The apple tree краткое содержание
Обновлено: 05.07.2024
John Galsworthy (1867—1933), a prominent English novelist, playwright and short-story writer, came from an upper middle-class family. He was educated at Harrow and Oxford and was called to the Bar. His first novel (From the Four Winds) was published in 1897, but it was The Man of Property that won him fame. Among his numerous novels The Forsyte Saga and A Modern Comedy are the most prominent. They give a truthful picture of English bourgeois society at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries. The Apple-Tree (1917) is one of the most popular long short stories written by John Galsworthy.
As their journey was too long and Ashurst*s football knee had given out, they decided to find some place to put up, but there were no people and farms round them.
While they were sitting near the river and taking rest, a young girl – the maiden, rural ninny was passing through the forest and invited them to her farm.
Her image has stuck in the Ashurst*s mind so deep, that even when he took a rest on her farm, she still was in his memory.
For the first sight we will not be able to find out some extraordinary problem or main line of this novel, but we all know that the most difficult things are the easiest to be founded and contra.
Two close friends and very different in characters are regard the world in different ways. Ashurst idealistic and romantic, Robert –a practical man.
They have a different picture of university, life and happy in their mind. The author shows this idea in the dialog when Ashurst asks a young girl about everything and Robert asks two simple and important questions: her name and if she cans to shelter them.
The difference between two friends is shown in the description of their appearance: Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat. Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy; and had a way of rising on either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Garton's was a kind of dark un-fathomed mop.
The introduction, when the author presents us the description of they appearance an the point of their journey;
The development, when they met a girl and she invites them to her farm;
The outcome , when Ashurst lies on the bank and thinks about different things.
If summarize this three factors we can conclude that the main idea of this novel is to show the different ways of being happy and having a piece in the heart for different people.
People, who live in the megapolyses, run very big and important business, have a great deal of money, popularity and glory, dream about a quite nook on the farm, where they can be with their families on alone and just enjoy the life. And people from the countries dream to escape from routine rhythm of village life and have a lot of money and values.
But some people can feel happy just looking at the sunrise, blue sky, listening the birds singing ,murmuring of the stream or lust looking at the beautiful woman in her natural beauty.
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I’m going to analyze a long short story “The apple tree” by John Galsworthy , an English novelist and playwright, one of the most popular writers of the early 20th century. He was born in Coombe, Surrey in August 14, 1867. John Galsworthy was educated at Harrow and New College, Oxford.
Although Galsworthy is best known for his novels, he was also a successful playwright. John Galsworthy was awarded the Order of Merit in 1929 and the Nobel Prize for literature in 1932.
In “The apple tree”, John Galsworthy tells the story of Asherst, a middle-aged man who once goes to a village with his wife. While being there he remembers that 26 years ago just at that place, when he was a young man and just graduated from the university, he met a young girl, Megan by name, whom he fell in love. He promised to marry her and they decided to go away together. The next day he went to Torquay for money but there Asherst met his old friend, Phil Halliday by name , who invited him to spend a day with him and his sisters. Then the author passes on to say that Asherst fell in love with Phil’s sister Stella. The story ends with Asherst’s desire to look at the farm where Megan lived. There he meets an old man, who tells him that Megan commited a suicide because of unhappy love.
There is an external type of a conflict in the story. The two parties are Asherst that is protagonist, and Megan, antagonist. The author describes them combining two methods of characterization. The main character of the story is Asherst. He is a middle aged married man. He is well-educated. It’s quite clear that 26 years ago Asherst was inexperienced and young. He is very romantic as he says that he was always in love with somebody. It is important for him to have a person to admire and think about. Galsworthy succeded to show different sides of Asherst’s being. In the beginning of the story, when Asherst first meets Megan, we sympathize with him. The author managed to make the reader believe it to be real deep love which would end happily. But in Torquay he behaves as fully another person. He didn’t even want to explain everything Megan, whom he was supposed to love very much. He just decided to avoid superfluous problems pretending that he didn’d notice her.
Another main character of the story is Megan. She is a beautiful girl of seventeen years old. It doesn’t do the readers any difficulty to understand that she is very naïve and romantic young girl “with a loving heart” as an old man said about her. She doesn’t happen to be anywhere but in the farm. She is always busy doing all the job on the farm as she is the only woman there except her aunt. The author tries to make us sympathize with her. He shows that there isn’t any person on the farm with whom she could have heart-to-heart talk. Every day’s talks with Asherst make her be deeply attached to him. She is also a very honest and faithful person because it doesn’t come to her mind that Ahserst’s absence is caused by his unwillingness to come to her again. She doesn’t believe it because it is not in her nature and she doesn’t think it to be in somebody else’s nature. Megan is shown as a virgin character who has never loved before, never been anywhere, never faced with another people. Her commiting a suicide is an important part of the story. Even if she didn’t do that, she wouldn’t be that Megan that is shown in the story. She would be completely another person, would lose her naivety and “loving heart”, because such kinds of incidents totally change a person.
Galsworthy uses third-person objective narration. That means that the narrator doesn’t participate in the actions but knows everything concerning the characters. I think it to be a very objective and reliable type of narration because the author can enter the minds of the characters and the reader is able to know more.
The story is written in simple language. While showing the conversation with the children or with an old man on the farm, the author writes in dialectal words in order to make the reader deeply feel the atmosphere of that farm. He also writes that the two friends while going “haven’t met a soul for miles”. This metaphor is used in order to show that the farm is situated by itself and people on the farm live exclusive lives. While describing Megan the author also uses many epithets and metaphors. “Megan’s eyes were the wonder – dewy as if opened for the first time that day”. Using this stylistic device the author shows Megan’s beauties of nature. Such epithets as “greyish blouse”, “worn and old”, “split shoes” show her pressure of work. The language of an extract helps us to understand that the characters that day were all in good mood as they joke and try to be as friendly as possible.
The syntactical pattern is not very difficult and it doesn’t do any difficulty to follow the main idea.
The story is devoted to the problem of relationship between people from different social classes. It is difficult for Asherst to decide to go back to Megan as he understands them to be too different to live together. It is important for some of us to get on with people from our social class. There would be too many things on which we would have different points of view. And of course misunderstanding makes it more difficult to get on with a person.
And also there is another problem in the story. The problem of responsibility of our words. If we say something, we should do it. Asherst prefers to disguise himself instead of coming up to Megan and explaining his intentions. We should think in advance whether we could do something or not. No matter how difficult it is to be responsible for our words. It is better not to promise than to disappoint a person who believed you.
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The Apple Tree / Яблоня, Джон Голсуорси - рейтинг книги по отзывам читателей, краткое содержание
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Голсуорси Джон - один из ведущих писателей-реалистов в английской литературе XX века, Нобелевский лауреат 1932 г. Первая любовь для Меган, героини рассказа "Яблоня", оказалась последней. Девушка не смогла пережить предательство любимого человека и ушла из жизни. Страшная развязка любовной истории настигает виновника происшествия в зрелом возрасте: "Что же я сделал плохого?" - спрашивает себя респектабельный, добропорядочный господин и не находит ответа.
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The Apple Tree: a short novel & several long stories: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
A collection of sinister and macabre short stories by Daphne du Maurier, including "The Birds" on which Hitchcock famously based his film of the same name.
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The Apple Tree: a short novel & several long stories — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком
We were boys together, Victor and I. We were both at Marlborough, and went up to Cambridge the same year. In those days I was his greatest friend, and if we did not see so much of each other after we left the 'Varsity it was only because we moved in rather different worlds: my work took me much abroad, while he was busily employed running his own estate up in Shropshire. When we saw each other, we resumed our friendship without any sense of having grown apart.
My work was absorbing, so was his; but we had money enough, and leisure too, to indulge in our favourite pastime, which was climbing. The modern expert, with his equipment and his scientific training, would think our expeditions amateur in the extreme — I am talking of the idyllic days before the first world war — and, looking back on them, I suppose they were just that. Certainly there was nothing professional about the two young men who used to cling with hands and feet to those projecting rocks in Cumberland and Wales, and later, when some experience was gained, tried the more hazardous ascents in southern Europe.
In time we became less foolhardy and more weather-wise, and learnt to treat our mountains with respect — not as an enemy to be conquered, but as an ally to be won. We used to climb, Victor and I, from no desire for danger or because we wanted to add mountain peaks to our repertoire of achievement. We climbed from desire, because we loved the thing we won.
The moods of a mountain can be more varying, more swiftly-changing, than any woman's, bringing joy, and fear, and also great repose. The urge to climb will never be explained. In olden days, perhaps, it was a wish to reach the stars. Today, anyone so minded can buy a seat on a 'plane and feel himself master of the skies. Even so, he will no have rock under his feet, or air upon his face; nor will he know the silence that comes only on the hills.
The best hours of my life were spent, when I was young, upon the mountains. That urge to spill all energy, all thought, to be as nothing, blotted against the sky — we called it mountain fever, Victor and I. He used to recover from the experience more quickly than I did. He would look about him, methodical, careful, planning the descent, while I was lost in wonder, locked in a dream I could not understand. Endurance had been tested, the summit was ours, but something indefinable waited to be won. Always it was denied me, the experience I desired, and something seemed to tell me the fault was in myself But they were good days. The finest I have known…
One summer, shortly after I returned to London from a business trip to Canada, a letter arrived from Victor, written in tremendous spirits. He was engaged to be married. He was, in fact, to be married very soon. She was the loveliest girl he had ever seen, and would I be his best man? I wrote back, as one does on these occasions, expressing myself delighted and wishing him all the happiness in the world. A confirmed bachelor myself; I considered him yet another good friend lost, the best of all, bogged down in domesticity.
The bride-to-be was Welsh and lived just over the border from Victor's place in Shropshire. "And would you believe it," said Victor in a second letter, "she has never as much as set foot on Snowdon! I am going to take her education in hand." I could imagine nothing I should dislike more than trailing an inexperienced girl after me on any mountain.
A third letter announced Victor's arrival in London, and hers too, in all the bustle and preparation of the wedding. I invited both of them to luncheon. I don't know what I expected. Someone small, I think, and dark and stocky, with handsome eyes. Certainly not the beauty that came forward, putting out her hand to me and saying, "I am Anna."
In those days, before world war one, young women did not use make-up. Anna was free of lipstick, and her gold hair was rolled in great coils over her ears. I remember staring at her, at her incredible beauty, and Victor laughed, very pleased, and said, "What did I tell you?" We sat down to lunch, and the three of us were soon at ease and chatting comfortably. A certain reserve was part of her charm, but because she knew I was Victor's greatest friend I felt myself accepted, and liked into the bargain.
Victor certainly was lucky, I said to myself, and any doubt I might have felt about the marriage went on sight of her. Inevitably, with Victor and myself the conversation turned to mountains, and to climbing, before lunch was halfway through.
"So you are going to marry a man whose hobby is climbing mountains," I said to her, "and you've never even gone up your own Snowdon."
"No," she said, "no, I never have."
Some hesitation in her voice made me wonder. A little frown had come between those two very perfect eyes.
"Why?" I asked. "It's almost criminal to be Welsh, and know nothing of your highest mountain."
Victor interrupted. "Anna is scared," he said. "Every time I suggest an expedition she thinks out an excuse."
She turned to him swiftly. "No, Victor," she said, "it's not that. You just don't understand. I'm not afraid of climbing."
"What is it, then?" he said. He put out his hand and held hers on the table. I could see how devoted he was to her, and how happy they were likely to become. She looked across at me, feeling me, as it were, with her eyes, and suddenly I knew instinctively what she was going to say.
"Mountains are very demanding," she said. "You have to give everything. It's wiser, for someone like myself, to keep away."
I understood what she meant, at least I thought then that I did; but because Victor was in love with her, and she was in love with him, it seemed to me that nothing could be better than the fact that they might share the same hobby, once her initial awe was overcome.
"But that's splendid," I said, "you've got just the right approach to mountain climbing. Of course you have to give everything, but together you can achieve that. Victor won't let you attempt anything beyond you. He's more cautious than I am."
Anna smiled, and then withdrew her hand from Victor's on the table.
"You are both very obstinate," she said, "and you neither of you understand. I was born in the hills. I know what I mean."
And then some mutual friend of Victor's and my own came up to the table to be introduced, and there was no more talk of mountains.
They were married about six weeks later, and I have never seen a lovelier bride than Anna. Victor was pale with nerves, I remember well, and I thought what a responsibility lay on his shoulders, to make this girl happy for all time.
I saw much of her during the six weeks of their engagement, and, though Victor never realised it for one instant, came to love her as much as he did. It was not her natural charm, nor yet her beauty, but a strange blending of both, a kind of inner radiance, that drew me to her. My only fear for their future was that Victor might be a little too boisterous, too light-hearted and cheerful — his was a very open, simple nature — and that she might withdraw into herself because of it. Certainly they made a handsome pair as they drove off after the reception — given by an elderly aunt of Anna's, for her parents were dead — and I sentimentally looked forward to staying with them in Shropshire, and being godfather to the first child.
Business took me away shortly after the wedding, and it was not until the following December that I heard from Victor, asking me down for Christmas. I accepted gladly.
They had then been married about eight months. Victor looked fit and very happy, and Anna, it seemed to me, more beautiful than ever. It was hard to take my eyes off her. They gave me a great welcome, and I settled down to a peaceful week in Victor's fine old home, which I knew well from previous visits. The marriage was most definitely a success, that I could tell from the first. And if there appeared to be no heir on the way, there was plenty of time for that.
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