Family on both sides belonged to the bourgeoisie. Vincent Daudet, the father, manufactured silk, but misfortune and failure dogged the man through life. A boyhood depressed Alphonse amid much truancy had. He spent his days mainly at Lyon, left in 1856, and began life as a schoolteacher at Alès, Gard, in the south. The position proved intolerable. As Charles Dickens declared that all through his prosperous career, the miseries of his apprenticeship to the blacking business haunted him in dreams, so after Daudet left Alès, he woke with horror, thinking for months that he still dwelt among his unruly pupils.
On 1 November 1857, he abandoned teaching and took refuge with Ernest Daudet, his brother only some three years his senior, who tried "soberly" to make a living as a journalist in Paris. Alphonse took to writing, and a small volume, Les Amoureuses (1858), collected his poems and met with a fair reception. He obtained employment on Le Figaro, then under energetic editorship of Cartier de Villemessant, and wrote two or three plays; those interested in literature began to recognize him as possessing individuality and promise. Morny, all-powerful minister of Napoleon III, appointed Daudet, who held a post of his secretaries till death of Morny in 1865, and Morny showed Daudet no small kindness. Daudet put his foot on the road to fortune.
Много сладко разказче, напомни ми мъничко Йовков. Въобще - много красиво литературно начало на 22-ра. Изглежда, че я ще посветя на утвърдени автори и класици.
“Les deux amoureux s’égarèrent parmi le bois une heure ou deux, et si tu veux savoir ce qu’ils se dirent, va le demander aux sources bavardes qui courent invisibles dans la mousse.”
My high school French teacher gave us this passage to prepare for a pronunciation test in the mid-90s. We did not have to memorize it, but I was so enamored that I did (and recited here from memory, so I apologize if there are mistakes). We were not told at the time (or I do not recall being told) the source of the extract. Later in grad school some 10 years later, I took a course about Provence and we read Lettres de mon moulin, of course, and La chèvre de M. Seguin, and lo and behold, I encountered this sentence, like out of a dream. I was époustouflée. What a beautiful sentence it is, though!
Funny thing is i can't find the original book where i read this story. Instead, I found it again in some graded reader, probably a collection of Daudet's work. I'm glad I get to finish at least one french book this year. Still needs to look up a ton of words.
This is one of the books that my dad actually studied in school when he was very young. I've always been curious to read about it each time he mentions it. It is a great children book.