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Four very diverse women, all seeking revitalization from the dreary February rains of 1920s London, rent the small medieval castle of San Salvatore, nestled high above the bay of Portofino, Italy. Arriving at San Salvatore, they find it awash with the scent of flowers, its olive groves terracing down to the sun-warmed sea. Each has her reasons for desiring escape. Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Arbuthnot are glad to leave behind their insipid duties and unresponsive husbands. The elderly Mrs. Fisher wishes only to sit in the sun and replay her youthful memories, and the bewitchingly beautiful Lady Caroline Dester desires to have seclusion from all her adoring suitors. Amid the canopies of fragrant wisteria, in the sweet sunshine and melodious silence, fate has some surprises in store for all of them.… (plus d'informations)
Mitigée, agacée... Un livre de vacances oui, du rythme, de la légèreté oui, des situations cocasses, une histoire originale, facile à lire, l'Italie... Mais tant de conventions, d'improbabilités, il est vrai qu'E. Von Armin l'a écrit en 1922...
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It began in a Woman's Club in London on a February afternoon,—an uncomfortable club, and a miserable afternoon—when Mrs. Wilkins, who had come down from Hampstead to shop and had lunched at her club, took up The Times from the table in the smoking-room, and running her listless eye down the Agony Column saw this: To Those Who Appreciate Wistaria and Sunshine.
Citations
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
It was just possible that she [Mrs Wilkisn] ought to go straight into the category Hysteria, which was often only the antechamber to Lunacy, but Mrs. Arbuthnot had learned not to hurry people into their final categories, having on more than one occasion discovered with dismay that she had made a mistake; and how difficult it had been to get them out again, and how crushed she had been with the most terrible remorse.
After those early painful attempts to hold him up to the point from which they had hand in hand so splendidly started, attempts in which she herself had got terribly hurt and the Frederick she supposed she had married was mangled out of recognition, she hung him up finally by her bedside as the chief subject of her prayers, and left him, except for those, entirely to God.
Wonderful that at home she should have been so good, so terribly good, and merely felt tormented. Twinges of every sort had there been her portion; aches, hurts, discouragements, and she the whole time being steadily unselfish.
She did not consciously think this, for she was having a violent reaction against beautiful clothes and the slavery they impose on one, her experience being that the instant one had got them they took one in hand and gave one no peace till they had been everywhere and been seen by everybody. You didn't take your clothes to parties; they took you. It was quite a mistake to think that a woman, a really well-dressed woman, wore out her clothes; it was the clothes that wore out the woman - dragging her about at all hours of the day and night.
Worse than jokes in the morning did she hate the idea of husbands. And everybody was always trying to press them on her - all her relations, all her friends, all the evening papers. After all, she could only marry one, anyhow; but you would think from the way everybody talked, and especially those persons who wanted to be husbands, that she could marry at least a dozen.
He had during their married life behaved very much like macaroni. He had slipped, he had wriggled, he had made her feel undignified, and when at last she had got him safe, as she thought, there had invariably been little bits of him that still, as it were, hung out.
Dignity demanded that she should have nothing to do with fresh leaves at her age; and yet there it was – the feeling that presently, that at any moment now, she might crop out all green.
No doubt a trip to Italy would be extraordinarily delightful, but there were many delightful things that one would like to do, and what was strength given to one for except to help one not to do them. (page 18)
Derniers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
When, on the first of May, everybody went away, even after they had got to the bottom of the hill and passed through the iron gates out into the village they still could smell the acacias.
If Elizabeth had known that was coming she might have taken steps to ensure that Russell, and not von Arnim, would be the name under which we would look up her books in the libraries. (Introduction)
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
This is the main work for The Enchanted April, by Elizabeth von Arnim. Please do not combine with any adaptation (e.g., film adaptation), abridgement, etc.
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▾Descriptions de livres
Four very diverse women, all seeking revitalization from the dreary February rains of 1920s London, rent the small medieval castle of San Salvatore, nestled high above the bay of Portofino, Italy. Arriving at San Salvatore, they find it awash with the scent of flowers, its olive groves terracing down to the sun-warmed sea. Each has her reasons for desiring escape. Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Arbuthnot are glad to leave behind their insipid duties and unresponsive husbands. The elderly Mrs. Fisher wishes only to sit in the sun and replay her youthful memories, and the bewitchingly beautiful Lady Caroline Dester desires to have seclusion from all her adoring suitors. Amid the canopies of fragrant wisteria, in the sweet sunshine and melodious silence, fate has some surprises in store for all of them.
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Description du livre
Deux jeunes Londoniennes, Mrs. Wilkins et Mrs. Arbuthnot, décident, un jour de pluie trop sale et d'autobus trop bondés, de répondre à une petite annonce du Times proposant un château à louer pour le mois d'avril sur la Riviera. En cachette de leurs maris, elles cassent leurs tirelires et trouvent deux autres partenaires pour partager les frais du séjour: l'aristocratique et très belle Lady Caroline Dester, qui veut fuir ses trop nombreux soupirants, et la vieille Mrs. Fisher, à la recherche d'un lieu paisible.
Les brillants dialogues, la drôlerie constante des situations et des personnages qui rappellent Noel Coward ou le meilleur Wodehouse, réussissent par une sorte de pudeur à faire presque oublier que ce roman exempt de gravité est aussi un des plus beaux textes que la littérature du XXe siècle ait consacrés à l'Italie.