`The sweetness of her glance - or rather, my evil star already in its
ascendant and drawing me to my ruin - did not allow me to hesitate
for a moment...' So begins the story of Manon Lescaut, a tale of
passion and betrayal, of delinquency and misalliance, which moves
from early 18th-century Paris - with its theatres, assemblies, and
gaming-houses - via prison and deportation to a tragic denouement
in the treeless wastes of Louisiana. It is one of the great love stories,
and also one of the most enigmatic: how reliable a witness is Des
Grieux, Manon's lover, whose tale he narrates? Is Manon a thief and
a whore, the image of love itself, or a thoroughly modern woman?
Prévost is careful to leave the ambiguities unresolved, and to lay bare
the disorders of passion.
