after he killed off Holmes in the story, The Final Problem (last story in 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes' but the pubic demanded his return so many more stories were written - Holmes comes back in The Adventure of the Empty House, the first story in book "The Return of Sherlock Holmes". I do suggest that one begin their reading with A Study in Scarlet followed by The Sign of Four as this novel gets into how Holmes mind needs stimulation and when not on a case he lapses into injecting his 7% solution (there is a movie of this title). His 7% solution is the ratio of cocaine in his syringe where he shoots up to pass the time.

This original/first story/novel has two parts with Part 1, narrated by Watson, on how Holmes uses his powers of observation and deduction to solve a double murder. Part II may start off a bit confusing to the reader since it is not narrated by Watson. It takes the reader back to another place, in an earlier time leaving the reader to first scratch his head wondering if this is a different book. What part 2 is is a detailed backstory for the motivation of the murders in part 1. Well written but it does take up over a third of the book before returning to present time.

A Study in Scarlet was never made into a movie or TV show because of the way it portrays the early Mormons - which is the way they were believed to be at the time of the writings. Study in Pink, in the new, 2011 BBC Masterpiece TV series, Sherlock, is a modern story loosely based on this book but leaves out this part. There is a movie from the 30's with this title but it is not the same story.

Bottom line, this is the first book introducing the eccentric Holmes and it's a real page turner. This Kindle edition is well formatted for Kindle but does not include illustrations. There is a reason why 120 years later this is a still widely read. It is a must read for any fan of the most famous detective that never lived. After reading this pick up Sign of Four, then short stories in The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes
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