On the internet, there are trackers like FileList:: Login which may have the torrent. On Google books, on link-marketing.info, etc. ISBN o (cloth). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data. Eliade, Mircea, [Maitreyi. English]. Bengal nights I Mircea Eliade. In a young Romanian came to Calcutta to live and study with a renowned Indian philosopher. He fell passionately in love with the.
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Bengal Nights - Mircea link-marketing.info - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf), Text File ( .txt) or read book online. A novel. Translation of: Maitreyi Translated from the French by Catherine Spencer A semi-autobiographical romance between a French. Bengal nights by Mircea Eliade, April 1, , University Of Chicago Press edition, Paperback in English - New Ed edition.
She was listening attentively to her father's serious words but I observed a tiny smile of irony hovering around her lips. And you will save a great deal of money. Initially upon finishing it I rated it quite highly, but after I've had more time to think about the content, I felt much less compelled to do so. VI One morning. The whole box gets up. Eternal return Hierophany. He himself does not want the marriage but Narendra Sen is very keen.
Advanced embedding details, examples, and help! Publication date Publisher University Of Chicago Press. Collection inlibrary ; printdisabled ; internetarchivebooks ; china.
Digitizing sponsor Internet Archive. Contributor Internet Archive. Language English. A novel Translation of: Maitreyi Translated from the French by Catherine Spencer A semi-autobiographical romance between a French engineer and the daughter of a Hindu family with which he stayed in India. A case of East meets West with all the joys and woes that such encounters bring. For her version of the story see her novel, It Does Not Die.
Boxid IA City Chicago. Donor bostonpubliclibrary. Read more. Product details Paperback: University of Chicago Press; 1 edition April 1, Language: English ISBN Tell the Publisher! I'd like to read this book on Kindle Don't have a Kindle? Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. Read reviews that mention bengal nights maitreyi devi eliade book bengali culture literature die happened romance.
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Paperback Verified Purchase. Like the narrator Alain, I at first thought little of the plot and slowly growing romance.
But then you gripped along for the journey, the rise and significant falls of the doomed love between Alain Maitreyi. The book ends as unresolved and painfully as a broken relationship.
Novel written by a giant of universal literature and science. My comments cannot describe the real magnitude of Mircea Eliade.
Once in a millennium person and mind. I first read this book in high-school and recently re-read it. One of the great romantics and a really powerful, touching story on the differences between man-woman, east-west and cultures. The protagonist is egotistical and his minimal self-awareness of his own cultural ignorance and his presumed knowledge of the inner feelings of others is disturbing, but also entertaining. Overall great read. Hardcover Verified Purchase.
For Eliade fans, this is a classic. One person found this helpful. As a graduate student at the University of Chicago in the early 's, I was assigned to shepherd visiting scholar Maitreyi Devi around during her visit there to speak on Tagore Rabi Thakur.
What happened in Eliade's office was a bit puzzling. But several days later a Bengali faculty member told me about Eliade's book and their earlier love. I've been telling that story for thirty years.
This spring I told it to another Bengali scholar at a cocktail party in Canada. He was stunned. He said, "You are in her book! Now I have an even better story to tell. Great book to read at any age. I loved it when I was a teenager, and I still loved reading it after 30 years. Timeless book! I was not fond of the burra-sahibs. The station became a friend. From the window I admired those Bengal plains which have never inspired a song in anyone. My life changed.
I never spoke to my fellow travellers. I was sole master on the site. The memory of a night when I had nothing for my pipe other than the workers' foul mixture made me shudder. I nursed my solitude.
I smoked a lot at Tamluk and I was always worried that I had not brought enough cigarettes with me. I earned less but the work pleased me. I no longer had to simmer away dutifully in the Clive S treet offices. They travelled third class.
The Anglo-Indians. Those months were truly happy. I had liked the uncultured. But I also spoke freely with these people in the evenings. He was one of the rare Europeans who reproached Gandhi not for what he was doing but for what he was failing to do. I had met Lucien two years earlier. My ship. I loved that piece of ground near the sea. He had written an article about political economy when he was on board ship.
If I had had a single intelligent companion with me. I was waiting at the entrance of the station while my servant called a taxi for me.
I met Lucien Metz by chance. A joyous solitude reigned over this green and abundant land. Days spent at the site seemed like holidays.
I had a taste for the work. I loved those tranquil sunrises. Bengal Nights 4 vocabulary lowered them in the eyes of their subordinates. He had visited India. Tell this fellow. I would have had marvellous things to tell him. Malaysia and Japan several times. It was on one of those trips back from Tamluk. He at once invited us to come for tea. I hardly saw them. I had not seen her since our brief encounter outside the store.
I told him that Lucien Metz was writing a book on India that would be published in Paris and I intimated the problems my fri end was having with one of the chapters. I've come to write a book on India. Except at functions or the cinema. I read it in a book by a man who spent thirty years here as a magistrate.
That evening. An idea struck me. I could not teach him much. I'll have to tell you about it. Despite all my efforts. Lucien wanted to write a book on modern India. With what excitement I climbed the hostel stairs to tell Lucien the good news! He had never been to the house of a rich Indian. Cross between politics and thriller. Now his research would be complete. Now I would suggest to him that he invite the journalist to tea. He asked me several times: For several months he had collected interviews.
I knew barely more than he about the women of India. What troubled him was his chapter on women. He had not yet encountered "real Indian women". Maitreyi had appeared much more beautiful to me then than. I can no longer remember my feelings with any accuracy.
That afternoon. I had spent two years in this country and I had never been curious to enter the house of a Bengali family. I know you'll like him. I myself had been invaded by an army of new ideas. I remember that I went home rather despondent. I knew the outside of the engineer's house in Bhowanipore: I had driven to the district to collect some plans. I had led the life of a solitary colonial. I stood gazing at the living-room as though I had that very moment disembarked in India.
I noted nothing down. It is remarkable that I did not foresee. Rooted to the spot. Placed on these tables were tea cups and cakes that Narendra Sen himself had chosen to best introduce his guest to Indian pastry. He's a founding member ofthe Rotary Club. Lucien took notes after tasting each one of the sweetmeats and did not stop asking questions. Maitreyi stood. Lucien weighed up the jewels in his hand.
During all this. It was not like any other that. Lucien asked permission to examine Maitreyi's costume. Maitreyi's English was quaint and formal.
She did not know where to look. I could not fathom the mystery that lay hidden in this creature of movements as supple as silk.
Then her eyes met mine. The hair that was too black. She seemed to have found a haven. I contemplated her quizzically. I do not know how long that look lasted. It was a strange examination. The tea was rich in surprises. The engineer smilingly replied "Oui. Her words pulled us like the calls of a siren.
I smiled at her. His English was bad. Everyone rushed to his aid while the engineer. Whilst I had been studying him in this way.
I find it almost impossible to recount the incident that then took place. The examination over. Maitreyi once more took refuge by the window. She had doubtlessly chewed a lot of pan that afternoon.
The three women had huddled up together on the couch. I do not know whose fault it was. She seemed so young. She was a child of about eleven. She was wearing a blue sari and a blue shawl sequined with gold. She knew almost no English and smiled continually in place of speech. He resembled a frog: The mistress of the house wanted to pour the tea. I turned my attention to her father and from my vantage point I analysed him at leisure.
The affection that this man inspired was difficult to comprehend. We did not look at each other again. Her bare calves and arms and her swarthy.
Her feet were bare. She astounded me. I wondered how a man could be so ugly. From the side of the house. I stood transfixed. Yet I did not have the strength to tear myself away.
Only Mrs Sen remained impassive. I saw her move her legs. And suddenly I heard an irresistible. It gripped my heart. My friend was quite flushed with embarrassment although on the way back to the hostel he laughed the incident off loudly. Lucien and I sat dumbly. The engineer showed Lucien some ancient Sanskrit texts that had belonged in the collection of his uncle.
As we were leaving. Maitreyi's laugh echoed through the house. I leaned out of the window and beheld. Narendra Sen finally gestured for him to sit down again. The conversation hardly revived. Those few moments seemed eternal. I had gone to stand by the window and I looked out at the courtyard. Two days earlier. I do not know what instinctive and superhuman sense of majesty filled me. I would willingly have held her in my arms. I had loved Norinne for a while.
I walked along tranquilly. The thought did not sadden me. I would have lain back in the grass. I could have done anything. It was as though my appetite for solitude in this enchanted ground had made me light-headed. We had drunk too much. If someone had told me I was to die in an hour. We had also planned a pyjama party. I grasped my extraordinary condition. I would have danced with her. II I was at Tamluk. The sun had not yet set the place alight. I felt quiet. I thought of.
Norinne had got engaged and we had celebrated all night. I was alone and I would die alone. I would have accepted my fate calmly. I was to discover later that he had waged a hard battle with the board to have me. It was with a feeling of heavy sadness that I sat at the window of my carriage and contemplated the steam-covered plain. The company was swarajist and wanted to filter out the last of its foreign employees.
I was to take the train that evening. Instead of 2 s o rupees a. I looked forward to the prospect of staying in my tent for a week. I went back to the site still hungry for seclusion and peace. The servant came to meet me. I walked. I have good news for you. You have three days to sort out your affairs and to hand over to your successor at Tamluk. My new post was both higher in rank and better paid. I thought of you at once. How I wished I were free. I would earn Gertie was sitting on my knees.
I did not reflect on any of this very deeply. Aren't you afraid I'll fall? I was reluctant to work in Assam. We invited some girls to come with us and set off in two taxis. I did indeed wonder. Our charioteer was a magnificent Sikh who had fought in France during the war and he cried "Diable!
Vin rouge! Vin blanc! Coming out of Park Street on to Chowringhee Road. Mrs Sen. The engineer put his hand on my shoulder: At that moment.
The others were gaining on us and we were dismayed at this unfortunate turn of events. Our group was noisy. I accepted the offer and thanked him warmly. When Harold learnt the news of my promotion in rank and salary. I blushed like a fool as I greeted them. I had a clear opinion of my talent for construction. It is a pity you do not speak Bengali.
The answer I gave myself was simple: Do you love her? Poor Harold.
You are worth more than this Anglo-Indian way of life. I turned. It was obvious that. The driver. Until then. My panic lasted until our car moved off again. I wanted to execute an Indian greeting in return but all at once I realized the ludicrousness of my situation. Everyone had a girl on his lap. My friends enjoyed themselves hugely over the respect and the embarrassment with which I had greeted a 'black'.
Narendra Sen asked me in the most natural of tones: She appeared infinitely amused by the merry company around me and by the girl in my arms. When I paid him in front of the restaurant. Mr Sen.
Bahut accha! He slapped me on the shoulder. She was very beautiful. This hostel life will ruin you. I had to take my friends out for a farewell party and as there were many of us. Maitreyi alone brought her palms to her forehead and returned my salutation. There was nothing untoward. Sen asked me to dine with him at the Rotary Oub. I was not sorry I had come. By the end of the evening. I left for Shillong that same night.
The admiration that the engineer's speech won from the distinguished audience was new proof that the man who had invited me to his table was of great worth and I felt that some of his glory must reflect on to me.
I had a pile of documents to sign. When it was time to leave. Only Harold accompanied me to the station. Bengal Nights were getting used to the food. We got down to work quickly. None of my objections. I wanted to give life to a region overrun by bracken and creepers. The deeper I ventured into this wild domain. What great pains I had taken in deciphering my daily notes. I was living among tribes. I had discovered an India quite different from the one I had read about in sensational newspaper articles or books.
But the rains! How many nights. I was filled with the strange sentiment that I was leading the life of a veritable pioneer. I was well and truly in the jungle. And those extraordinary downpours.
And then I would stretch out on the chaise longue. I would sit staring into space as though in a trance. All notion oftime disappeared. When a stranger came to visit. I would settle myself in the cool comfort of my room. I wanted to see flowers again. I would clench my fists. I would not have felt i t. I could have fallen and cut myself. I would make my way. Then I would jump up.
The lingering smells of putrefaction drove me almost to madness. At times I felt I could bear the life no longer. So tired that I barely had any sensation in my body. Breathing that air which was charged with the warm mesh of.
I drank until I felt a familiar warmth creep into my limbs. I rested it against my shoulder and ran. I also drank alone each evening. In the evenings. Bengal Nights which lasted for days at a time. I shook. I drove back to the bungalow late at night. I neglected my appearance more and more.
I slept a lot. I liked to listen to these people speaking English. On Sundays. Those walks without destination were my hours of weakness. They were the only books I was capable ofreading in that place.
I stayed outside until a desire to work or to sleep took me. I drank tea well-laced with rum. I would drift into melancholia. There were very few whites in the whole region. I wanted to write a book later about the real life of a European in Assam and I analysed myself with as much precision as I could. There I treated myself to sun. I stayed in bed all day. I slept late into the morning. We would leave the next morning by nine o'clock. I would stay with them when the boredom overwhelmed me.
Almayers' Folly. How much I would have given to have been able to draw myself up in the bed and reply that the book was mediocre and did not even begin to rival my favourite book.
I listened to the whistling of the fans. At the station. At the beginning of August I fell ill. I opened my eyes with surprise one morning on to a white room smelling of caramel and ammonia. He wrote me a few typewritten lines almost every week.
After five days in Shillong. I went to bed having followed Harold's advice and drunk three glasses of brandy soda but in the morning I was delirious.
In a comfortable chair by the window. When I took a sip of my tea. One evening. Bengal Nights outside his door without granting me an interview. I was due to take a month's leave in October. I was deeply affected by the sight of the first white woman I had set eyes on in four months. I was feverish and trembling. I remember nothing after that. I was admitted directly to the hospital of tropical medicine.
Narendra Sen had come to see me. I was free to go to Calcutta from the middle of August. I returned to the bungalow earlier than usual. My head was turning. I know that I was taken to Shillong and put in the European hospital. A telegram was sent to Calcutta and before my replacement had even arrived. The sun was shining gloriously. I could taste nothing. An Anglo-Indian was called.
But the thing I dreaded most in my moments of depression occurred. I saw flowers. For several minutes. I left for Calcutta in a first-class compartment. He had a hundred stories to amuse me with. Tears continued to flow from my eyes. We must telephone Mr Carr.
We were beginning to give up hope. I felt alone. My face froze with fear. I believe I was brought here when I was delirious. I pictured my death here. So you haven't gone deafl" she cried out in surprise. Gertie was flirting with a manager of the Middle Bank. Several European doctors came. I cannot remember her reply. The poor boy has been asking for news of you every day.
I want to shave. I could not tell her the truth. I do beg you to forgive me. That I will see New York and Paris again? Mr Sen had left. The image of. Maitreyi was more vivacious. The engineer turned to me: He shook my hand warmly and stroked my forehead. I had not pictured her for a long time. Bengal Nights 20 fellow who hardly dared kiss her and who took her to the cinema for three rupees and eight annas a seat.
The young husband brought schoolgirls back in the evening and fingered them in his wife's presence. Yet this. A family of poor Anglo-Indians had moved into my room at Wellesley Street. Maitreyi in reality and also fear. I introduced him to Harold. I studied that mental image for several moments. Maybe he wants you to marry his daughter! He promised to come back the following evening. Maitreyi appeared before me once more.