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圖書詳情

包法利夫人
ISBN:
作者:Gustave Flaubert
出版社:遼寧人民出版社
出版日期:
年齡/主題/大獎/大師:
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內容簡介

《包法利夫人》是法國文學大師古·福樓拜的代表作,講述了:愛瑪是農莊主的女兒,在修道院受過教育,也偷偷看過不少浪漫小說。她懷著對愛情的美妙憧憬結婚,成為包法利夫人。嫁給鄉鎮醫生夏爾·包法利以后,愛瑪的幻想很快成為泡影,因為丈夫才不出眾,思想平庸。愛瑪偶爾參加了一個貴族舞會,便對上流社會的奢華羨慕不已,強烈的反差使她覺得現實生活十分無聊。夏爾為了滿足愛瑪,遷居永鎮行醫,與藥劑師奧梅為鄰。愛瑪在永鎮遇到青年書記員萊昂,兩人一見如故,情投意合。萊昂為了擺脫精神苦悶,決定去巴黎深造。百無聊賴的愛瑪又認識了附近的農莊主魯道夫。在情場老手魯道夫的勾引下,愛瑪成了他的情婦,她向魯道夫提出私奔國外,但魯道夫由熱而冷,*終棄她而去。愛瑪為此大病一場。夏爾為讓愛瑪散心,陪她進城看戲,偶遇愛瑪一度心動的萊昂。兩人舊情復燃,愛瑪每星期都要借故進城同萊昂幽會。愛瑪為偷情而揮霍家產,并常常向奸商勒赫賒帳舉債,勒赫捏住愛瑪的把柄,逼債未果,便通過法院張貼布告,宣布愛瑪再不償還,就要扣押其財產。陷入困境的愛瑪四處求助,包括兩個情人,豈料他們無不推諉搪塞。愛瑪走投無路,吞服從藥店弄到的砒霜,痛苦地離開了人世。

編輯推薦

 《包法利夫人》被譽為西方現代小說的奠基之作。福樓拜在書中展現出深切的同情心、超凡的觀察力和極為優美的筆觸,值得每一個人去讀、去體會。

他們說

 We were in class when the head-master came in, followed by a "new fellow," not wearing the school uniform, and a school servant carrying a large desk. Those who had been asleep woke up, and every one rose as if just surprised at his work.
  The head-master made a sign to us to sit down. Then, turning to the class-master, he said to him in a low voice—
  "Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend to your care; he'll be in the second. If his work and conduct are satisfactory, he will go into one of the upper classes, as becomes his age."
  The "new fellow," standing in the corner behind the door so that he could hardly be seen, was a country lad of about fifteen, and taller than any of us. His hair was cut square on his forehead like a village chorister's; he looked reliable, but very ill at ease. Although he was not broad-shouldered, his short school jacket of green cloth with black buttons must have been tight about the arm-holes, and showed at the opening of the cuffs red wrists accustomed to being bare. His legs, in blue stockings, looked out from beneath yellow trousers, drawn tight by braces, He wore stout, ill-cleaned, hob-nailed boots.
  We began repeating the lesson. He listened with all his ears, as attentive as if at a sermon, not daring even to cross his legs or lean on his elbow; and when at two o'clock the bell rang, the master was obliged to tell him to fall into line with the rest of us.
  When we came back to work, we were in the habit of throwing our caps on the ground so as to have our hands more free; we used from the door to toss them under the form, so that they hit against the wall and made a lot of dust: it was "the thing."
  But, whether he had not noticed the trick, or did not dare to attempt it, the "new fellow," was still holding his cap on his knees even after prayers were over. It was one of those head-gears of composite order, in which we can find traces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat, sealskin cap, and cotton night-cap; one of those poor things, in fine, whose dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like an imbecile's face. Oval, stiffened with whalebone, it began with three round knobs; then came in succession lozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin separated by a red band; after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon covered with complicated braiding, from which hung, at the end of a long thin cord, small twisted gold threads in the manner of a tassel. The cap was new; its peak shone.
  "Rise," said the master.
  He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class began to laugh. He stooped to pick it up. A neighbor knocked it down again with his elbow; he picked it up once more.
  "Get rid of your helmet," said the master, who was a bit of a wag.
  There was a burst of laughter from the boys, which so thoroughly put the poor lad out of countenance that he did not know whether to keep his cap in his hand, leave it on the ground, or put it on his head. He sat down again and placed it on his knee.
  "Rise," repeated the master, "and tell me your name."
  The new boy articulated in a stammering voice an unintelligible name.
  "Again!"
  The same sputtering of syllables was heard, drowned by the tittering of the class.
  "Louder!" cried the master; "louder!"
  The "new fellow" then took a supreme resolution, opened an inordinately large mouth, and shouted at the top of his voice as if calling someone in the word "Charbovari."
  A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo with bursts of shrill voices (they yelled, barked, stamped, repeated "Charbovari! Charbovari"), then died away into single notes, growing quieter only with great difficulty, and now and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form whence rose here and there, like a damp cracker going off, a stifled laugh.

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