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　　《小公主》自1905年頭次齣版以來，一百多年間多次再版，流傳於*世界，並多次被搬上銀幕舞颱。一個多世紀以來，一直是*世界傢庭為陶冶子女情操必備的經典文學讀物。由小說改編的同名電影，曾由好來塢 童星秀蘭·鄧波兒齣演，風靡*球。本書為英文原版，同時隨書附贈配套朗讀CD，讓讀者在閱讀精彩故事的同時，亦能提升英文閱讀水平。

內容簡介

　　《小公主》主要描述瞭小主人公英國女孩薩拉·剋魯在其父親去世前後的生活。父親去世前，她生活條件優越。剋魯上尉把女兒送到一所貴族學校，學校校長蠍盡*力為薩拉提供一切。她成瞭學校的“招牌學生”，從內嚮外都散發著公主的氣息。剋魯上尉去世後，勢力的校長把她趕到小閣樓，還要她乾各種各樣的雜活。對於生活的變故，周圍同學的冷眼以及各種摺磨，薩拉都以樂觀的心態麵對。即便衣衫檻樓，但她內心卻錶現得像個公主。本書自1905年頭次齣版後，一百多年來一版再版，流傳於*世界，並多次被搬上銀幕舞颱。一個多世紀以來，一直是*世界傢庭為陶冶子女情操必備的經典文學讀物。由小說改編的同名電影，曾由好來塢 童星秀蘭·鄧波兒齣演，風靡*球。本書為英文原版，同時隨書附贈配套朗讀CD，讓讀者在閱讀精彩故事的同時，亦能提升英文閱讀水平。　　A Little Princess is a British children's novel by Frances Hodgson Burnett， first published as a book in 1905. It is an expanded version of Burnett's 1888 short story entitled Sara Crewe : or， What Happened at Miss Minchin's， which was serialized in St. Nicholas Magazine from 1887 to 1888.　　A Little Princess is full of good， strong female characters， and shows its readers that being a princess isn’t about being beautiful rich daughter of a king， trapped in a castle， waiting for her prince. It’s about being a virtuous， kind and generous person， no matter what your circumstances.　　Based on a 2007 online poll， the U. S. National Education Association named the book one of its “Teachers’ Top 100 Books for Children”. In 2012 it was ranked number 56 among all-time children’s novels in a survey published by School Library Journal. It was the second of two Burnett novels among the Top 100， with The Secret Garden number 15.

作者簡介

　　弗蘭西斯·H·伯內特，1849年生於英國曼徹斯特市，1865年隨*傢移民美國田納西州。伯內特的父親早逝，傢境貧寒，寫作成瞭她抒發情感、逃避現實的管道，也由於她在小說創作方麵有著齣色的錶現，18歲起她便開始在雜誌上發錶故事，賺取稿費貼補傢用。她的*一本暢銷書是28歲時齣版的《勞瑞傢的那閨女》(That Lass O’Lowries)，取材於幼年她在英國煤礦的生活。可是，真正讓伯內特聞名於世的是她的兒童文學作品。1886年她發錶瞭小說《小爵士》，這部小說寫的是一個美國小男孩成為英國伯爵繼承人的故事。“方特羅伊”從此成為英語詞匯，指“過分盛裝打扮的小孩”。這本書讓伯內特成為當時暢銷、*富有的流行作傢之一。此書和1905年發錶的《小公主》都曾被改編成話劇。1939年，電影《秘密花園（小孤女）》和《小公主》由當時紅*一時的童星秀蘭·鄧波兒(Sherley Temper)主演。

內頁插圖

目錄

Chapter 1 Sara /1
Chapter 2 A French Lesson /11
Chapter 3 Ermengarde /17
Chapter 4 Lottie /24
Chapter 5 Becky /33
Chapter 6 The Diamond Mines /43
Chapter 7 The Diamond Mines Again /53
Chapter 8 In the Attic /73
Chapter 9 Melchisedec /83
Chapter 10 The Indian Gentleman /94
Chapter 11 Ram Dass /106
Chapter 12 The Other Side of the Wall /115
Chapter 13 One of the Populace /123
Chapter 14 What Melchisedec Heard and Saw /133
Chapter 15 The Magic /138
Chapter 16 The Visitor /161
Chapter 17 “It Is the Child!” /176
Chapter 18 “I Tried Not to Be” /183
Chapter 19 Anne /194

精彩書摘

　　Once on a dark winter’s day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an oddlooking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the big thoroughfares.
　　She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.
　　She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.
　　At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe. She was thinking of the big ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers’ wives who used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.
　　Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one time one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets where the day was as dark as the night. She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.
　　“Papa,” she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost a whisper, “papa.”
　　“What is it, darling?” Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and looking down into her face. “What is Sara thinking of?”
　　“Is this the place?” Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him.
　　“Is it, papa?”
　　“Yes, little Sara, it is. We have reached it at last.” And though she was only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it.
　　It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for “the place,” as she always called it. Her mother had died when she was born, so she had never known or missed her. Her young, handsome, rich, petting father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world. They had always played together and been fond of each other. She only knew he was rich because she had heard people say so when they thought she was not listening, and she had also heard them say that when she grew up she would be rich, too. She did not know all that being rich meant. She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been used to seeing many servants who made salaams to her and called her “Missee Sahib,” and gave her her own way in everything. She had had toys and pets and an ayah who worshipped her, and she had gradually learned that people who were rich had these things. That, however, was all she knew about it.
　　During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing was “the place” she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent away from it—generally to England and to school. She had seen other children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about the letters they received from them. She had known that she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her father’s stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by the thought that he could not stay with her.
　　“Couldn’t you go to that place with me, papa?” she had asked when she was five years old. “Couldn’t you go to school, too? I would help you with your lessons.”
　　“But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara,” he had always said. “You will go to a nice house where there will be a lot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of papa.”
　　She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner parties; to talk to him and read his books—that would be what she would like most in the world, and if one must go away to “the place” in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself. She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she had
　　told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.
　　“Well, papa,” she said softly, “if we are here I suppose we must be resigned.”
　　He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was really not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret. His quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felt he should be a lonely fellow when, on his return to India, he went into his bungalow knowing he need not expect to see the small figure in its white frock come forward to meet him. So he held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big, dull square in which stood the house which was their destination.
　　……

前言/序言

　　I do not know whether many people realize how much more than is ever written there really is in a story—how many parts of it are never told—how much more really happened than there is in the book one holds in one’s hand and pores over. Stories are something like letters. When a letter is written, how often one remembers things omitted and says, “Ah, why did I not tell them that?” In writing a book one relates all that one remembers at the time, and if one told all that really happened perhaps the book would never end. Between the lines of every story there is another story, and that is one that is never heard and can only be guessed at by the people who are good at guessing. The person who writes the story may never know all of it, but sometimes he does and wishes he had the 小公主：A LITTLE PRINCESS（英文原版） 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書

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