Woman Thou Gavest Me

Hall Caine

Description

This novel spurred a controversy upon its initial publication in 1913, with some libraries and bookstores refusing to sell it on moral grounds. Although author Hall Caine addressed aspects of women's rights in some of his previous works, he tackles the issue head-on in this nuanced, emotionally resonant tale of an Irish woman who must decide between adhering to society's strictures or following her heart.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776597956
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WOMAN THOU GAVEST ME
BEING THE STORY OF MARY O'NEILL
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HALL CAINE
 
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The Woman Thou Gavest Me Being the Story of Mary O'Neill First published in 1913 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-795-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-796-3 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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The Author to the Reader Martin Conrad to the Author FIRST PART - MY GIRLHOOD First Chapter Second Chapter Third Chapter Fourth Chapter Fifth Chapter Sixth Chapter Seventh Chapter Eighth Chapter Ninth Chapter Tenth Chapter Eleventh Chapter Twelfth Chapter Thirteenth Chapter Fourteenth Chapter Fifteenth Chapter Sixteenth Chapter Seventeenth Chapter Eighteenth Chapter Nineteenth Chapter Twentieth Chapter Twenty-First Chapter Twenty-Second Chapter Twenty-Third Chapter SECOND PART - MY MARRIAGE Twenty-Fourth Chapter Twenty-Fifth Chapter Twenty-Sixth Chapter Twenty-Seventh Chapter Twenty-Eighth Chapter Twenty-Ninth Chapter Thirtieth Chapter Thirty-First Chapter THIRD PART - MY HONEYMOON Thirty-Second Chapter Thirty-Third Chapter Thirty-Fourth Chapter Thirty-Fifth Chapter Thirty-Sixth Chapter Thirty-Seventh Chapter Thirty-Eighth Chapter Thirty-Ninth Chapter Fortieth Chapter Forty-First Chapter Forty-Second Chapter Forty-Third Chapter Forty-Fourth Chapter Forty-Fifth Chapter Forty-Sixth Chapter Forty-Seventh Chapter Forty-Eighth Chapter Forty-Ninth Chapter Fiftieth Chapter FOURTH PART - I FALL IN LOVE Fifty-First Chapter Fifty-Second Chapter Fifty-Third Chapter Fifty-Fourth Chapter Fifty-Fifth Chapter Fifty-Sixth Chapter Fifty-Seventh Chapter Fifty-Eighth Chapter Fifty-Ninth Chapter Sixtieth Chapter Sixty-First Chapter Sixty-Second Chapter Sixty-Third Chapter Sixty-Fourth Chapter Sixty-Fifth Chapter Sixty-Sixth Chapter Sixty-Seventh Chapter Sixty-Eighth Chapter Sixty-Ninth Chapter FIFTH PART - I BECOME A MOTHER Seventieth Chapter Seventy-First Chapter Seventy-Second Chapter Seventy-Third Chapter Seventy-Fourth Chapter Seventy-Fifth Chapter Seventy-Sixth Chapter Seventy-Seventh Chapter Seventy-Eighth Chapter Seventy-Ninth Chapter Eightieth Chapter Eighty-First Chapter Eighty-Second Chapter Eighty-Third Chapter Eighty-Fourth Chapter Eighty-Fifth Chapter Eighty-Sixth Chapter Eighty-Seventh Chapter Eighty-Eighth Chapter SIXTH PART - I AM LOST Eighty-Ninth Chapter Ninetieth Chapter Ninety-First Chapter Ninety-Second Chapter Ninety-Third Chapter Ninety-Fourth Chapter Ninety-Fifth Chapter Ninety-Sixth Chapter Ninety-Seventh Chapter Ninety-Eighth Chapter Ninety-Ninth Chapter One Hundredth Chapter One Hundred and First Chapter One Hundred and Second Chapter One Hundred and Third Chapter One Hundred and Fourth Chapter One Hundred and Fifth Chapter SEVENTH PART - I AM FOUND One Hundred and Sixth Chapter One Hundred and Seventh Chapter One Hundred and Eighth Chapter One Hundred and Ninth Chapter One Hundred and Tenth Chapter One Hundred and Eleventh Chapter One Hundred and Twelfth Chapter One Hundred and Thirteenth Chapter One Hundred and Fourteenth Chapter One Hundred and Fifteenth Chapter One Hundred and Sixteenth Chapter Mary O'Neill's Letter to Martin Conrad Mary O'Neill's Last Note Written on the Fly-Leaves of Her Missal The Author to the Reader Martin Conrad to the Author
The Author to the Reader
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How much of the story of Mary O'Neill is a work of my own imagination,and how much comes from an authentic source I do not consider itnecessary to say. But as I have in this instance drawn more largely anddirectly from fact than is usually the practice of the novelist, I havethought it my duty to defeat all possible attempts at personalidentification by altering and disguising the more important scenes andcharacters. Therefore this novel is not to be understood as referring toany living person or persons, and the convent school described in it isnot to be identified with any similar educational institution in Rome .
Martin Conrad to the Author
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Here are the Memoranda we have talked about. Do as you like with them.Alter, amend, add to or take away from them, exactly as you think best.They were written in the first instance for my own eye alone, and hencethey take much for granted which may need explanation before they can beput to the more general uses you have designed for them. Make suchexplanation in any way you consider suitable. It is my wish that in thismatter your judgment should be accepted as mine. The deep feeling youcould not conceal when I told you the story of my dear one's life givesme confidence in your discretion.
Whatever the immediate effect may be, I feel that in the end I shall bejustified—fully justified—in allowing the public to look for a littlewhile into the sacred confessional of my darling's stainless heart.
I heard her voice again to-day. She was right—love is immortal. Godbless her! My ever lovely and beloved one!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The name Raa (of Celtic origin with many variationsamong Celtic races) is pronounced Rah in Ellan.
FIRST PART - MY GIRLHOOD
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First Chapter
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"Out of the depths, O Lord, out of the depths," begins the mostbeautiful of the services of our church, and it is out of the depths ofmy life that I must bring the incidents of this story.
I was an unwanted child—unwanted as a girl at all events. Father DanDonovan, our parish priest, told me all about it. I was born in October.It had been raining heavily all day long. The rain was beating hardagainst the front of our house and running in rivers down thewindow-panes. Towards four in the afternoon the wind rose and then theyellow leaves of the chestnuts in the long drive rustled noisily, andthe sea, which is a mile away, moaned like a dog in pain.
In my father's room, on the ground floor, Father Dan sat by the fire,fingering his beads and listening to every sound that came from mymother's room, which was immediately overhead. My father himself, withhis heavy step that made the house tremble, was tramping to and fro,from the window to the ingle, from the ingle to the opposite wall.Sometimes Aunt Bridget came down to say that everything was going onwell, and at intervals of half an hour Doctor Conrad entered in hisnoiseless way and sat in silence by the fire, took a few puffs from along clay pipe and then returned to his charge upstairs.
My father's impatience was consuming him.
"It's long," he said, searching the doctor's face.
"Don't worry—above all don't worry," said Father Dan.
"There's no need," said Doctor Conrad.
"Then hustle back and get it over," said my father. "It will be fivehundred dollars to you if this comes off all right."
I think my father was a great man at that time. I think he is still agreat man. Hard and cruel as he may have been to me, I feel bound tosay that for him. If he had been born a king, he would have made hisnation feared and perhaps respected throughout the world. He was born apeasant, the poorest of peasants, a crofter. The little homestead of hisfamily, with its whitewashed walls and straw-thatched roof, still standson the bleak ayre-lands of Ellan, like a herd of mottled cattlecrouching together in a storm.
His own father had been a wild creature, full of daring dreams, and thechief of them had centred in himself. Although brought up in a mudcabin, and known as Daniel Neale, he believed that he belonged by linealdescent to the highest aristocracy of his island, the O'Neills of theMansion House (commonly called the Big House) and the Barons of CastleRaa. To prove his claim he spent his days in searching the registers ofthe parish churches, and his nights in talking loudly in the villageinn. Half in jest and half in earnest, people called him "Neale theLord." One day he was brought home dead, killed in a drunken quarrelwith Captain O'Neill, a dissolute braggart, who had struck him over thetemple with a stick. His wife, my grandmother, hung a herring net acrossthe only room of her house to hide his body from the children who sleptin the other bed.
There were six of them, and after the death of her husband she had tofend for all. The little croft was hungry land, and to make a sufficientliving she used to weed for her more prosperous neighbours. It wasill-paid labour—ninepence a day fine days and sixpence all weathers,with a can of milk twice a week and a lump of butter thrown in now andthen. The ways were hard and the children were the first to feel them.Five of them died. "They weren't willing to stay with me," she used tosay. My father alone was left to her, and he was another Daniel. As hegrew up he was a great help to his mother. I feel sure he loved her.Difficult as it may be to believe it now, I really and truly think thathis natural disposition was lovable and generous to begin with.
There is a story of his boyhood which it would be wrong of me not totell. His mother and he had been up in the mountains cutting gorse andling, which with turf from the Curragh used to be the crofter's onlyfuel. They were dragging down a prickly pile of it by a straw rope when,dipping into the high road by a bridge, they crossed the path of asplendid carriage which swirled suddenly out of the drive of the BigHouse behind two high-spirited bays driven by an English coachman ingorgeous livery. The horses reared and shied at the bundle of kindling,whereupon a gentleman inside the carriage leaned out and swore, and thenthe brutal coachman, lashing out at the bare-headed woman with his whip,struck the boy on his naked legs.
At the next moment the carriage had gone. It h