The Lady of the Camellias (Penguin Classics)

The Lady of the Camellias (Penguin Classics)

Alexandre Dumas fils

Language: English

Pages: 148

ISBN: 1519304714

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


The landmark novel that inspired Verdi’s opera La Traviata, in a sparkling new translation

"One of the greatest love stories of all time," according to Henry James, and the inspiration for Verdi’s opera La Traviata, the Oscar-winning musical Moulin Rouge!, and numerous ballets, stage plays (starring Lillian Gish, Eleonora Duse, Tallulah Bankhead, and Sarah Bernhardt, and films (starring Greta Garbo, Robert Taylor, Rudolph Valentino, Isabelle Huppert, and Colin Firth), The Lady of the Camellias itself was inspired by the real-life nineteeth-century courtesan Marie Duplessis, the lover of the novel’s author, Alexander Dumas [i]fils.

Known to all as “the Lady of the Camellias” because she is never seen without her favorite flowers, Marguerite Gautier, the most beautiful, brazen, and expensive courtesan in all of Paris. But despite having many lovers, she has never really loved—until she meets Armand Duval, young, handsome, and hopelessly in love with her.

“Marguerite and Armand are the kind of bright, self-destructive young things we still read about in magazines, watch on-screen, or brush up against today.”
—Liesl Schillinger, from the Note on the Translation

Les Justes: Pièce en cinq actes

Écrits satiriques : Anthologie

Le Fait Du Prince

Hygiene and the Assassin

Dead Time: Temporal Disorders in the Wake of Modernity (Baudelaire and Flaubert)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eyes and a tremor in his voice that he told me, “Sir, you will forgive, I beg, my visit and my attire; but apart from the fact that among people our age such things are not too embarrassing, I wanted so much to see you today that I didn’t even stop at the hotel where I sent my trunks, and hurried to your home, afraid that, though the hour is early, I might not find you here.” I begged M. Duval to sit by the fire, which he did while withdrawing from his pocket a handkerchief, in which, for a.

Twenty-second of February, at noon, a woman by that name had been interred. I asked the caretaker to lead me to the grave, as this city of the dead has its streets, just like the city of the living, and there would be no way to identify her grave without a guide. The caretaker called over a gardener, to whom he gave the necessary indications, until the gardener interrupted him, saying: “I know, I know . . . Oh! The grave is easy enough to spot,” he continued, turning toward me. “Why?” I asked.

To do that.” “Apart from that, madam,” I said while nodding and managing to produce a few nearly intelligible sounds, “I have already had the honor of being introduced to you.” Marguerite’s charming eye seemed to search her memory, but she didn’t remember at all, or seemed not to. “Madam,” I then resumed, “I am grateful that you have forgotten our first introduction, because I was quite ridiculous and must have seemed extremely tedious to you. It was two years ago, at the Opéra-Comique; I was.

The honorable name I have given you; that cannot be. That will not be.” “Permit me to tell you, Father, that those who have instructed you on my affairs were ill informed. I am the lover of Mlle Gautier, I live with her, it’s the simplest thing in the world. I do not give to Mlle Gautier the name I received from you, I spend on her only that which my means allow, I have not gotten into debt, and I am not, in short, in any of those positions that might authorize a father to say to his son what.

That charming head. Jet-black hair, naturally waved or not, descended from her forehead in two large bands, and disappeared behind her head, permitting a glimpse of her ears, upon which sparkled two diamonds, worth four to five thousand francs apiece. The fact that her passionate life had somehow produced the virginal, childlike expression that characterized Marguerite’s face was something we were forced to accept without understanding it. Marguerite had a wonderful portrait done by Vidal, the.

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