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Stretched at full length, on the great divan of a studio, cigar in mouth, two friends-a poet and a painter-were talking together one evening after dinner. It was the hour of confidences and effusion. The lamp burned softly beneath its shade, limiting its circle of light to the intimacy of the conversation, leaving scarcely distinct the capricious luxury of the vast walls, cumbered with canvases, hangings, panoplies, surmounted by a glass roof through which the sombre blue shades of the night penetrated unhindered. The portrait of a woman, leaning slightly forward, as if to listen, alone stood…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
Stretched at full length, on the great divan of a studio, cigar in mouth, two friends-a poet and a painter-were talking together one evening after dinner. It was the hour of confidences and effusion. The lamp burned softly beneath its shade, limiting its circle of light to the intimacy of the conversation, leaving scarcely distinct the capricious luxury of the vast walls, cumbered with canvases, hangings, panoplies, surmounted by a glass roof through which the sombre blue shades of the night penetrated unhindered. The portrait of a woman, leaning slightly forward, as if to listen, alone stood out a little from the shadow; young with intelligent eyes, a grave and sweet mouth and a spirituel smile which seemed to defend the husband's easel from fools and disparagers. A low chair pushed away from the fire, two little blue shoes lying on the carpet, indicated also the presence of a child in the house; and indeed from the next room, within which mother and child had but just disappeared, came occasional bursts of soft laughter, of childish babble; the pretty flutterings of a nest going off to sleep. All this shed over the artistic interior a vague perfume of family happiness which the poet breathed in with delight: "Decidedly, my dear fellow?" he said to his friend, "you were in the right. There are no two ways of being happy. Happiness lies in this and in nothing else. You must find me a wife!"

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Autorenporträt
Alphonse Daudet was a French author who lived from May 13, 1840, to December 16, 1897. He was married to Julia Daudet and had three children, Angélique, Léon, and Lucien. He was born in Nimes, France. Both sides of his family were from the upper class. Vincent Daudet, his father, was a silk maker. He had a lot of bad luck and failed in life. Alphonse had a sad childhood because he skipped school a lot. He started his job as a teacher in 1856 at Alès, Gard, in the south of France. He had spent most of his school years in Lyon. The job turned out to be unbearable, and Daudet later said that for months after he left Alès, he would wake up scared, thinking he was still with his bad students. His book Le Petit Chose was based on these and other events in his life. He quit teaching on November 1, 1857, and went to live with his younger brother Ernest Daudet, who was trying "and thereto soberly" to make a living as a writer in Paris. Ernest was only three years older than him. He started writing songs, which were put together in a small book called Les Amoureuses (1858) and did pretty well.