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The story is set in Paris during the mid 1800's.

The lead heroine is Marguerite Gautier, a young beautiful courtesan who is a "kept woman" by counts and dukes -- men of "Fashionable Society". She meets a young middle class lover Armand Duval who does the unpardonable thing of falling jealously in love with her and breaking all convention of what's expected between a courtesan and her admirers. He, of course, has no way of sustaining the standard of living which she is accustomed to.

In her fragile physical state (Marguerite has tuberculosis which ) she moves to the country. There in her new house, a confrontation between the jealous Armand and her rich admirers and "benefactors" takes place. For the first time she sticks up for her lover -- making a life choice -- and they are left indignantly and alone.

Armand becomes depressed, his career seems doomed by the intolerance of French society, and knowing he will never be able to support Marguerite to the level she deserves. Unbeknownst to Armand, his father comes to plead for her to leave Armand to save both his son's reputation
and that of his younger innocent sister -- whom is also tainted by the scandal. To prove her love, she agrees and leaves Armand. She returns to Paris where she despairingly throws herself back into her old lifestyle. Armand can't believe she's left and searches for her -- finally finding her in Paris in the arms of a new lover.

Time passes.

The two accidentally meet again in public. Marguerite is now in the company of a another beautiful courtesan and Armand begins "paying court" not with her but with her friend trying to strike back at Marguerite out of his own sense of hurt. Deathly ill, Marguerite visits Armand one last time to plead that he stop humiliating her, and they make love again -- both unable to deny the passion for each other. But Marguerite is haunted by guilt that she can only harm Armand and remembering her promise to his father -- she abandons him yet again as he sleeps.

Armand is incensed when he wakes. Finding Marguerite at a grand ball with all society around, he approaches her and hands her an envelope stuffed full of money –"Here! Payment for your services.” She collapses as he walks out.

Abandoned by all her friends from the humiliation of Armand act, exposed  publicly for what she really is, she dies penniless, painfully and alone -- cast off by all the men that used her.
  

　　《茶花女》是法国亚历山大·小仲马 (Alexandre Dumasfils 1824年7月27日-1895年11月27日）的代表作，他为了与同为作家的父亲作区别，多称小仲马（Dumas, fils）。他本身是法国剧作家、小说家。《茶花女》是小仲马的代表作。
   《茶花女》就是根据他亲身经历所写的一部力作。是发生在小仲马身边的一个故事。在19世纪40年代，一个叫阿尔丰西娜·普莱西的贫苦乡下姑娘来到巴黎，走进了名利场，成了上流社会的一个社交明星，开始了卖笑生涯；并改名为玛丽·杜普莱西。她爱好文学，音乐，谈吐不俗。一次在剧院门口咳血时被小仲马看见，小仲马甚是心痛。玛丽也非常感动，于是两人开始了一段交往。后来小仲马和玛丽的感情出现了问题。一次小仲马回到巴黎时听说了玛丽的离去，异常后悔，愧疚，于是写出了这部文学史上的经典。在一些版本里，您会看到这本书的第一页就是小仲马为玛丽·杜普莱西写的一首诗，名叫《献给玛丽·杜普莱西》。此外，由于小仲马的母亲并不是大仲马的妻子，大仲马曾不肯相认。小仲马也借此为当时所有母亲这样的女人说话。
    值得一提的是，《茶花女》是第一本流传到我国的外国小说，由著名的翻译家林琴南先生用文言译就。现在也有很多翻译家译出的不错的译本，其中以王振孙的译本（人民文学出版社与上海译文出版社都出版这个版本）、郑克鲁的译本（译林出版社出版）流传较广。


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Chapter 1 IT is my considered view that no one can invent fictional characters without first having made a lengthy study of people, just as it is impossible for anyone to speak a language that has not been properly mastered. Since I am not yet of an age to invent, I must make do with telling a tale. I therefore invite the reader to believe that this story is true. All the characters who appear in it, with the exception of the heroine, are still living. I would further add that there are reliable witnesses in Paris for most of the particulars which I bring together here, and they could vouch for their accuracy should my word not be enough. By a singular turn of events, I alone was able to write them down since I alone was privy to the very last details without which it would have been quite impossible to piece together a full and satisfying account. It was in this way that these particulars came to my knowledge. On the 12th day of March 1847, in the rue Laffitte, I happened upon a large yellow notice announcing a sale of furniture and valuable curios. An estate was to be disposed of, the owner having died. The notice did not name the dead person, but the sale was to be held at 9 rue d'Antin on the 16th, between noon and five o'clock. The notice also stated that the apartments and contents could be viewed on the 13th and 14th. I have always been interested in curios. I promised myself I would not miss this opportunity, if not of actually buying, then at least of looking. The following day, I directed my steps towards 9 rue d'Antin. It was early, and yet a good crowd of visitors had already gathered in the apartment? men for the most part, but also a number of ladies who, though dressed in velvet and wearing Indian shawls, and all with their own elegant broughams standing at the door, were examining the riches set out before them with astonished, even admiring eyes. After a while, I quite saw the reason for their admiration and astonishment, for having begun myself to look around I had no difficulty in recognizing that I was in the apartment of a kept woman. Now if there is one thing that ladies of fashion desire to see above all else ?and there were society ladies present ? it is the rooms occupied by those women who have carriages which spatter their own with mud every day of the week, who have their boxes at the Opera or the Theatre-Italien just as they do, and indeed next to theirs, and who display for all Paris to see the insolent opulence of their beauty, diamonds and shameless conduct. The woman in whose apartments I now found myself was dead: the most virtuous of ladies were thus able to go everywhere, even into the bedroom. Death had purified the air of this glittering den of iniquity, and in any case they could always say, if they needed the excuse, that they had done no more than come to a sale without knowing whose rooms these were. I had read the notices, they had wanted to view what the notices advertised and mark out their selections in advance. It could not have been simpler ?though this did not prevent them from looking through these splendid things for traces of the secret life of a courtesan of which they had doubtless been given very strange accounts. Unfortunately, the mysteries had died with the goddess, and in spite of their best endeavours these good ladies found only what had been put up for sale since the time of death, and could detect nothing of what had been sold while the occupant had been alive. But there was certainly rich booty to be had. The furniture was superb. Rosewood and Buhl-work pieces, Severs vases and blue china porcelain, Dresden figurines, satins, velvet and lace, everything in fact. I wandered from room to room in the wake of these inquisitive aristocratic ladies who had arrived before me. They went into a bedroom hung with Persian fabrics and I was about to go in after them, when they came out again almost immediately, smiling and as it were put to shame by this latest revelation. The effect was to make me even keener to see inside. It was the dressing-room, complete down to the very last details, in which the dead woman's profligacy had seemingly reached its height. On a large table standing against one wall ?it measured a good six feet by three ?shone the finest treasures of Aucoc and Odiot. It was a magnificent collection, and among the countless objects each so essential to the appearance of the kind of woman in whose home we had gathered, there was not one that was not made of gold or silver. But it was a collection that could only have been assembled piece by piece, and clearly more than one love had gone into its making. I, who was not the least put out by the sight of the dressing-room of a kept woman, spent some time agreeably inspecting its contents, neglecting none of them, and I noticed that all these magnificently wrought implements bore different initials and all manner of coronets. As I contemplated all these things, each to my mind standing for a separate prostitution of the poor girl, I reflected that God had been merciful to her since He had not suffered her to live long enough to undergo the usual punishment but had allowed her to die at the height of her wealth and beauty, long before the coming of old age, that first death of courtesans. Indeed, what sadder sight is there than vice in old age, especially in a woman? It has no dignity and is singularly unattractive. Those everlasting regrets, not for wrong turnings taken but for wrong calculations made and money foolishly spent, are among the most harrowing things that can be heard. I once knew a former woman of easy virtue of whose past life there remained only a daughter who was almost as beautiful as the mother had once been, or so her contemporaries said. This poor child, to whom her mother never said 'You are my daughter' except to order her to keep her now that she was old just as she had been kept when she was young, this wretched creature was called Louise and, in obedience to her mother, she sold herself without inclination or passion or pleasure, rather as she might have followed an honest trade had it ever entered anyone's head to teach her one. The continual spectacle of debauchery, at so tender an age, compounded by her continuing ill- health, had extinguished in the girl the knowledge of good and evil which God had perhaps given her but which no one had ever thought to nurture. I shall always remember that young girl who walked along the boulevards almost every day at the same hour. Her mother was always with her, escorting her as assiduously as a true mother might have accompanied her daughter. I was very young in those days and ready enough to fall in with the easy morality of the times. Yet I recall that the sight of such scandalous chaperoning filled me with contempt and disgust. Add to all this that no virgin's face ever conveyed such a feeling of innocence nor any comparable expression of sadness and suffering. You would have said it was the image of Resignation itself. And then one day, the young girl's face lit up. In the midst of the debauches which her mother organized for her, it suddenly seemed to this sinful creature that God had granted her one happiness. And after all why should God, who had made her weak and helpless, abandon her without consolation to struggle on beneath the oppressive burden of her life? One day, then, she perceived that she was with child, and that part of her which remained pure trembled with joy. The soul finds refuge in the strangest sanctuaries. Louise ran to her mother to tell her the news that had filled her with such happiness. It is a shameful thing to have to say ?but we do not write gratuitously of immorality here, we relate a true incident and one perhaps which we would be better advised to leave untold if we did not believe that it is essential from time to time to make public the martyrdom of these creatures who are ordinarily condemned without a hearing and despised without trial ? it is, we say, a matter for shame, but the mother answered her daughter saying that as things stood they scarcely had enough for two, and that they would certainly not have enough for three; that such children serve no useful purpose; and that a pregnancy is so much time wasted. The very next day, a midwife (of whom we shall say no more than that she was a friend of the mother)called to see Louise, who remained for a few days in her bed from which she rose paler and weaker than before. Three months later, some man took pity on her and undertook her moral and physical salvation. But this latest blow had been too great and Louise died of the after effects of the miscarriage she had suffered. The mother still lives. How? God alone knows. This story had come back to me as I stood examining the sets of silver toilet accessories, and I must have been lost in thought for quite some time. For by now the apartment was empty save for myself and a porter who, from the doorway, was eyeing me carefully lest I should try to steal anything. I went up to this good man in whom I inspired such grave anxieties. 'Excuse me, ' I said, 'I wonder if you could tell me the name of the person who lived here?' 'Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier.' I knew this young woman by name and by sight. 'What!' I said to the porter. 'Marguerite Gautier is dead?' 'Yes, sir.' 'When did it happen?' 'Three weeks ago, I think.' 'But why are people being allowed to view her apartment?' 'The creditors thought it would be good for trade. People can get the effect of the hangings and the furniture in advance. Encourages people to buy, you understand.' 'So she had debts, then?' 'Oh yes, sir! Lots of'em.' 'But I imagine the sale will cover them?' 'Over and above.' 'And who stands to get the balance?' 'The family.' 'She had a family?' 'Seems she did.' 'Thank you very much.' The porter, now reassured as to my intentions, touched his cap and I left. 'Poor girl, ' I said to myself as I returned home, 'she must have died a sad death, for in her world, people only keep their friends as long as they stay fit and well.' And in spite of myself, I lamented the fate of Marguerite Gautier. All this will perhaps seem absurd to many people, but I have a boundless forbearance towards courtesans which I shall not even trouble to enlarge upon here. One day, as I was on my way to collect a passport from the prefecture, I saw down one of the adjacent streets, a young woman being taken away by two policemen. Now I have no idea what she had done. All I can say is that she was weeping bitterly and clasping to her a child only a few months old from which she was about to be separated by her arrest. From that day until this, I have been incapable of spurning any woman on sight. 第一章 我认为只有在深入地研究了人以后，才能创造人物，就像要讲一种语言就得先认真学习这种语言一样。 既然我还没到能够创造的年龄，那就只好满足于平铺直叙了。 因此，我请读者相信这个故事的真实性，故事中所有的人物，除女主人公以外，至今尚在人世。 此外，我记录在这里的大部分事实，在巴黎还有其他的见证人；如果光靠我说还不足为凭的话，他们也可以为我出面证实。由于一种特殊的机缘，只有我才能把这个故事写出来，因为唯独我洞悉这件事情的始末，除了我谁也不可能写出一篇完整、动人的故事来。 下面就来讲讲我是怎样知道这些详情细节的。 一八四七年三月十二日，我在拉菲特街看到一张黄色的巨幅广告，广告宣称将拍卖家具和大量珍玩。这次拍卖是在物主死后举行的。广告上没有提到死者的姓名，只是说拍卖将于十六日中午十二点到下午五点在昂坦街九号举行。 广告上还附带通知，大家可以在十三日和十四日两天参观住宅和家具。 我向来是个珍玩爱好者。我心想，这一回可不能坐失良机，即使不买，也要去看看。 第二天，我就到昂坦街九号去了。 时间还早，可是房子里已经有参观的人了，甚至还有女人。虽然这些女宾穿的是天鹅绒服装，披的是开司米披肩，大门口还有华丽的四轮轿式马车在恭候，却都带着惊讶、甚至赞赏的眼神注视着展现在她们眼前的豪华陈设。 不久，我就懂得了她们赞赏和惊讶的原因了。我也向四周打量了一番，很快就看出了我正置身于一个高级妓女①的房间里。然而上流社会的女人——这里正有一些上流社会的女人——想看看的也就是这种女人的闺房。这种女人的穿着打扮往往使这些贵妇人相形见绌；这种女人在大歌剧院和意大利人歌剧院里，也像她们一样，拥有自己的包厢，并且就和她们并肩而坐；这种女人恬不知耻地在巴黎街头卖弄她们的姿色，炫耀她们的珠宝，播扬她们的“风流韵事”。 ①原文是指“由情人供养的女人”。 这个住宅里的妓女已经死了，因此现在连最最贞洁的女人都可以进入她的卧室。死亡已经净化了这个富丽而淫秽的场所的空气。再说，如果有必要，她们可以推托是为了拍卖才来的，根本不知道这是什么样的人家。她们看到了广告，想来见识一下广告上介绍的东西，预先挑选一番，没有比这更平常的事了；而这并不妨碍她们从这一切精致的陈设里面去探索这个妓女的生活痕迹。她们想必早就听到过一些有关妓女的非常离奇的故事。 不幸的是，那些神秘的事情已经随着这个绝代佳人一起 消逝了。不管这些贵妇人心里的期望有多大，她们也只能对着死者身后要拍卖的东西啧啧称羡，却一点也看不出这个女房客在世时所操的神女生涯的痕迹。 不过，可以买的东西还真不少。房间陈设富丽堂皇，布尔①雕刻的和玫瑰木②的家具、塞弗尔③和中国的花瓶、萨克森④的小塑像、绸缎、天鹅绒和花边绣品；真是目不暇接，应有尽有。 我跟着那些比我先来的好奇的名媛淑女在住宅里漫步溜达。她们走进了一间张挂着波斯帷幕的房间，我正要跟着进去的当儿，她们却几乎马上笑着退了出来，仿佛对这次新的猎奇感到害臊，我倒反而更想进去看个究竟。原来这是一个梳妆间，里面摆满各种精致的梳妆用品，从这些用品里似乎可以看出死者生前的穷奢极侈。 靠墙放着一张三尺宽、六尺长的大桌子，奥科克和奥迪奥⑤制造的各种各样的珍宝在桌子上闪闪发光，真是琳琅满目，美不胜收。这上千件小玩意儿对于我们来参观的这家女主人来说，是梳妆打扮的必备之物，而且没有一件不是用黄金或者白银制成的。然而这一大堆物品只能是逐件逐件收罗起来的，而且也不可能是某个情夫一人所能办齐的。 ①布尔（１６４２—１７３２）：法国有名的乌木雕刻家，擅长在木制家具上精工镶嵌。 ②玫瑰木产于巴西，因有玫瑰香味而得名。 ③塞弗尔：法国城市，有名的瓷器工业中心。 ④萨克森：德国一地区，瓷器工业中心。 ⑤奥科克和奥迪奥：十八、十九世纪时巴黎有名的金银器皿制造匠。奥科克擅长帝国风格，他最著名的作品有法国银行的茶炊和罗马王的摇篮。 我看到了一个妓女的梳妆间倒没有厌恶的心情，不管是什么东西，我都饶有兴趣地细细鉴赏一番。我发现所有这些雕刻精湛的用具上都镌刻着各种不同的人名首字母和五花八门的纹章①标记。 ①当时的贵族，多将其纹章镌刻于家用器物上，作为标记。 我瞧着所有这些东西，每一件都使我联想到那个可怜的姑娘的一次肉体买卖。我心想，天主对她尚算仁慈，没有让她遭受通常的那种惩罚，而是让她在晚年之前，带着她那花容月貌，死在穷奢极侈的豪华生活之中。对这些妓女来说，衰老就是她们的第一次死亡。 的确，还有什么比放荡生活的晚年——尤其是女人的放荡生活的晚年——更悲惨的呢？这种晚年没有一点点尊严，引不起别人的丝毫同情，这种抱恨终生的心情是我们所能听到的最悲惨的事情，因为她们并不是追悔过去的失足，而是悔恨错打了算盘，滥用了金钱。我认识一位曾经风流一时的老妇人，过去生活遗留给她的只有一个女儿。据她同时代的人说，她女儿几乎同她母亲年轻时长得一样美丽。她母亲从来没对这可怜的孩子说过一句“你是我的女儿”，只是要她养老，就像她自己曾经把她从小养到大一样。这个可怜的小姑娘名叫路易丝。她违心地顺从了母亲的旨意，既无情欲又无乐趣地委身于人，就像是有人想要她去学一种职业，她就去从事这种职业一样。 长时期来耳濡目染的都是荒淫无耻的堕落生活，而且是从早年就开始了的堕落生活，加上这个女孩子长期来孱弱多病，抑制了她脑子里分辨是非的才智，这种才智天主可能也曾赋予她，但是从来没有人想到过要去让它得到施展。 我永远也忘不了这个年轻的姑娘，她每天几乎总是在同一时刻走过大街。她的母亲每时每刻都陪着她，就像一个真正的母亲陪伴她真正的女儿那般形影不离。那时候我还年轻，很容易沾染上那个时代道德观念淡薄的社会风尚，但是我还记得，一看到这种丑恶的监视行为，我从心底里感到轻蔑和厌恶。 没有一张处女的脸上会流露出这样一种天真无邪的感情和这样一种忧郁苦恼的表情。 这张脸就像委屈女郎①的头像一样。 ①委屈女郎：指巴黎圣厄斯塔什教堂里一座大理石雕成的神情哀怨的妇女头像。 一天，这个姑娘的脸突然变得容光焕发。在她母亲替她一手安排的堕落生涯里，天主似乎赐给了这个女罪人一点幸福。毕竟，天主已经赋予了她懦弱的性格，那么在她承受痛苦生活的重压的时候，为什么就不能给她一点安慰呢？这一天，她发觉自己怀孕了，她身上还残存的那么一点纯洁的思想，使她开心得全身哆嗦。人的灵魂有它不可理解的寄托。路易丝急忙去把那个使她欣喜若狂的发现告诉她母亲。说起来也使人感到羞耻。但是，我们并不是在这里随意编造什么风流韵事，而是在讲一件真人真事。这种事，如果我们认为没有必要经常把这些女人的苦难公诸于世，那也许还是索性闭口不谈为好。人们谴责这种女人而又不听她们的申诉，人们蔑视她们而又不公正地评价她们，我们说这是可耻的。可是那位母亲答复女儿说，她们两个人生活已经不容易了，三个人的日子就更难过了；再说，这样的孩子还是没有的好，而且大着肚子不做买卖也是浪费时间。 第二天，有一位助产婆——我们姑且把她当作那位母亲的一个朋友——来看望路易丝。路易丝在床上躺了几天，后来下床了，但脸色比过去更苍白，身体比过去更虚弱。 三个月以后，有一个男人出于怜悯，设法医治她身心的创伤，但是那次的打击太厉害了，路易丝终究还是因为流产的后遗症而死了。 那母亲仍旧活着，生活得怎么样？天知道！ 当我凝视着这些金银器皿的时候，这个故事就浮现在我的脑海之中。时光似乎随着我的沉思默想已悄然逝去，屋子里只剩下我和一个看守人，他正站在门口严密地监视着我是不是在偷东西。 我走到这位看守人跟前，他已被我搞得心神不定了。 “先生，”我对他说，“您可以把原来住在这里的房客的姓名告诉我吗？” “玛格丽特·戈蒂埃小姐。” 我知道这位姑娘的名字，也见到过她。 “怎么！”我对看守人说，“玛格丽特·戈蒂埃死了吗？” （满分网） “是呀，先生。” “什么时候死的？” “有三个星期了吧。” “那为什么让人来参观她的住宅呢？” “债权人认为这样做可以抬高价钱。您知道，让大家预先看看这些织物和家具，这样可以招徕顾客。” “那么说，她还欠着债？” “哦，先生，她欠了好多哪！” “卖下来的钱大概可以付清了吧？” “还有得剩。” “那么，剩下来的钱给谁呢？” “给她家属。” “她还有家？” “好像有。” “谢谢您，先生。” 看守人摸清了我的来意后感到放心了，对我行了一个礼，我就走了出来。 “可怜的姑娘！”我在回家的时候心里想，“她一定死得很惨，因为在她这种生活圈子里，只有身体健康才会有朋友。” 我不由自主地对玛格丽特的命运产生了怜悯的心情。 很多人对此可能会觉得可笑，但是我对烟花女子总是无限宽容的，甚至也不想为这种宽容态度与人争辩。 一天，在我去警察局领取护照的时候，瞥见邻街有两个警察要押走一个姑娘。我不知道这个姑娘犯了什么罪，只见她痛哭流涕地抱着一个才几个月大的孩子亲吻，因为她被捕后，母子就要骨肉分离。从这一天起，我就再也不轻易地蔑视一个女人了。

Chapter 2 THE sale was due to be held on the 16th. An interval of one day had been left between the viewing and the sale in order to give the upholsterers enough time to take down the hangings, curtains and so forth. I was at that time recently returned from my travels. It was quite natural that no one had told me about Marguerite's death, for it was hardly one of those momentous news-items which friends always rush to tell anybody who has just got back to the capital city of News. Marguerite had been pretty, but the greater the commotion that attends the sensational lives of these women, the smaller the stir once they are dead. They are like those dull suns which set as they have risen: they are unremarkable. News of their death, when they die young, reaches all their lovers at the same instant, for in Paris the lovers of any celebrated courtesan see each other every day. A few reminiscences are exchanged about her, and the lives of all and sundry continue as before without so much as a tear. For a young man of twenty-five nowadays, tears have become so rare a thing that they are not to be wasted on the first girl who comes along. The most that may be expected is that the parents and relatives who pay for the privilege of being wept for are indeed mourned to the extent of their investment. For my own part, though my monogram figured on none of Marguerite's dressing-cases, the instinctive forbearance and natural pity to which I have just admitted led me to dwell on her death for much longer than it perhaps warranted. I recalled having come across Marguerite very frequently on the Champs-Elysees, where she appeared assiduously each day in a small blue brougham drawn by two magnificent bays, and I remembered having also remarked in her at that time an air of distinction rare in women of her kind and which was further enhanced by her truly exceptional beauty. When these unfortunate creatures appear in public, they are invariably escorted by some companion or other. Since no man would ever consent to flaunt by day the predilection he has for them by night, and because they abhor solitude, they are usually attended either by less fortunate associates who have no carriages of their own, or else by elderly ladies of refinement who are not the least refined and to whom an interested party may apply without fear, should any information be required concerning the woman they are escorting. It was not so with Marguerite. She always appeared alone on the Champs- Elysees, riding in her own carriage where she sat as unobtrusively as possible, enveloped on winter days in a large Indian shawl and, in summer, wearing the simplest dresses. And though there were many she knew along her favourite route, when she chanced to smile at them, her smile was visible to them alone. A Duchess could have smiled no differently. She did not ride from the Rond- Point down to the entrance, to the Champs-Elysees as do ?and did ?all her sort. Her two horses whisked her off smartly to the Bois de Boulogne. There she alighted, walked for an hour, rejoined her brougham and returned home at a fast trot. These circumstances, which I had occasionally observed for myself, now came back to me and I sorrowed for this girl's death much as one might regret the total destruction of a beautiful work of art. For it was impossible to behold beauty more captivating than Marguerite's. Tall and slender almost to a fault, she possessed in the highest degree the art of concealing this oversight of nature simply by the way she arranged the clothes she wore. Her Indian shawl, with its point reaching down to the ground, gave free movement on either side to the flounced panels of her silk dress, while the thick muff, which hid her hands and which she kept pressed to her bosom, was encompassed by folds so skillfully managed that even the most demanding eye would have found nothing wanting in the lines of her figure. Her face, a marvel, was the object of her most fastidious attentions. It was quite small and, as Musset might have said, her mother had surely made it so to ensure it was fashioned with care. （满分网） Upon an oval of indescribable loveliness, place two dark eyes beneath brows so cleanly arched that they might have been painted on; veil those eyes with lashes so long that, when lowered, they cast shadows over the pink flush of the cheeks; sketch a delicate, straight, spirited nose and nostrils slightly flared in a passionate aspiration towards sensuality; draw a regular mouth with lips parting gracefully over teeth as white as milk; tint the skin with the bloom of peaches which no hand has touched ?and you will have a comprehensive picture of her entrancing face. Her jet-black hair, naturally or artfully waved, was parted over her forehead in two thick coils which vanished behind her head, just exposing the lobes of her ears from which hung two diamonds each worth four or five thousand francs. Exactly how the torrid life she led could possibly have left on Marguerite's face the virginal, even childlike expression which made it distinctive, is something which we are forced to record as a fact which we cannot comprehend. Marguerite possessed a marvelous portrait of herself by Vidal, the only man whose pencil strokes could capture her to the life. After her death, this portrait came into my keeping for a few days and the likeness was so striking that it has helped me to furnish details for which memory alone might not have sufficed. Some of the particulars contained in the present chapter did not become known to me until some time later, but I set them down here so as not to have to return to them once the narrative account of this woman's life has begun. Marguerite was present at all first nights and spent each evening in the theatre or at the ball. Whenever a new play was performed, you could be sure of seeing her there with three things which she always had with her and which always occupied the ledge of her box in the stalls: her opera- glasses, a box of sweets and a bunch of camellias. For twenty-five days in every month the camellias were white, and for five they were red. No one ever knew the reason for this variation in colour which I mention but cannot explain, and which those who frequented the theatres where she was seen most often, and her friends too, had noticed as I had. Marguerite had never been seen with any flowers but camellias. Because of this, her florist, Madame Barjon, had finally taken to calling her the Lady of the Camellias, and the name had remained with her. Like all who move in certain social circles in Paris, I knew further that Marguerite had been the mistress of the most fashionable young men, that she admitted the fact openly, and that they themselves boasted of it. Which only went to show that loves and mistress were well pleased with each other. However, for some three years previously, ever since a visit she had made to Bagneres, she was said to be living with just one man, an elderly foreign duke who was fabulously wealthy and had attempted to detach her as far as possible form her old life. This she seems to have been happy enough to go along with. Here is what I have been told of the matter. In the spring of 1842, Marguerite was so weak, so altered in her looks, that the doctors had ordered her to take the waters. She accordingly set out for Bagneres. Among the other sufferers there, was the Duke's daughter who not only had the same complaint but a face so like Marguerite's that they could have been taken for sisters. The fact was that the young Duchess was in the tertiary stage of consumption and, only days after Marguerite's arrival, she succumbed. One morning the Duke, who had remained at Bagneres just as people will remain on ground where a piece of their heart lies buried, caught sight of Marguerite as she turned a corner of a gravel walk. It seemed as though he was seeing the spirit of his dead child and, going up to her, he took both her hands, embraced her tearfully and, without asking who she was, begged leave to call on her and to love in her person the living image of his dead daughter. Marguerite, alone at Bagneres with her maid, and in any case having nothing to lose by compromising herself, granted the Duke what he asked. Now there were a number of people at Bagneres who knew her, and they made a point of calling on the Duke to inform him of Mademoiselle Gautier's true situation. It was a terrible blow for the old man, for any resemblance with his daughter stopped there. But it was too late. The young woman had become an emotional necessity, his only pretext and his sole reason for living. He did not reproach her, he had no right to, but he did ask her if she felt that she could change her way of life, and, in exchange for this sacrifice, offered all the compensations she could want. She agreed. It should be said that at this juncture Marguerite, who was by nature somewhat highly strung, was seriously ill. Her past appeared to her to be one of the major causes of her illness, and a kind of superstition led her to hope that God would allow her to keep her beauty and her health in exchange for her repentance and conversion. And indeed the waters, the walks, healthy fatigue and sleep had almost restored her fully by the end of that summer. The Duke accompanied Marguerite to Paris, where he continued to call on her as at Bagneres. This liaison, of which the true origin and true motive were known to no one, gave rise here to a great deal of talk, since the Duke, known hitherto as an enormously wealthy man, now began to acquire a name for the prodigality. （满分网） The relationship between the old Duke and the young woman was put down to the salacity which is frequently found in rich old men. People imagined all manner of things, except the truth. The truth was that the affection of this father for Marguerite was a feeling so chaste, that anything more than a closeness of hearts would have seemed incestuous in his eyes. Never once had he said a single word to her that his daughter could not have heard. The last thing we wish is to make our heroine seem anything other than what she was. We shall say therefore that, as long as she remained at Bagneres, the promise given to the Duke had not been difficult to keep, and she had kept it. But once she was back in Paris, it seemed to her, accustomed as she was to a life of dissipation, balls and even orgies, that her new-found solitude, broken only by the periodic visits of the Duke, would make her die of boredom, and the scorching winds of her former life blew hot on both her head and her heart. Add to this that Marguerite had returned from her travels more beautiful than she had ever been, that she was twenty years old and that her illness, subdued but far from conquered, continued to stir in her those feverish desires which are almost invariably a result of consumptive disorders. The Duke was therefore sadly grieved the day his friends, constantly on the watch for scandalous indiscretions on the part of the young woman with whom he was, they said, compromising himself, called to inform him, indeed to prove to him that at those times when she could count on his not appearing, she was in the habit of receiving other visitors, and that these visitors often stayed until the following morning. When the Duke questioned her, Marguerite admitted everything, and, without a second thought, advised him not to concern himself with her any more, saying she did not have the strength to keep faith with the pledges she had given, and adding that she had no wish to go on receiving the liberalities of a man whom she was deceiving. The Duke stayed away for a week, but this was as long as he could manage. One week later to the day, he came and implored Marguerite to take him back, promising to accept her as she was, provided that he could see her, and swearing that he would die before he uttered a single word of reproach. This was how things stood three months after Marguerite's return, that is, in November or December 1842. 第二章 拍卖定于十六日举行。 在参观和拍卖之间有一天空隙时间，这是留给地毯商拆卸帷幔、壁毯等墙上饰物用的。 那时候，我正好从外地旅游归来。当一个人回到消息灵通的首都时，别人总是要告诉他一些重要新闻的。但是没有人把玛格丽特的去世当作什么大事情来对我讲，这也是很自然的。玛格丽特长得很漂亮，但是，这些女人生前考究的生活越是闹得满城风雨，她们死后也就越是无声无息。她们就像某些星辰，陨落时和初升时一样黯淡无光。如果她们年纪轻轻就死了，那么她们所有的情人都会同时得到消息；因为在巴黎，一位名妓的所有情人彼此几乎都是密友。大家会相互回忆几件有关她过去的逸事，然后各人将依然故我，丝毫不受这事的影响，甚至谁也不会因此而掉一滴眼泪。 如今，人们到了二十五岁这年纪，眼泪就变得非常珍贵，决不能轻易乱流，充其量只对为他们花费过金钱的双亲才哭上几声，作为对过去为他们破费的报答。 而我呢，虽然玛格丽特任何一件用品上都没有我姓名的开头字母，可是我刚才承认过的那种出于本能的宽容和那种天生的怜悯，使我对她的死久久不能忘怀，虽说她也许并不值得我如此想念。 记得我过去经常在香榭丽舍大街遇到玛格丽特，她坐着一辆由两匹栗色骏马驾着的蓝色四轮轿式小马车，每天一准来到那儿。她身上有一种不同于她那一类人的气质，而她那风致韵绝的姿色，又更衬托出了这种气质的与众不同。 这些不幸的人儿出门的时候，身边总是有个什么人陪着的。 因为没有一个男人愿意把他们和这种女人的暧昧关系公开化，而她们又不堪寂寞，因此总是随身带着女伴。这些陪客有些是因为境况不如她们，自己没有车子；有些是怎么打扮也好看不了的老妇人。如果有人要想知道她们陪同的那位马车女主人的任何私情秘事，那么尽可以放心大胆地向她们去请教。 玛格丽特却不落窠臼，她总是独个儿坐车到香榭丽舍大街去，尽量不招人注意。她冬天裹着一条开司米大披肩，夏天穿着十分淡雅的长裙。在这条她喜欢散步的大道上尽管有很多熟人，她偶尔也对他们微微一笑，但这是一种只有公爵夫人才有的微笑，而且也唯有他们自己才能觉察。 她也不像她所有那些同行一样，习惯在圆形广场和香榭丽舍大街街口之间散步，她的两匹马飞快地把她拉到郊外的布洛涅树林①，她在那里下车，漫步一个小时，然后重新登上马车，疾驰回家。 ①布洛涅树林：在巴黎近郊，是当时上流社会人物的游乐胜地。 所有这些我亲眼目睹的情景至今还历历在目，我很惋惜这位姑娘的早逝，就像人们惋惜一件精美的艺术品被毁掉了一样。 的确，玛格丽特可真是个绝色女子。 她身材颀长苗条稍许过了点分，可她有一种非凡的才能，只要在穿着上稍稍花些功夫，就把这种造化的疏忽给掩饰过去了。她披着长可及地的开司米大披肩，两边露出绸子长裙的宽阔的镶边，她那紧贴在胸前藏手用的厚厚的暖手笼四周的褶裥都做得十分精巧，因此无论用什么挑剔的眼光来看，线条都是无可指摘的。 她的头样很美，是一件绝妙的珍品，它长得小巧玲珑，就像缪塞①所说的那样，她母亲好像是有意让它生得这么小巧，以便把它精心雕琢一番。 ①缪塞（１８１０—１８５７）：法国浪漫主义诗人和戏剧家。 在一张流露着难以描绘其风韵的鹅蛋脸上，嵌着两只乌黑的大眼睛，上面两道弯弯细长的眉毛，纯净得犹如人工画就的一般，眼睛上盖着浓密的睫毛，当眼帘低垂时，给玫瑰色的脸颊投去一抹淡淡的阴影；细巧而挺直的鼻子透出股灵气，鼻翼微鼓，像是对情欲生活的强烈渴望；一张端正的小嘴轮廓分明，柔唇微启，露出一口洁白如奶的牙齿；皮肤颜色就像未经人手触摸过的蜜桃上的绒衣：这些就是这张美丽的脸蛋给您的大致印象。 黑玉色的头发，不知是天然的还是梳理成的，像波浪一样地鬈曲着，在额前分梳成两大绺，一直拖到脑后，露出两个耳垂，耳垂上闪烁着两颗各值四五千法郎的钻石耳环。 玛格丽特过着热情纵欲的生活，但是她的脸上却呈现出处女般的神态，甚至还带着稚气的特征，这真使我们百思而不得其解。 玛格丽特有一幅她自己的画像，是维达尔①的杰作，也唯有他的画笔才能把玛格丽特画得如此惟妙惟肖。在她去世以后，有几天，这幅画在我手里。这幅画画得跟真人一样，它弥补了我记忆力的不足。 ①维达尔（１８１１—１８８７）：法国著名肖像画家，是法国名画家保罗·德拉罗什的学生；善绘当时巴黎上流社会的人士。 这一章里叙述的情节，有些是我后来才知道的，不过我现在就写下来，免得以后开始讲述这个女人的故事时再去重新提起。 每逢首场演出，玛格丽特必定光临。每天晚上，她都在剧场里或舞会上度过。只要有新剧本上演，准可以在剧场里看到她。她随身总带着三件东西：一副望远镜、一袋蜜饯和一束茶花，而且总是放在底层包厢的前栏上。 一个月里有二十五天玛格丽特带的茶花是白的，而另外五天她带的茶花却是红的，谁也摸不透茶花颜色变化的原因是什么，而我也无法解释其中的道理。在她常去的那几个剧院里，那些老观众和她的朋友们都像我一样注意到了这一现象。 除了茶花以外，从来没有人看见过她还带过别的花。因此，在她常去买花的巴尔戎夫人的花店里，有人替她取了一个外号，称她为茶花女，这个外号后来就这样给叫开了。 此外，就像所有生活在巴黎某一个圈子里的人一样，我知道玛格丽特曾经做过一些翩翩少年的情妇，她对此毫不隐讳，那些青年也以此为荣，说明情夫和情妇他们彼此都很满意。 然而，据说有一次从巴涅尔①旅行回来以后，有几乎三年时间她就只跟一个外国老公爵一起过日子了。这位老公爵是个百万富翁，他想尽方法要玛格丽特跟过去的生活一刀两断。而且，看来她也甘心情愿地顺从了。 ①巴涅尔：法国有名的温泉疗养地区。到这里来治病的大多是贫血症患者。 关于这件事别人是这样告诉我的： 一八四二年春天，玛格丽特身体非常虚弱，气色越来越不好，医生嘱咐她到温泉去疗养，她便到巴涅尔去了。 在巴涅尔的病人中间，有一位公爵的女儿，她不仅害着跟玛格丽特同样的病，而且长得跟玛格丽特一模一样，别人甚至会把她们看作是姐妹俩。不过公爵小姐的肺病已经到了第三期，玛格丽特来巴涅尔没几天，公爵小姐便离开了人间。 就像有些人不愿意离开埋葬着亲人的地方一样，公爵在女儿去世后仍旧留在巴涅尔。一天早上，公爵在一条小路的拐角处遇见了玛格丽特。 他仿佛看到他女儿的影子在眼前掠过，便上前拉住了她的手，老泪纵横地搂着她，甚至也不问问清楚她究竟是谁，就恳求她允许他去探望她，允许他像爱自己去世的女儿的替身那样爱她。 和玛格丽特一起到巴涅尔去的只有她的侍女，再说她也不怕名声会受到什么损害，就同意了公爵的请求。（满分网） 在巴涅尔也有一些人认识玛格丽特，他们专诚拜访公爵，将戈蒂埃小姐的社会地位据实相告。这对这个老年人来说，是一个沉重的打击，因为这一下就再也谈不上他女儿与玛格丽特还有什么相似之处了，但为时已晚，这个少妇已经成了他精神上的安慰，简直成了他赖以生存下去的唯一的借口和托词。 他丝毫没有责备玛格丽特，他也没有权利责备她，但是他对玛格丽特说，如果她觉得可以改变一下她那种生活方式的话，那么作为她的这种牺牲的交换条件，他愿意提供她所需要的全部补偿。玛格丽特答应了。 必须说明的是，生性热情的玛格丽特当时正在病中，她认为过去的生活似乎是她害病的一个主要原因。出于一种迷信的想法，她希望天主会因为她的改悔和皈依而把美貌和健康留给她。 果然，到夏末秋初的时候，由于洗温泉澡、散步、自然的体力消耗和正常的睡眠，她几乎已恢复了健康。 公爵陪同玛格丽特回到了巴黎，他还是像在巴涅尔一样，经常来探望她。 他们这种关系，别人既不知道真正的缘由，也不知道确切的动机，所以在巴黎引起了很大的轰动。因为公爵曾以他的万贯家财而著称，现在又以挥霍无度而闻名了。 大家把老公爵和玛格丽特的亲密关系归之于老年人贪淫好色，这是有钱的老头儿常犯的毛病，人们对他们的关系有各种各样的猜测，就是未猜到真情。 其实这位父亲对玛格丽特产生这样的感情，原因十分纯洁，除了跟她有心灵上的交往之外，任何其他关系在公爵看来都意味着乱伦。他始终没有对她讲过一句不适宜给女儿听的话。 我们对我们的女主人公除了如实描写，根本没想要把她写成别的样子。我们只是说，当玛格丽特待在巴涅尔的时候，她还是能够遵守对公爵许下的诺言的，她也是遵守了的；但是一旦返回巴黎，这个惯于挥霍享乐、喝酒跳舞的姑娘似乎就耐不住了，这种唯有老公爵定期来访才可以解解闷的孤寂生活使她觉得百无聊赖，无以排遣，过去生活的热辣辣的气息一下子涌上了她的脑海和心头。 而且玛格丽特从这次旅行回来以后显得从未有过的妩媚娇艳，她正当二十妙龄，她的病看起来已大有起色，但实际上并未根除，因此激起了她狂热的情欲，这种情欲往往也就是肺病的症状。 公爵的朋友们总是说公爵和玛格丽特在一起有损公爵的名誉，他们不断地监视她的行动，想抓住她行为不端的证据。一天，他们来告诉公爵，并向他证实，玛格丽特在拿准公爵不会去看她的时候，接待了别人，而且这种接待往往一直要延续到第二天。公爵知道后心里非常痛苦。 玛格丽特在受到公爵盘问的时候承认了一切，还坦率地劝告他以后不要再关心她了，因为她觉得自己已没有力量信守诺言，她也不愿意再接受一个被她欺骗的男人的好意了。 公爵有一个星期没有露面，他也只能做到这个地步。到了第八天，他就来恳求玛格丽特还是像过去一样跟他来往，只要能够见到玛格丽特，公爵同意完全让她自由行动，还向她发誓说，即使要了他的命，他也决不再说一句责备她的话。 这就是玛格丽特回到巴黎三个月以后，也就是一八四二年十一月或者十二月里的情况。

Chapter 3 All the famous names from the world of fashionable vice were there. They were being slyly observed by a number of society ladies who had again used the sale as a pretext for claiming the right to see, at close quarters, women in whose company they would not otherwise have had occasion to find themselves, and whose easy pleasures they perhaps secretly envied. The Duchesse de F rubbed shoulders with Mademoiselle A, one of sorriest specimens of our modern courtesans; the Marquise de T shrank from buying an item of furniture for which the bidding was led by Madame D, the most elegant and most celebrated adulteress of our age; the Duc d'Y, who is believed in Madrid to be ruining himself in Paris, and in Paris to be ruining himself in Madrid, and who, when all is said and done, cannot even spend all his income, while continuing to chat with Madame M, one of our wittiest tale-tellers, who occasionally agrees to write down what she says and to sign what she writes, was exchanging confidential glances with Madame de N, the beauty who may be regularly seen driving on the Champs-Elysees, dressed almost invariably in pink or blue, in a carriage drawn by two large black horses sold to her by Tony for ten thousand francs...and paid for in full; lastly, Mademoiselle R, who by sheer talent makes twice what ladies of fashion make with their dowries, and three times as much as what the rest make out of their love affairs, had come in spite of the cold to make a few purchases, and it was not she who attracted the fewest eyes. We could go on quoting the initials of many of those who had gathered in that drawing room and who were not a little astonished at the company they kept; but we should, we fear, weary the reader. Suffice it to say that everyone was in the highest spirits and that, of all the women there, many had known the dead girl and gave no sign that they remembered her. There was much loud laughter; the auctioneers shouted at the tops of their voices; the dealers who had crowded on to the benches placed in front of the auction tables called vainly for silence in which to conduct their business in peace. Never was a gathering more varied and more uproarious. I slipped unobtrusively into the middle of the distressing tumult, saddened to think that all this was taking place next to the very room where the unfortunate creature whose furniture was being sold up to pay her debts, had breathed her last. Having come to observe rather than to buy, I watched the faces of the tradesmen who had forced the sale and whose features lit up each time an item reached a price they had never dared hope for. Honest, men all, who had speculated in the prostitution of this woman, had obtained a one hundred per cent return on her, had dogged the last moments of her life with writs, and came after she was dead to claim both the fruits of their honourable calculations and the interest accruing on the shameful credit they had given her. How right were the Ancients who had one God for merchants and thieves! Dresses, Indian shawls, jewels, came under the hammer at an unbelievable rate. None of it took my fancy, and I waited on. Suddenly I heard a voice shout: 'A book fully bound, gilt-edges, entitled: Manon Lescaut. There's something written on the first page: ten francs. ' 'Twelve, ' said a voice, after a longish silence. 'Fifteen, ' I said. Why? I had no idea. No doubt for that 'something written'. 'Fifteen, ' repeated the auctioneer. 'Thirty, ' said the first bidder, in a tone which seemed to defy anybody to go higher. It was becoming a fight. 'Thirty-five!' I cried, in the same tone of voice. 'Forty.' 'Fifty.' 'Sixty.' 'A hundred.' I confess that if I had set out to cause a stir, I would have succeeded completely, for my last bid was followed by a great silence, and people stared at me to see who this man was who seemed so intent on possessing the volume. Apparently the tone in which I had made my latest bid was enough for my opponent: he chose therefore to abandon a struggle which would have served only to cost me ten times what the book was worth and, with a bow, he said very graciously but a little late: 'It's yours, sir.' No other bids were forthcoming, and the book was knocked down to me. Since I feared a new onset of obstinacy which my vanity might conceivably have borne but which would have assuredly proved too much for my purse, I gave my name, asked for the volume to be put aside and left by the stairs. I must have greatly intrigued the onlookers who, having witnessed this scene, doubtless wondered why on earth I had gone there to pay a hundred francs for a book that I could have got anywhere for ten or fifteen at most. An hour later, I had sent round for my purchase. On the first page, written in ink in an elegant hand, was the dedication of the person who had given the book. This dedication consisted simply of these words: 'Manon to Marguerite, Humility.' It was signed: Armand Duval. What did this word 'Humility' mean? Was it that Manon, in the opinion of this Monsieur Armand Duval, acknowledged Marguerite as her superior in debauchery or in true love? The second interpretation seemed the more likely, for the first was impertinently frank, and Marguerite could never have accepted it, whatever opinion she had of herself. I went out again and thought no more of the book until that night, when I retired to bed. Manon Lescaut is a truly touching story every detail of which is familiar to me and yet, whenever I hold a copy in my hand, an instinctive feeling for it draws me on. I open it and for the hundredth time I live again with the abbe Prevost's heroine. Now, his heroine is so lifelike that I feel that I have met her. In my new circumstances, the kind of comparison drawn between her and Marguerite added an unexpected edge to my reading, and my forbearance was swelled with pity, almost love, for the poor girl, the disposal of whose estate I could thank for possessing the volume. Manon died in a desert, it is true, but in the terms of the man who loved her with all the strength of his soul and who, when she was dead, dug a grave for her, watered it with his tears and buried his heart with her; whereas Marguerite, a sinner like Manon, and perhaps as truly converted as she, had died surrounded by fabulous luxury, if I could believe what I had seen, on the bed of her own past, but no less lost in the desert of the heart which is much more arid, much vaster and far more pitiless than the one in which Manon had been interred. Indeed Marguerite, as I had learned from friends informed of the circumstances of her final moments, had seen no true consolation settle at her bedside during the two months when she lay slowly and painfully dying. Then, from Manon and Marguerite, my thoughts turned to those women whom I knew and whom I could see rushing gaily towards the same almost invariable death. Poor creatures! If it is wrong to love them, the least one can do is to pity them. You pity the blind man who has never seen the light of day, the deaf man who has never heard the harmonies of nature, the mute who has never found a voice for his soul, and yet, under the specious pretext of decency, you will not pity that blindness of heart, deafness of soul and dumbness of conscience which turn the brains of poor, desperate women and prevent them, despite themselves, from seeing goodness, hearing the Lord and speaking the pure language of love and religion. Hugo wrote Marion Delorme, Musset wrote Bernerette, Alexandre Dumas wrote Fernande. Thinkers and poets throughout the ages have offered the courtesan the oblation of their mercy and, on occasion, some great man has brought them back to the fold through the gift of his love and even his name. If I dwell on this point, it is because among those who will read these pages, many may already be about to throw down a book in which they fear they will see nothing but an apology for vice and prostitution, and doubtless the youth of the present author is a contributing factor in providing grounds for their fears. Let those who are of such a mind be undeceived. Let them read on, if such fears alone gave them pause. I am quite simply persuaded of a principle which states that: To any woman whose education has not imparted knowledge of goodness, God almost invariably opens up two paths which will lead her back to it; these paths are suffering and love. They are rocky paths; women who follow them will cut their feet and graze their hands, but will at the same time leave the gaudy rags of vice hanging on the briars which line the road, and shall reach their journey's end in that naked state for which no one need feel shame in the sight of the Lord. Any who encounter these brave wayfarers are duty bound to comfort them and to say to all the world that they have encountered them, for by proclaiming the news they show the way. It is not a simple matter of erecting two signposts at the gateway to life, one bearing the inscription: 'The Way of Goodness' and the other carrying this warning: ' The way of evil', and of saying to those who come: 'Choose! ' Each of us, like Christ himself, must point to those paths which will redirect from the second way to the first the steps of those who have allowed themselves to be tempted by the approach roads; and above all let not the beginning of these paths be too painful, nor appear too difficult of access. Christianity is ever-present, with its wonderful parable of the prodigal son, to urge us to counsels of forbearance and forgiveness. Jesus was full of love for souls of women wounded by the passions of men, and He loved to bind their wounds, drawing from those same wounds the balm which would heal them. Thus he said to Mary Magdalene: ' Your sins, which are many, shall be forgiven, because you loved much' ?a sublime pardon which was to awaken a sublime faith. Why should we judge more strictly than Christ? Why, clinging stubbornly to the opinions of the world which waxes hard so that we shall think it strong, why should we too turn away souls that bleed from wounds oozing with the evil of their past, like infected blood from a sick body, as they wait only for a friendly hand to bind them up and restore them to a convalescent heart? It is to my generation that I speak, to those for whom the theories of Monsieur de Voltaire are, happily, defunct, to those who, like myself, can see that humanity has, these fifteen years past, been engaged in one of its boldest leaps forward. The knowledge of good and evil is ours forever; religion is rebuilding, the respect for holy things has been restored to us, and, if the world is not yet wholly good, then at least it is becoming better. The efforts of all intelligent men tend to the same goal, and all those firm in purpose are yoked to the same principle: let us be good, let us be young, let us be true! Evil is but vanity: let us take pride in Goodness and, above all, let us not despair. Let us not scorn the woman who is neither mother nor sister nor daughter nor wife. Let us not limit respect to the family alone nor reduce forbearance to mere egoism. Since there is more rejoicing in heaven for the repentance of one sinner than for a hundred just men who have never sinned, let us try to give heaven cause to rejoice. Heaven may repay us with interest. Let us leave along our way the charity of our forgiveness for those whom earthly desires have brought low, who shall perhaps be saved by hope in heaven and, as wise old dames say when they prescribe remedies of their own making, if it dies no good then at least it can do no harm. In truth, it must seem very forward of me to seek to derive such great results from the slender subject which I treat; but I am of those who believe that the whole is in the part. The child is small, and yet he is father to the man; the brain is cramped, and yet it is the seat of thought; the eye is but a point, yet it encompasses leagues of space. 第三章 十六日下午一点钟，我到昂坦街去了。 在大门口就能听到拍卖估价人的喊叫声。 房间里挤满了好奇的人。 所有花街柳巷的名媛都到场了，有几个贵妇人在偷偷打量她们。这一次她们又可以借着参加拍卖的名义，仔细瞧瞧那些她们从来没有机会与之共同相处的女人，也许她们私下还在暗暗羡慕这些女人自由放荡的享乐生活呢。 F公爵夫人的胳膊撞上了A小姐；A小姐是当今妓女圈子里一位典型的薄命红颜；T侯爵夫人正在犹豫要不要把D夫人一个劲儿在抬价的那件家具买下来；D夫人是当代最风流最有名的荡妇。那位Y公爵，在马德里风传他在巴黎破了产，而在巴黎又风传他在马德里破了产，而实际上连每年的年金都没有花完。这会儿他一面在跟M太太聊天，一面却在和N夫人眉来眼去调情。M太太是一位风趣诙谐的讲故事的好手，她常想把自己讲的东西写下来，并签上自己的大名。漂亮的N夫人经常在香榭丽舍大街上散步，穿的衣衫离不了粉红和天蓝两种颜色，有两匹高大的黑色骏马为她驾车，这两匹马，托尼①向她要价一万法郎……她如数照付；最后还有R小姐，她靠自己的才能挣得的地位使那些靠嫁妆的上流社会妇人自愧勿如，那些靠爱情生活的女人更是望尘莫及。她不顾天气寒冷，赶来购买一些东西，也引来了人们的注目。 ①托尼：当时一位著名的马商。 我们还可以举出云集在这间屋里的很多人的姓氏起首字母，他们在这里相遇连他们自己也感到非常惊讶，不过为了不使读者感到厌烦，恕我不再一一介绍。 我必须一提的是，当时大家都兴高采烈。女人中间虽有很多人是死者生前的熟人，但这会儿似乎对死者毫无怀念之情。 大家高声谈笑，拍卖估价人声嘶力竭地大声叫喊。坐满在拍卖桌前板凳上的商人们拼命叫大家安静，好让他们稳稳当当做生意，但谁也不睬他们。像这样各色人等混杂，环境喧闹不堪的集会倒是从未见过。 我默默地混进了这堆纷乱的人群。我在想，这情景发生在这个可怜的女人咽气的卧室近旁，为的是拍卖她的家具来偿付她生前的债务，想到这里，心中不免感到无限惆怅。我与其说是来买东西的，倒不如说是来看热闹的，我望着几个拍卖商的脸，每当一件物品叫到他们意料不到的高价时，他们就喜笑颜开，心花怒放。 那些在这个女人的神女生涯上搞过投机买卖的人，那些在她身上发过大财的人，那些在她弥留之际拿着贴了印花的借据来和她纠缠不休的人，还有那些在她死后就来收取他们冠冕堂皇的帐款和卑鄙可耻的高额利息的人，所有那些人可全都是正人君子哪！ 难怪古人说，商人和盗贼信的是同一个天主，说得何其正确！ 长裙、开司米披肩、首饰，一下子都实完了，快得令人难以置信，可是没有一件东西是我用得着的，我一直在等待。 突然，我听到在喊叫： “精装书一册，装订考究，书边烫金，书名《玛侬·莱斯科》①，扉页上写着几个字，十法郎。” ①《玛侬·莱斯科》：十八世纪法国普莱服神父（１６９７—１７６３）写的一部著名恋爱小说。 有相当长一段时间的冷场，以后，有一个人叫道： “十二法郎。” “十五法郎，”我说。 为什么我要出这个价钱呢？我自己也不清楚，大概是为了那上面写着的几个字吧。 “十五法郎，”拍卖估价人又叫了一次。 “三十法郎，”第一个出价的人又叫了，口气似乎是对别人加价感到恼火。 这下子就变成一场较量了。 “三十五法郎！”我用同样的口气叫道。 “四十法郎！” “五十法郎！” “六十法郎！” “一百法郎！” 我承认如果我是想要引人注意的话，那么我已经完全达到了目的，因为在这一次争着加码的时候，全场鸦雀无声，大家都瞅着我，想看看这位似乎一心要得到这本书的先生究竟是何等样人。 我最后一次叫价的口气似乎把我那位对手给镇住了，他想想还是退出这场角逐的好，这场角逐徒然使我要花十倍于原价的钱去买下这本书。于是，他向我弯了弯腰，非常客气地（尽管迟了些）对我说： “我让了，先生。” 那时也没有别人再抬价，书就归了我。 因为我怕我的自尊心会再一次激起我的倔脾气，而我身边又不宽裕，我请他们记下我的姓名，把书留在一边，就下了楼。那些目击者肯定对我作了种种猜测，他们一准会暗暗思忖，我花一百法郎的高价来买这么一本书究竟是为了什么，这本书到处都可以买到，只要花上十个法郎，至多也不过十五个法郎。 一个小时以后，我派人把我买下的那本书取了回来。 扉页上是赠书人用钢笔写的两行秀丽的字迹： 玛侬对玛格丽特 惭愧 下面的署名是阿尔芒·迪瓦尔。 “惭愧”这两个字用在这里是什么意思？ 根据阿尔芒·迪瓦尔先生的意见，玛侬是不是承认玛格丽特无论在生活放荡方面，还是在内心感情方面，都要比自己更胜一筹？ 第二种在感情方面解释的可能性似乎要大一些，因为第一种解释是唐突无礼的，不管玛格丽特对自己有什么样的看法，她也是不会接受的。 我又出去了，一直到晚上睡觉时，我才想到那本书。 当然，《玛侬·莱斯科》是一个动人的故事，我虽然熟悉故事里每一个情节，可是不论什么时候，只要手头有这本书，我对这本书的感情总是吸引着我，我打开书本，普莱服神父塑造的女主人公似乎又在眼前，这种情况几乎反复一百多次了。这位女主人公给描绘得那么栩栩如生，真切动人，仿佛我真的见过她似的。此时又出现了把玛侬和玛格丽特作比较这种新情况，更增添了这本书对我的意料不到的吸引力。出于对这个可怜的姑娘的怜悯，甚至可以说是喜爱，我对她愈加同情了，这本书就是我从她那里得到的遗物。诚然，玛侬是死在荒凉的沙漠里的，但是她是死在一个真心爱她的情人的怀抱里的。玛侬死后，这个情人为她挖了一个墓穴，他的眼泪洒落在她身上，并且连同他的心也一起埋葬在里面了。而玛格丽特呢，她像玛侬一样是个有罪的人，也有可能像玛侬一样弃邪归正了；但正如我所看到的那样，她是死在富丽豪华的环境里的。她就死在她过去一直睡觉的床上，但在她的心里却是一片空虚，就像被埋葬在沙漠中一样，而且这个沙漠比埋葬玛侬的沙漠更干燥、更荒凉、更无情。 我从几个了解她临终情况的朋友那里听说，玛格丽特在她长达两个月的无比痛苦的病危期间，谁都没有到她床边给过她一点真正的安慰。 我从玛侬和玛格丽特，转而想到了我所认识的那些女人，我看着她们一边唱歌，一边走向那几乎总是千篇一律的最后归宿。 可怜的女人哪！如果说爱她们是一种过错，那么至少也应该同情她们。你们同情见不到阳光的瞎子，同情听不到大自然音响的聋子，同情不能用声音来表达自己思想的哑巴；但是，在一种虚假的所谓廉耻的借口之下，你们却不愿意同情这种心灵上的瞎子，灵魂上的聋子和良心上的哑巴。这些残疾逼得那个不幸的受苦的女人发疯，使她无可奈何地看不到善良，听不到天主的声音，也讲不出爱情、信仰的纯洁的语言。 雨果刻画了玛丽翁·德·萝尔姆；缪塞创作了贝尔娜雷特；大仲马塑造了费尔南特；①各个时期的思想家和诗人都把仁慈的怜悯心奉献给娼家女子。有时候一个伟人挺身而出，用他的爱情、甚至以他的姓氏来为她们恢复名誉。我之所以要再三强调这一点，因为在那些开始看我这本书的读者中间，恐怕有很多人已经准备把这本书抛开了，生怕这是一本专门为邪恶和淫欲辩护的书，而且作者的年龄想必更容易使人产生这种顾虑。希望这些人别这么想，如果仅仅是为了这一点，那还是请继续看下去的好。 ①雨果、缪塞和大仲马都是法国十九世纪著名作家。玛丽翁·德·萝尔姆，贝尔娜雷特和费尔南特这三个人都是他们作品中写到的妓女。 我只信奉一个原则：没有受到过“善”的教育的女子，天主几乎总是向她们指出两条道路，让她们能殊途同归地走到他的跟前：一条是痛苦，一条是爱情。这两条路走起来都十分艰难。那些女人在上面走得两脚流血，两手破裂；但与此同时，她们把罪孽的盛装留在沿途的荆棘上，赤条条地抵达旅途的尽头，而这样全身赤裸地来到天主跟前，是用不着脸红的。 遇到这些勇敢的女旅客的人们都应该帮助她们，并且跟大家说他们曾经遇到过这些女人，因为在宣传这件事情的时候，也就是指出了道路。 要解决这个问题不能简单地在人生道路的入口处竖上两块牌子：一块是告示，写着“善之路”；另一块是警告，写着“恶之路”；并且向那些走来的人说：“选择吧！”而必须像基督那样，向那些受到环境诱惑的人指出从第二条路通往第一条路的途径；尤其是不能让这些途径的开头那一段太险峻，显得太不好走。 基督教关于浪子回头的动人的寓言，目的就是劝告我们对人要仁慈，要宽容。耶稣对那些深受情欲之害的灵魂充满了爱，他喜欢在包扎他们伤口的时候，从伤口本身取出治伤口的香膏敷在伤口上。因此，他对玛特莱娜说：“你将获得宽恕，因为你爱得多①，”这种崇高的宽恕行为自然唤起了一种崇高的信仰。 ①见《圣经·路加福音》第七章，第四十四至四十八节。 为什么我们要比基督严厉呢？这个世界为了要显示它的强大，故作严厉，我们也就顽固地接受了它的成见。为什么我们要和它一样丢弃那些伤口里流着血的灵魂呢？从这些伤口里，像病人渗出污血一样渗出了他们过去的罪恶。这些灵魂在等待着一只友谊的手来包扎他们的伤口，治愈他们心头的创伤。 我这是在向我同时代的人呼吁，向那些伏尔泰先生的理论幸而对之已经不起作用的人们呼吁，向那些像我一样地懂得十五年以来人道主义正在突飞猛进的人呼吁。善恶的学识已经得到公认，信仰又重新建立，我们对神圣的事物又重新开始尊敬。如果还不能说这个世界是十全十美的，至少可以说比以前大有改善。聪明人全都致力于同一个目的，一切伟大的意志都服从于同一个原则：我们要善良，要朝气蓬勃，要真实！邪恶只不过是一种空虚的东西，我们要为行善而感到骄傲，最重要的是，我们千万不要丧失信心。不要轻视那些既不是母亲、姐妹，又不是女儿、妻子的女人。不要减少对亲族的尊重，和对自私的宽容。既然上天对一个忏悔的罪人比对一百个从来没有犯过罪的正直的人更加喜欢，就让我们尽力讨上天的喜欢吧，上天会赐福给我们的。在我们行进的道路上，给那些被人间欲望所断送的人留下我们的宽恕吧，也许一种神圣的希望可以拯救他们，就像那些老婆子在劝人接受她们的治疗方法时所说的：即使没有什么好处，也不会有什么坏处。 当然，我想从细小的论题里面得出伟大的结论，似乎太狂妄、太大胆了。但是，一切都存在于渺小之中，我就是相信这种说法的人。孩子虽然幼小，但他是未来的成人；脑袋虽然狭窄，但它蕴藏着无限的思想；眼珠儿才不过一丁点儿大，它却可以看到广阔的天地。

Chapter 4 TWO days later, the sale was completely over. It had realized one hundred and fifty thousand francs. The creditors had divided two thirds among themselves and the family? a sister and a young nephew ?had inherited the rest. The sister's eyes had opened wide when the agent had written telling her that she had come into fifty thousand francs. It was six or seven years since this young woman had set eyes on her sister who had disappeared one day without anyone ever discovering, either from her or through other people, anything whatsoever about her life from the time of her disappearance. So she had now arrived post-haste in Paris, and great was the astonishment of those who had known Marguerite when they saw that her sole heir was a hearty, good-looking country girl who, up to that moment, had never set foot outside her village. Her fortune had been made at a stroke, without her having the least idea of the source from which it had so unexpectedly materialized. She returned, I have since been told, to her part of the country, bearing away from her sister's death a deep sadness which was, however, eased by an investment at four and a half per cent which she had just made. All these happenings, which had gone the rounds of Paris, the mother town of scandal, were beginning to be forgotten, and I myself was forgetting quite what my part in events had been, when something occurred which led to my becoming acquainted with the whole of Marguerite's life, and put in my way particulars so affecting that I was seized with an urge to write this story and now do so. The apartment, empty now of the furniture which had all been auctioned off, had been to let for three or four days when one morning there was a ring at my door. My servant, or rather the porter who acted as my servant, went to see who it was and brought me a visiting card saying that the person who had handed it to him wished to speak to me. I glanced at the card and there I saw these two words: Armand Duval. I tried to recall where I had seen the name, and then I remembered the fly-leaf of the copy of Manon Lescaut. What could the person who had given the book to Marguerite want with me? I said that the gentleman who was waiting should be shown in at once. The next moment I saw a young man with fair hair, tall, pale, wearing travelling clothes which looked as though hey had not been off his back for several days and which, on his arrival in Paris, he had not even taken the trouble to brush down, for he was covered in dust. Monsieur Duval, deeply agitated, made no attempt to hide his feelings, and it was with tears in his eyes and a trembling in his voice that he said: 'Please excuse my visit and these clothes; not simply because young men do not stand much on ceremony with each other, but because I wanted to see you so badly today that I have not even taken time to stop off at the hotel where I set my luggage, and have rushed straight here, dreading even so, early as it is, that I should miss you.' I begged Monsieur Duval to sit down by the fire, which he did, taking from his pocket a handkerchief with which he momentarily hid his face. 'You must be wondering, ' he resumed with a melancholy sigh, 'what a stranger can want with you at such an hour, dressed in such clothes and weeping like this. I have come quite simply, to ask you a great favour.' 'Say on. I am at your service.' 'Were you present at the Marguerite Gautier auction?' As he said this, the emotion which the young man had held in check was for an instant stronger than he, and he was obliged to put his hands to his eyes. 'I must appear very ridiculous to you, ' he added, 'forgive me this too, and please believe that I shall never forget the patience with which you are good enough to listen.' 'Well, ' I replied, 'if a service which it seems I can do for you will in some small way ease the pain that you feel, tell me at once in what way I can help, and you will find in me a man happy to oblige.' Monsieur Duval's grief was affecting and, even had I felt differently, I should still have wished to be agreeable to him. He then said: 'Did you buy anything at Marguerite's sale?' 'Yes. A book.' 'Manon Lescaut?' 'That's right.' 'Do you still have it?' 'It' s in my bedroom.' At this, Armand Duval looked as though a great weight had been taken from his shoulders, and he thanked me as though I had already begun to render him a service simply by holding on to the volume. I got up, went to fetch the book from my bedroom and handed it to him. 'This is it, ' said he, glancing at the dedication on the first page and riffling through the rest, 'this is it.' And two large tears fell on to the open pages. 'May I ask, ' he said, raising his eyes to me and making no effort now to hide the fact that he had wept and was near to tears once more, 'if you are greatly attached to this book?' 'Why do you ask?' 'Because I have come to ask you to surrender it to me.' 'Forgive my curiosity, ' I said next, 'but it was you, then, who gave it to Marguerite Gautier?' 'It was I.' 'The book is yours. Take it. I am happy to be able to restore it to you.' 'But, ' continued Monsieur Duval with embarrassment, 'the least I can do is to give you what you paid for it.' 'Please take it as a gift. The price fetched by a single volume in a sale like that is a trifle, and I can't even remember how much I gave for it.' 'You gave a hundred francs for it.' 'You are quite right, ' said I, embarrassed in my turn, 'how did you know?' 'Quite simple. I hoped to reach Paris in time for Marguerite's sale, but got back only this morning. I was absolutely determined to have something that had been hers, and I went directly to the auctioneer's to ask if I might inspect the list of items sold and of the buyers' names. I saw that this volume had been bought by you, and I resolved to beg you to let me have it, though the price you paid for it did make me fear that you yourself associated some memory with possession of the book.' In speaking thus, Armand clearly seemed to be afraid that I had known Marguerite in the way that he had known her. I hastened to reassure him. 'I knew Mademoiselle Gautier by sight only, ' I said. 'Her death made the sort of impression on me that the death of any pretty woman he has had pleasure in meeting makes on any young man. I wished to buy something at her sale, and took it into my head to bid for this volume, I don't know why, for the satisfaction of annoying a man who was bent on getting it and seemed determined to prevent it going to me. I repeat, the book is yours, and I beg you once more to accept it. This way it won' t come to you as it came to me, from an auctioneer, and it will be between us the pledge of a more durable acquaintance and closer bonds.' 'Very well, ' said Armand, extending his hand and grasping mine, 'I accept and shall be grateful to you for the rest of my life.' I very much wanted to question Armand about Marguerite, for the dedication in the book, the young man's journey, his desire to possess the volume, all excited my curiosity; but I feared that by questioning my visitor, I should appear to have refused his money simply to have the right to pry into his business. It was as though he sensed my wishes, for he said: 'Have you read the book?' 'Every word.' 'What did you make of the two lines I wrote?' 'I saw straightaway that, in your eyes, the poor girl to whom you had given the book did not belong in the usual category, for I could not bring myself to see the lines simply as a conventional compliment.' 'And you were right. That girl was an angel. Here, ' he said, 'read this letter.' And he handed me a sheet of paper which, by the look of it, had been read many times over. I opened it. This is what it said: 'My dear Armand, I have received your letter. You are still good, and I thank God for it. Yes, my dear, I am ill, and mine is the sort of illness which spares no one; but the concern which you are generous enough still to show for me greatly eases my sufferings. I expect I shall doubtless not live long enough to have the happiness of grasping the hand which wrote the kindly letter I have just received; its words would cure me, if anything could. I shall not see you, for I am very close to death, and hundreds of leagues separate you from me. My poor friend! The Marguerite you knew is sadly altered, and it is perhaps better that you do not see her again than see her as she is. You ask if I forgive you; oh! with all my heart, my dear, for the hurt you sought to do me was but a token of the love you bore me. I have kept my bed now for a month, and so precious to me is your good opinion, that each day I write a little more of a journal of my life from the moment we parted until the moment when I shall be no longer able to hold my pen. If the interest you take in me is real, Armand, then on your return, go and see Julie Duprat. She will place this journal in your keeping. In it you will find the reasons and the excuse for what has passed between us. Julie is very good to me. We often talk about you. She was here when your letter came, and we wept together as we read it. Should I not hear from you, she has been entrusted with seeing that you get these papers on your return to France. Do not be grateful to me. Returning each day to the only happy moments of my life does me enormous good and if, as you read, you find the past exonerated in my words, I for my part find in them a never-ending solace. I would like to leave you something by which you would always remember me, but everything I own has been seized, and nothing belongs to me. Do you understand, my dear? I am going to die, and from my bedroom I can hear the footsteps of the watchman my creditors have placed in the drawing-room to see that nothing is removed and to ensure that if I do not die, I shall be left with nothing. We must hope that they will wait for the end before they sell me up. Oh! how pitiless men are! or rather, for I am wrong, it is God who is just and unbending. And so, my love, you will have to come to my sale and buy something, for if I were to put aside the smallest item for you and they heard of it, they would be quite capable of prosecuting you for misappropriating distrained goods. How sad the life I now leave! How good God would be if He granted that I should see you again before I die! Since the chances are remote, adieu, my dear; forgive me if I do not write more, for those who say they will cure me bleed me to exhaustion, and my hand refuses to write another line. Marguerite Gautier.' And indeed, the last few words were scarcely legible. I gave the letter back to Armand who had doubtless read it over in his thoughts while I had been reading it on the paper, for as he took it he said: 'Who would ever believe that a kept woman wrote that!' And deeply affected by his memories, he stared for some time at the writing of the letter before finally putting it to his lips. 'And when I think, ' he went on, 'that she died before I saw her again, and that I shall see her no more; when I think that she did for me what no sister could ever have done ?I cannot forgive myself for having let her die like that. Dead! dead! thinking of me, writing and saying my name, poor dear Marguerite!' And Armand, giving free expression to his thoughts and tears, held out his hand to me and continued: 'People would think me very childish if they saw me grieving like this for the death of such a woman; but people could not know what I made that woman suffer, how cruel I was, how good and uncomplaining she was. I belived that it was for me to forgive her, and today I find myself unworthy of the pardon she bestows on me. Oh! I would gladly give ten years of my life to be able to spend one hour weeping at her feet.' It is always difficult to comfort a grief that one does not share, and yet so keenly did I feel for this young man who confided his sorrows with such frankness, that I felt that a few words of mine would not be unwelcome to him, and I said: 'Have you no relatives, no friends? Take hope. Go and see them for they will comfort you, whereas I can only pity you.' 'You are right, ' he said, rising to his feet and striding around my bedroom, 'I am boring you. Forgive me, I was forgetting that my grief must mean little to you, and that I trespass upon your patience with a matter which neither can nor should concern you in the slightest.' 'No, you misunderstand me. I am entirely at your disposal; only I regret I am unable to calm your sorrow. If the company of myself and my friends can beguile your thoughts, if you need me in any way, I would like you to know how very happy I would be to help.' 'Forgive me, forgive me, ' he said, 'grief magnifies the feelings. Allow me to stay a few minutes more, long enough to dry my eyes so that idlers in the street shall not stare to see a grown man weeping as though he were a freak. You've made me very happy by giving me this book; I'll never know how to repay the debt I owe you.' 'By granting me a little of your friendship, ' I told Armand, 'and by telling me the cause of your sorrow. There is consolation in speaking of one's suffering.' 'You are right. But today my need for tears is too great, and what I said would make no sense. Some day I shall acquaint you with the story, and you shall judge whether I am right to mourn the poor girl. And now, ' he added, rubbing his eyes one last time and looking at himself in mirror, 'tell me that you do not think me too foolish, and say you give me leave to call on you again.' The look in the eyes of this young man was good and gentle; I was almost tempted to embrace him. For his part, his eyes began again to cloud with tears; he saw that I noticed them and he turned his glance away from me. 'Come now, ' I told him, 'take heart.' 'Goodbye, ' he said. And, making an extraordinary effort not to weep, he fled rather than left my apartment. I lifted the curtain at my window and saw him get into the cab which was waiting at the door; but he was hardly inside when he burst into tears and buried his face in his handkerchief. 第四章 两天以后，拍卖全部结束，一共售得十五万法郎。 债主们拿走了三分之二，余下的由玛格丽特的家属继承，她的家属有一个姐姐和一个小外甥。 这个姐姐一看到公证人写信通知她说可以继承到五万法郎的遗产时，惊得呆若木鸡。 这个年轻的姑娘已经有六、七年没有看见她的妹妹了。打从她妹妹失踪以后，不论是她还是别人，都没有得到过任何有关她的消息。 这个姐姐急急忙忙地赶到了巴黎。那些认识玛格丽特的人看到了她都感到惊诧不已，因为玛格丽特唯一的继承人居然是一个胖胖的美丽的乡下姑娘，她还从来没有离开过家乡呢。 她顷刻间发了大财，也不知道这笔意外之财是从哪里来的。 后来有人告诉我，她回到村子里的时候，为她妹妹的死亡感到十分悲伤，然而她把这笔钱以四厘五的利息存了起来，使她的悲伤得到了补偿。 在巴黎这个谣诼纷纭的罪恶渊薮里，这些事情到处有人在议论，随着岁月的消逝，也就慢慢地被人遗忘了。要不是我忽然又遇上了一件事，我也几乎忘记了自己怎么会参与这些事情的。通过这件事，我知道了玛格丽特的身世，并且还知道了一些非常感人的详情细节。这使我产生了把这个故事写下来的念头。现在我就来写这个故事。 家具售完后，那所空住宅重新出租了，在那以后三四天的一个早晨，有人拉我家的门铃。 我的仆人，也可以说我那兼做仆人的看门人去开了门，给我拿来一张名片，对我说来客要求见我。 我瞧了一下名片，看到上面写着：阿尔芒•迪瓦尔。 我在记忆里搜索自己曾在什么地方看见过这个名字，我记起了《玛侬•莱斯科》这本书的扉页。 送这本书给玛格丽特的人要见我干什么呢？我吩咐立即请那个等着的人进来。 于是我看到了一个金黄头发的青年。他身材高大，脸色苍白，穿着一身旅行服装，这套服装像已穿了好几天，甚至到了巴黎也没刷一下，因为上面满是尘土。 迪瓦尔先生非常激动，他也不想掩饰他的情绪，就这么眼泪汪汪地用颤抖的声音对我说： “先生，请原谅我这么衣冠不整、冒昧地来拜访您。不过年轻人是不大讲究这些俗套的，何况我又实在急于想在今天就见到您。因此我虽然已经把行李送到了旅馆，却没有时间到旅馆里去歇一下就马上赶到您这儿来了。尽管时间还早，我还是怕碰不上你。” 我请迪瓦尔先生在炉边坐下。他一面就坐，一面从口袋里掏出一块手帕，把脸捂了一会儿。 “您一定不明白，”他唉声叹气地接着说，“一个素不相识的人，在这种时间，穿着这样的衣服，哭成这般模样地来拜访您，会向您提出什么样的请求。 “我的来意很简单，先生，是来请您帮忙的。” “请讲吧，先生，我愿意为您效劳。” “您参加了玛格丽特•戈蒂埃家里的拍卖吗？” 一讲到玛格丽特的名字，这个年轻人暂时克制住的激动情绪又控制不住了，他不得不用双手捂住眼睛。 “您一定会觉得我很可笑，”他又说，“请再一次原谅我这副失礼的模样。您这么耐心地听我说话，请相信，我是不会忘记您的这种好意的。” “先生，”我对他说，“如果我真的能为您效劳，能稍许减轻您一些痛苦的话，请快点告诉我，我能为您干些什么。您会知道我是一个非常乐意为您效劳的人。” 迪瓦尔先生的痛苦实在令人同情，我无论如何也要使他对我满意。 于是他对我说： “在拍卖玛格丽特财产的时候，您是不是买了什么东西？” “是的，先生，买了一本书。” “是《玛侬•莱斯科》吧？” “是啊！” “这本书还在您这儿吗？” “在我卧室里。” 阿尔芒•迪瓦尔听到这个消息，仿佛心里放下了一块石头，立刻向我致了谢意，好像这本书仍在我这儿就已经是帮了他一点忙似的。 于是我站起来，走进卧室把书取来，交给了他。 “就是这本，”他说，一面瞧了瞧扉页上的题词就翻看起来，“就是这本。” 两颗大大的泪珠滴落在书页上。 “那么，先生，”他抬起头来对我说，这时候他根本顾不上去掩饰他曾经哭过，而且几乎又要出声哭泣了，“您很珍视这本书吗？” “先生，您为什么要这样问？” “因为我想请求您把它让给我。” “请原谅我的好奇，”这时我说，“把这本书送给玛格丽特•戈蒂埃的就是您吗？” “就是我。” “这本书归您啦，先生，您拿去吧，我很高兴能使这本书物归原主。” “但是，”迪瓦尔先生不好意思地说，“那么至少我也得把您付掉的书款还给您。” “请允许我把它奉赠给您吧。在这样一次拍卖中，区区一小本书的价钱是算不了什么的，这本书花了多少钱我自己也记不起来了。” “您花了一百法郎。” “是啊，”我说，这次轮到我觉得尴尬了，“您是怎么知道的？” “这很简单，我原来想及时来到巴黎，赶上玛格丽特的遗物拍卖，但是直到今天早晨我才赶到。说什么我也要得到她一件遗物，我就赶到拍卖估价人那儿，请他让我查一查售出物品的买主名单。我查到这本书是您买的，就决定上这儿来请求您割爱，不过您出的价钱使我担心，您买这本书会不会也是为了某种纪念呢？” 阿尔芒说这话，很明显有一种担心的意思，他是怕我和玛格丽特之间也有他和她那样的交情。 我赶忙使他放心。 “我不过是见到过她罢了，”我对他说，“一个年轻人对一个他乐于遇见的漂亮女人的去世会产生的那种感受，也就是我的感受。我也不知道为什么想在那次拍卖中买些东西，后来有一位先生死命跟我抬价，似乎存心不让我买到这本书。我也是一时高兴，逗他发火，才一个劲儿地跟他争着买这本书。因此，我再跟您说一遍，先生，这本书现在归您了，并且我再一次请求您接受它，不要像我从拍卖估价人手里买到它那样从我手里买回去，我还希望这本书能有助于我们之间结成更深厚长久的友谊。” “太好了，先生，”阿尔芒紧紧握住我的手说，“我接受了。 您对我的好意，我铭诸肺腑，终身难忘。” 我非常想问问阿尔芒有关玛格丽特的事情，因为书上的题词，这位青年的长途跋涉和他想得到这本书的强烈愿望都引起了我的好奇心，但是我又不敢贸然向我的客人提出这些问题，生怕他以为我不接受他的钱只是为了有权干预他的私事。 可能他猜出了我的心思，因为他对我说： “您看过这本书吗？” “全看过了。” “您对我写的两行题词有没有想过是什么意思？” “我一看这两行题词就知道，在您眼里，接受您赠书的那位可怜的姑娘确实是不同寻常的，因为我不愿意把这两行字看作是一般的恭维话。” “您说得对，先生，这位姑娘是一位天使，您看，”他对我说，“看看这封信！” 他递给我一张信纸，这封信显然已经被看过许多遍了。 我打开一看，上面是这样写的： 亲爱的阿尔芒，收到了您的来信，您的心地还是像以前一样善良，我真要感谢天主。是的，我的朋友，我病了，而且是不治之症；但是您还是这样关心我，这就大大地减轻了我的痛苦。我恐怕活不长了。我刚才收到了您那封写得那么感人的信，可是我没福再握一握写信人的手了。如果有什么东西可以医好我的病，那么，这封信里的话就是。我不会再见到您了，您我之间远隔千里，而我又死在眼前。可怜的朋友！您的玛格丽特眼下已经和过去大不一样了。让您看见她现在这副模样，还不如干脆不见的好。您问我能否宽恕您，我从心底里原谅您。朋友，因为您以前待我不好恰恰证明了您是爱我的。我卧床已经一个月了，我非常看重您对我的尊重，因此我每天都在写日记，从我们分离的时候开始一直写到我不能握笔为止。 如果您是真的关心我，阿尔芒，您回来以后，就到朱利•迪普拉那儿去。她会把这些日记交给您，您在里面会找到我们之间发生这些事情的原因，以及我的解释。朱利待我非常好，我们经常在一起谈到您。收到您信的时候她也在旁边，我们看信的时候都哭了。 如果我们收不到您的回信，朱利负责在您回到法国的时候把这些日记交给您。不用感谢我写了这些日记，这些日记使我每天都能重温我一生中仅有的几天幸福日子，这对我是很有益的。如果您看了这些日记以后，能够对过去的事有所谅解的话，那么对我来说就是得到了永久的安慰。 我想给您留一些能够使您永远想着我的纪念品，但是我家里的东西已经全被查封了，没有一样东西是属于我的了。 我的朋友，您明白了吗？我眼看就要死了，在我的卧室里就能听到客厅里看守人的脚步声。他是我的债主们派来的，为的是不准别人拿走什么东西。即使我不死，也已经一无所有了。希望他们一定要等我断气以后再拍卖啊！ 啊！人是多么残酷无情！不！更应该说天主是铁面无私的。 好吧，亲爱的，您来参加我财产的拍卖，这样您就可以买到一些东西。因为，如果我现在为您留下一件即使是最最微不足道的东西，要是给人知道了，别人就可能控告您侵吞查封的财产。 我要离开的生涯是多么凄凉啊！ 如果我能在死前再见您一面，那么天主该有多好啊！照目前情况看，我们一定是永别了。朋友，请原谅我不能再写下去了。那些说要把我的病治好的人老是给我放血，我都精疲力竭了，我的手不听使唤了。 玛格丽特•戈蒂埃 的确，最后几个字写得十分模糊，几乎都无法辨认。 我把信还给了阿尔芒。他刚才一定在我看信的时候，又在心里把它背诵了一遍。因为他一面把信拿回去一面对我说： “谁能相信这是一个风尘女子的手笔！”他一下子勾起了旧日情思，心情显得很激动。他对着信上的字迹凝视了一会儿，最后把信拿到唇边吻着。 “当我想到，”他接着又说，“我不能在她死前再见她一面，而且再也看不到她；又想到她待我比亲姐妹还好，而我却让她这样死去时，我怎么也不能原谅自己。 “死了！死了！她临死还在想着我，还在写信，喊着我的名字。可怜的，亲爱的玛格丽特啊！” 阿尔芒听任自己思绪翻腾，热泪纵横，一面把手伸给我，一面继续说道： “一个陌生人看到我为这样一个姑娘的死如此悲痛，可能会觉得我太傻，那是因为他不知道我过去是怎样折磨这个女人的。那时候我是多么狠心啊！她又是多么温柔，受了多大委屈啊！我原来以为是我在饶恕她；而今天，我觉得是我根本不配接受她赐给我的宽恕。啊！要是能够在她脚下哭上一个小时，要我少活十年，我也心甘情愿。” 大凡不了解一个人痛苦的原因而要安慰他，那是不太容易的。然而我对这个年轻人却产生了强烈的同情心。他这么坦率地向我倾吐他的悲哀，不由使我相信，他对我的话也不会无动于衷。于是我对他说： “您有亲戚朋友吗？想开一些，去看看他们，他们会安慰您；因为我，我只能同情您。” “是啊，”他站起来说，一面在我的房间里跨着大步来回走着，“我让您讨厌了，请原谅我，我没有考虑到我的痛苦跟您并不相干，我没有考虑到我跟您唠叨的那件事，您根本不可能也不会感兴趣。” “您误会我的意思啦，我完全听从您的吩咐。可惜我无力减轻您的痛苦。如果我，或者我的朋友可以减轻您的苦恼，总之不管您在哪方面用得到我的话，我希望您知道我是非常乐意为您效劳的。” “请原谅，请原谅，”他对我说，“痛苦使人神经过敏，请让我再呆一会儿，好让我抹抹眼泪，免得街上的行人把我当成一个呆子，这么大一个人还哭鼻子。您刚才把这本书给了我，叫我很快活。我永远也无法报答您对我的好意。”“那么您就给我一点友谊，”我对阿尔芒说，“您就跟我谈谈您为什么这样伤心，把心里的痛苦讲出来，人就会感到轻松一些。” “您说得对，但是我今天直想哭。我只能跟您讲些没头没脑的话，改天我再把这件事讲给您听，您就会明白我为这个可怜的姑娘感到伤心不是没有道理的。而现在，”他最后一次擦了擦眼睛，一面照了照镜子对我说，“希望您不要把我当作一个傻瓜，并且允许我再来拜访您。” 这个年轻人的眼光又善良，又温柔，我几乎想拥抱他。 而他呢，眼眶里又闪现出了泪花。他看到我已经发觉，便把目光从我身上移开了。 “好吧，”我对他说，“要振作起来。” “再见，”他对我说。 他拼命忍住泪水，从我家里逃了出去，因为很难说他是走出去的。 我撩起窗帘，看到他登上了在门口等着他的轻便双轮马车。一进车厢，他的眼泪就不听使唤了。他拿起手帕掩面痛哭起来。

Chapter 5 A CONSIDERABLE time elapsed without my hearing a word about Armand, but on the other hand the subject of Marguerite had come up a great deal. I do not know if you have noticed, but it only takes the name of someone who should in all likelihood have remained unknown or at least of no particular interest to you, to be pronounced once in your hearing, for all sorts of details to collect round that name, and for you then to have all your friends speak about a subject of which they had never spoken to you before. Next thing, you discover that the person in question was there, just out of range, all the while. You realize that your paths have crossed many times without your noticing, and you find in the events which others recount some tangible link or affinity with certain events in your own past. I had not quite reached that point with Marguerite, since I had seen her, met her, knew her by her face and habits. Yet ever since the auction, her name had cropped up so frequently in my hearing and, in the circumstances which I have related in the previous chapter, her name had become associated with sorrow so profound, that my surprise had gone on growing and my curiosity had increased. The result was that now I never approached any friends, with whom I had never spoken of Marguerite, without saying: 'Did you know someone called Marguerite Gautier?' 'The Lady of the Camellias?' 'That's her.' 'Rather!' These 'Rather!'sometimes came with smiles which left no possible doubt as to their meaning. 'Well, what kind of girl was she?' I would go on. 'A very decent sort. ' 'Is that all? ' 'Heavens! I should hope so. A few more brains and perhaps a bit more heart than the rest of them. ' 'But you know nothing particular about her? ' 'She ruined Baron de G.' 'Anyone else?' 'She was the mistress of the old Duke de.' 'Was she really his mistress?' 'That's what they say: at any rate, he gave her a great deal of money.' Always the same general details. But I would have been interested to learn a little about the affair between Marguerite and Armand. One day, I chanced upon one of those men who live habitually on intimate terms with the most notorious courtesans. I questioned him. 'Did you know Marguerite Gautier?' The answer was that same 'Rather!' 'What sort of girl was she?' 'A fine-looking, good-hearted type. Her death was a great sadness to me.' 'She had a lover called Armand Duval, didn't she?' 'Tall chap with fair hair?' 'That's him.' 'Yes, she did.' 'And what was this Armand like?' 'A young fellow who threw away the little he had on her, I believe, and was forced to give her up. They say it affected his reason.' 'What about her?' 'She loved him very much too, they also say, but as girls of her sort love. You should never ask more of them than they can give.' 'What became of Armand?' 'Couldn't say. We didn't know him all that well. He stayed five or six months with Marguerite, in the country. When she came back to town, he went off somewhere.' 'And you haven't seen him since?' 'Never.' I had not seen Armand again either. I had begun to wonder if, the day he called on me, the recent news of Marguerite's death had not exaggerated the love he had once felt for her and therefore his grief, and I told myself that perhaps, in forgetting the dead girl, he had also forgotten his promise to return to see me. Such a hypotheses would have been plausible enough with anybody else, but in Armand's despair there had been a note of real sincerity and, moving from one extreme to the other, I imagined that his grief could well have turned into sickness and that, if I had not heard from him, then it was because he was ill, dead even. Despite myself, I still felt an interest in this young man. It may be that my interest was not without an element of selfishness; perhaps I had glimpsed a touching love story behind his grief, perhaps, in short, my desire to be acquainted with it loomed large in the concern I felt about Armand's silence. Since Monsieur Duval did not return to see me, I resolved to go to him. A pretext was not difficult to find. Unfortunately, I did not know his address, and of all those I had questioned, no one had been able to tell me what it was. I went to the rue d'Antin. Perhaps Marguerite's porter knew where Armand lived. There had been a change of porter. He did not know any more than I did. I then asked in which cemetery Mademoiselle Gautier had been buried. It was Montmartre cemetery. April had come round again, the weather was fine, the graves would no longer have the mournful, desolate look which winter gives them; in a word, it was already warm enough for the living to remember the dead and visit them. I went to the cemetery, telling myself: 'One quick look at Marguerite's grave, and I shall know whether Armand is still grieving and perhaps discover what has become of him.' I entered the keeper's lodge and asked him if, on the 22nd of the month of February, a woman named Marguerite Gautier had not been buried in Montmartre cemetery. The man looked through a fat ledger in which the names of all those who come to their final place of rest are entered and given a number, and he answered that on 22 February, at noon, a woman of that name had indeed been interred. I asked if he could get someone to take me to the grave for, without a guide, there is no way of finding one's way around this city of the dead which has its streets like the cities of the living. The keeper called a gardener, to whom he gave the necessary details but who cut him short, saying: 'I know, I know...Oh! that grave is easy enough to pick out, ' he went on, turning to me. 'Why?' I said. 'Because it's got different flowers from all the others.' 'Are you the person who looks after it?' 'Yes, sir, and I could only wish all relatives took as good care of the departed as the young man who asked me to look after that one.' Several turnings later, the gardener stopped and said: 'Here we are.' And indeed, before my eyes, were flowers arranged in a square which no one would ever have taken for a grave if a white marble stone with a name on it had not proclaimed it to be so. This marble block was set upright, iron railings marked the boundary of the plot that had been bought, and every inch of ground was covered with white camellias. 'What do you say to that?' said the gardener. 'It's very beautiful.' 'And every time a camellia withers, my orders are to put another one in its place.' 'And who gave you your orders?' 'A young chap who cried a lot the first time he came. An old gentleman friend of the departed, I'll be bound, because they do say she was a bit of a one, you know. I hear tell she was very bonny. Did you know her, sir?' 'Yes.' 'Like the other chap, ' the gardener said with a knowing grin. 'No, I never spike to her.' 'But you've come to see her here; that's very nice of you, because people who come to see the poor girl don't exactly clutter up the cemetery.' 'So no one comes?' 'Nobody, except that young chap who came once.' 'Just once?' 'Yes, sir.' 'And he never returned?' 'No, but he'll come as soon as he gets back.' 'He's away travelling, then?' 'Yes.' 'And do you know where he is?' 'I do believe he's gone to see Mademoiselle Gautier's sister.' 'What's he doing there?' 'He's going to ask authorization to exhume the body and have it put somewhere else.' 'Why shouldn't he leave her here?' 'You know, sir, people get queer ideas about the departed. See it all the time, we do. This plot was bought for five years only, and that young chap wants a plot in perpetuity and a larger bit of ground: in the new part would be best.' 'What do you call the new part?' 'The new plots that are being sold just now, to your left. If the cemetery had always been kept like it is nowadays, there wouldn't have been another like it in the world; but there's still a lot to do before it's just like it should be. And then, folk are so queer.' 'What do you mean?' 'I mean that there's people who even bring their pride in here. Take this Mademoiselle Gautier. Seems she'd been around a bit, if you'll pardon the expression. She's dead now, is that poor young woman; there's as much left of her as of other women you couldn't say a word against whose resting places we keep watering every day. Well now, when the relatives of them as are buried next to her found out who she was, blow me if they didn't up and say they was against putting her here, and that there ought to be ground set apart for women of her sort, like there is for the poor. Ever hear the like of it? I told them straight, I did; very well-to-do folks who can't even come four times a year to pay their respects to their departed. They bring their own flowers and some flowers they are too, are very particular about arranging upkeep for them as they say they mourn, inscribe on their tombstones the tears they never shed, and are very fussy about who is buried next door. Believe me if you like, sir, I didn't know this young lady, I've no idea what she got up to. But I tell you, I love that poor little girl and I take good care of her, and I let her have the camellias at a very fair price. Of all the departed, she's my favourite. Here, sir, we're obliged to love the dead, for we're kept so busy that we hardly have time to love anything else.' I looked at this man, and some of my readers will understand, without my having to explain it to them, what I felt as I heard his words. He sensed my feelings, no doubt, for he went on: 'They say there were gents who ruined themselves for that girl, and that she had lovers who worshipped her; well, when I think that there's not one comes and buys her a single flower, then I say that it's peculiar and sad. Though this one can't complain. She's got a grave, and if there's only one as remembers her, he does right by the others as well. But we've got poor girls here of the same sort and the same age that get thrown into a pauper's grave, and it breaks my heart when I hear their poor bodies drop into the earth. And not a soul looks out for them once they're dead! It's not always very cheery, this job of ours, especially when you've got a bit of feeling left in you. But what do you expect? I can't help it. I got a fine- looking grown-up daughter of twenty, and whenever some dead girl her age is brought in, I think of her, and be it some great lady or a trollop, I can't help being upset. But I expect I'm wearying you with all this talk, and you didn't come here to listen to me going on. I was told to take you to Mademoiselle Gautier's grave and here you are. Is there anything else I can do for you?' 'Do you know Monsieuer Duval's address?' I asked the man. 'Yes, he lives in the rue de, or at least that's where I went to get paid for all the flowers you see here.' 'Thank you, my man.' I cast a final glance at the flower- strewn grave whose depths, despite myself, I would have gladly plumbed for a sight of what the earth had done with the beautiful creature who had been lowered into it, and then I came away, feeling very sad. 'Do you want to see Monsieur Duval, sir?' continued the gardener, who walked at my side. 'Yes.' 'The thing is, I'm pretty near certain that he's not back yet. Otherwise I'd have seen him here already.' 'So you are convinced that he hasn't forgotten Marguerite?' 'Not just convinced, I'd bet anything that this wanting to move her to another grave is his way of wanting to see her again.' 'How do you mean?' 'The first thing he said when he came to the cemetery was: "What do I have to do to see her again?" That can only happen if the body is shifted to another grave, and I told him all about the formalities that have to be gone through to secure a transfer, because, you know, before bodies can be moved from one grave to another, they must be identified, and only the family can authorize the operation which has to be supervised by a police superintendent. It was to get this authorization that Monsieur Duval went to see Mademoiselle Gautier's sister, and his first call will obviously be on us.' We had arrived at the cemetery gates; I thanked the gardener again, slipping a few coins into his hand, and I went round to the address he had given me. Armand was not back. I left a note for him, asking him to come and see me as soon as he arrived, or to let me know where I might find him. The following morning, I received a letter from Duval which informed me of his return and asked me to drop by, adding that, being worn out by fatigue, it was impossible for him to go out. 第五章 有很长一段时间阿尔芒杳无音讯，而玛格丽特倒经常有人提起。 我不知道您可曾有过这样的感觉：一个看来跟您素不相识或者至少是毫无关系的人，一旦有人在您面前提到他的姓名，跟这个人有关的各种琐闻就会慢慢地汇集拢来，您的三朋四友也都会来和您谈起他们从来也没有跟您谈过的事，您几乎就会觉得这个人仿佛就在您的身边。您会发现，在您的生活里，这个人曾屡次出现过，只不过没有引起您的注意罢了。您会在别人讲给您听的那些事情里面找到和您自己生活中的某些经历相吻合、相一致的东西。我跟玛格丽特倒并非如此，因为曾经看见过她，遇到过她。我还记得她的容貌，知道她的习惯。不过，自从那次拍卖以后，我就经常听见有人提到她的名字。我在前一章中曾提到这种情况，这个名字与一个极其巨大的悲痛牵扯在一起。因此我越来越感到诧异，好奇心也越来越重了。 过去，我从来也没有跟朋友们谈到过玛格丽特；现在，我一碰到他们就问： “您认识一个名字叫玛格丽特?戈蒂埃的女人吗？” “茶花女吗？” “就是她。” “熟悉得很！” “熟悉得很！”他们说这句话的时候，有时脸上还带着那种含义显而易见的微笑。 “那么，这个姑娘怎么样？”我继续问道。 “一个好姑娘。” “就这些吗？” “我的天！是啊，比别的姑娘聪明一些，可能比她们更善良一些。” “您一点也不知道她有什么特别的事吗？” “她曾经使G男爵倾家荡产。” “就这一点吗？” “她还做过……老公爵的情妇。” “她真的是他的情妇吗？” “大家都是这么说的，不管怎么说，那老公爵给过她很多钱。” 听到的总是那一套泛泛之谈。 然而，我非常渴望知道一些关于玛格丽特和阿尔芒之间的事。 一天，我遇到了一个人。这个人和那些风月场中的名媛过从甚密。我问她： “您认识玛格丽特?戈蒂埃吗？” 回答又是“熟悉得很”。 “她是个怎么样的姑娘？” “一个美丽善良的姑娘。她死了，我挺难过。” “她有没有一个叫阿尔芒?迪瓦尔的情人？” “一个金黄头发的高个儿吗？” “是啊！” “有这么个人。” “阿尔芒是个怎么样的人？” “一个年轻人，我相信他把自己仅有的一点儿钱和玛格丽特两人一起花光了，后来他不得不离开了她。据说他几乎为她发了疯。” “那么玛格丽特呢？” “她也非常爱他，大家一直这么说。不过这种爱就像那些姑娘们的爱一样，总不能向她们要求她们没法给的东西吧。” “后来阿尔芒怎么样了？” “我一无所知。我们跟他不熟。他和玛格丽特在乡下同居了五六个月。不过那是在乡下，她回到巴黎时，他就走了。” “以后您就没有看见过他吗？” “没有。” 我也没有再看见过阿尔芒。我甚至在寻思，他来我家，是不是因为他知道了玛格丽特刚才死去的消息而勾起了旧情，因此才格外悲伤。我思忖他也许早就把再来看我的诺言随同死者一起抛到九霄云外去了。 对别人来说很可能如此，可是阿尔芒不会。他当时那种悲痛欲绝的声调是非常真诚的。因此我从这一个极端又想到了另外一个极端，我想阿尔芒一定是哀伤成疾，我得不到他的消息，是因为他病了，兴许已经死了。 我不由自主地关心起这个年轻人来了。这种关心也许搀杂着某些私心，说不定在他这种痛苦下，我已揣测到有一个缠绵悱恻的爱情故事；也可能我正是因为急于想知道这个故事，所以才对阿尔芒的销声匿迹感到如此不安的。 既然迪瓦尔先生没有再来看我，我就决意到他家里去。要找一个拜访他的借口并不难，可惜我不知道他的住址。我到处打听，但谁都没法告诉我。 我就到昂坦街去打听。玛格丽特的看门人可能知道阿尔芒住在哪儿。看门人已经换了一个新的，他跟我一样不知道阿尔芒的住址。于是我就问戈蒂埃小姐葬在哪里。在蒙马特公墓。 已经是四月份了，天气晴朗，阳光明媚，坟墓不再像冬天时那样显得阴森凄凉了。总之，气候已经相当暖和，活着的人因此想起了死去的人，就到他们坟上去扫墓。我在去公墓的路上想着，我只要观察一下玛格丽特的坟墓，就可以看出阿尔芒是不是还在伤心，也许还会知道他现在究竟怎么样了。 我走进公墓看守的房间，我问他在二月二十二日那天，是不是有一个名叫玛格丽特?戈蒂埃的女人葬在蒙马特公墓里。 那个人翻阅一本厚厚的簿子，簿子上按号码顺序登记着所有来到这个最后归宿地的人的名字。接着他回答我说，二月二十二日中午，的确有一个叫这个名字的女人在这里下葬。 我请他叫人把我带到她的坟上去，因为在这个死人的城市里，就像在活人的城市里一样，街道纵横交错，如果没有人指引，很难辨清方向。看守叫来一个园丁，并关照他一些必要的事情。园丁插嘴说：“我知道，我知道……”接着转身对我说，“啊！那个坟墓好认得很！” “为什么呢？”我问他。 “因为那上面的花和别的坟上的花完全不同。” “那个坟墓是您照管的吗？” “是的，是一个年轻人托我照管的。先生，但愿所有死者的亲属都能像他一样惦念死者就好了。” 拐了几个弯以后，园丁站住了，对我说： “我们到了。” 果然，一块方形花丛呈现在我眼前，如果没有一块刻着名字的白色大理石在那里作证的话，谁也认不出这是一个坟墓。 这块大理石笔直地竖在那儿，一圆铁栅栏把这块买下的坟地围了起来，坟地上铺满了白色的茶花。 “您觉得怎么样？”园丁问我。 “美极了。” “只要有一朵茶花枯萎了，我就按照吩咐另换新的。” “那么是谁吩咐您的呢？” “一个年轻人，他第一次来的时候哭得很伤心，大概是死者的老相好，因为那个女的好像不是个规矩人。据说她过去长得很标致。先生，您认得她吗？” “认得。” “跟那位先生一样吧，”园丁带着狡黠的微笑对我说。 “不一样，我从来也没有跟她讲过话。” “而您倒来这里看她，那您心肠可真好！因为到这公墓里来看这个可怜的姑娘的可真是稀客呐！” “您是说从来没有人来过？” “除了那位年轻先生来过一次以外，没有别人来过。” “只来过一次？” “是的，先生。” “后来他没有来过吗？” “没有来过，但是他回来以后会来的。” “这么说他是出门去了？” “是的。” “您知道他上哪儿去了？” “我想他是到戈蒂埃小姐的姐姐那儿去了。” “他到那儿去干什么？” “他去请求玛格丽特的姐姐同意把死者挪个地方，他要把玛格丽特葬到别处去。” “为什么不让她葬在这儿呢？” “您知道，先生，人们对死人有种种看法。这种事，我们这些人每天都看得到。这块坟地的租用期才五年，而这个年轻人想要有一块永久性出让的、面积更大一点的坟地，最好是新区里的地。” “什么新区？” “就是现在正在出售的，靠左面的那些新坟地。如果这个公墓以前一直像现在那样管理，那么很可能是世界上独一无二的了。但是要使一切都做得那么十全十美，那还差得远呢。 再说人们又是那么可笑。” “您这是什么意思？” “我的意思是说，有些人一直到了这里还要神气活现。就说这位戈蒂埃小姐，好像她生活有点儿放荡，请原谅我用了这个词。现在，这位可怜的小姐，她死了；而如今没有给人落下过什么话柄我们却天天在她们坟上浇花的女人不是同样有的是吗？但是，那些葬在她旁边的死者的亲属知道了她是个什么样的人以后，亏他们想得出，说他们反对把她葬在这儿，还说这种女人应该像穷人一样，另外有个专门埋葬的地方。谁看见过这种事？我狠狠地把他们顶了回去：有些阔佬来看望他们死去的亲人，一年来不了四次，他们还自己带花束，看看都是些什么花！他们说要为死者哭泣，但却不肯花钱修理坟墓；他们在死者的墓碑上写得悲痛欲绝，却从未流过一滴眼泪，还要来跟他们亲属坟墓的邻居找麻烦。您信么？先生，我不认识这位小姐，我也不知道她做过些什么事，但是我喜欢她，这个可怜的小姑娘，我关心她，我给她拿来的茶花价格公道，她是我偏爱的死人。先生，我们这些人没有办法，只能爱死人，因为我们忙得不可开交，几乎没有时间去爱别的东西了。” 我望着这个人，用不着我多作解释，一些读者就会懂得，在我听他讲这些话的时候，我的内心有多么激动。 他可能也看出来了。因为他接着又说： “据说有些人为了这个姑娘倾家荡产，还说她有一些十分迷恋她的情人，嗨，当我想到竟然连买一朵花给她的人也没有，不免感到又是奇怪又是悲哀。不过，她也没有什么可抱怨的，因为她总算还有一个坟墓吧，虽说只有一个人怀念她，这个人也已经替别人做了这些事。但是我们这里还有一些和她身世相同、年龄相仿的可怜的姑娘，她们被埋在公共墓地里。每当我听到她们可怜的尸体被扔进墓地的时候，我的心总像被撕碎了似地难受。只要她们一死，就谁也不管她们了。干我们这一行的，尤其是如果还有些良心的话，有时是快活不起来的唷。您说有什么办法呢？我也是无能为力的啊！我有一个二十岁的美丽的大姑娘，每当有人送来一个和她一样年纪的女尸时，我就想到了她，不论送来的是一位阔小姐，还是一个流浪女，我都难免要动感情。 “这些罗唆事您一定听厌烦了吧，再说您也不是来听这些故事的。他们要我带您到戈蒂埃小姐的坟上来，这儿就是，您还有什么事要我做吗？” “您知不知道阿尔芒?迪瓦尔先生的住址？”我问这个园丁。 “我知道，他住在……街，您看见这些花了吧，买这些花的钱我就是到那儿去收的。” “谢谢您，我的朋友。” 我最后望了一眼这个铺满鲜花的坟墓，不由自主地产生了一个念头，想探测一下坟墓有多深，好看看被丢在泥土里的那个漂亮的女人究竟怎么样了，然后，我心情忧郁地离开了玛格丽特的坟墓。 “先生是不是想去拜访迪瓦尔先生？”走在我旁边的园丁接着说。 “是的。” “我肯定他还没有回来，要不他早到这儿来了。” “那么您可以肯定他没有忘记玛格丽特吗？” “不但可以肯定，而且我可以打赌，他想替玛格丽特迁葬就是为了想再见她一面。” “这是怎么回事？” “上次他到公墓来时第一句话就是‘有什么办法可以再见到她呢？’这样的事除非迁葬才办得到。我把迁葬需要办的手续一一告诉了他，因为您知道，要替死人迁葬，必须先验明尸身，而这要得到死者家属的许可才能做，而且还要由警长来主持。迪瓦尔先生去找戈蒂埃小姐的姐姐就是为了征得她的同意。他一回来肯定会先到我们这儿来的。” 我们走到了公墓的门口，我又一次谢了园丁，给了他几个零钱，就向他告诉我的那个地址走去。 阿尔芒还没有回来。 我在他家里留了话，请他回来以后就来看我，或者通知我在什么地方可以找到他。 第二天早晨，我收到了迪瓦尔先生的一封信，他告诉我他已经回来了，请我到他家里去，还说他因为疲劳过度不能外出。

Chapter 6 I FOUND Armand in bed. When he saw me, he held out his hand. It was hot. 'You have a temperature, ' I said. 'It won't come to anything? the fatigue of a hurried journey, nothing more.' 'Have you come from Marguerite's sister's?' 'Yes, who told you?' 'I just know. And did you get what you wanted?' 'Yes, again. But who told you about my journey and my reasons for making it?' 'The gardener at the cemetery.' 'You saw the grave?' I scarcely dared answer, for the tone of these words convinced me that the person who had said them was still in the grip of the same distress I had already witnessed, and that every time his thoughts or something that someone said brought him back to this painful subject, then for a long time to come, his emotions would go on getting the better of his will. I settled therefore for answering with a nod. 'Has he taken good care of it?' continued Armand. Two large tears rolled down the sick man's cheeks, and he turned his head away to hide them from me. I pretended not to notice and tried to change the subject. 'You've been away three weeks, ' I said. Armand passed his hand over his eyes and answered: 'Three weeks exactly.' 'It was a long journey, then.' 'Oh! I wasn't travelling all the time. I was ill for a fortnight. Otherwise I would have been back long ago; but I'd only just arrived when a bout of fever got me and I was forced to keep to my room. 'And you set off again without being fully fit.' 'If I'd stayed another week in that place, I would have died there.' 'But now you're back, you must look after yourself. Your friends will call to see you. And I shall be the first among them, if you'll allow me.' 'In two hours I shall get up.' 'This is most unwise!' 'I must.' 'What have you to do that's so urgent?' 'I have a call to pay on the superintendent of police.' 'Why not let someone else see to a matter that may well make you more ill than you are now?' 'It's the only thing that can make me well. I must see her. Ever since I've known she was dead, and especially since seeing her grave, I haven't been able to sleep. I cannot conceive that the woman I left so young and beautiful can really be dead. I must check for myself. I have to see what God has done with a being I loved so very much, and then perhaps the loathesomeness of the sight will chase away the despair of my memories; you will come with me, won't you...unless you'd find it too tiresome?' 'What did her sister tell you?' 'Nothing. She seemed very surprised that a stranger should wish to buy a burial plot and have a headstone put up to Marguerite, and she signed the authorization I asked her for at once.' 'Take my advice: wait until you are properly fit before having the body transferred.' 'Oh! Don't worry: I shall be strong. Anyway I should go mad if I didn't get what I've decided over and done with as quickly as possible: the need to see it through has become part of my grief. I swear to you that I shall not rest easy until I've seen Marguerite. It may be a craving of the fever which burns in me, a dream born of sleepless nights, an effect of my ravings; but even if I have to become a Trappist monk first to manage it, then like Monsieur de Rance, once I have seen, I shall see.' 'I can understand that, ' I told Armand, 'and you have my complete support. Did you see Julie Duprat?' 'Yes. Oh, I saw her the day I got back, the first time I returned.' 'Did she hand over the papers which Marguerite had left for you?' 'They're here.' Armand pulled a roll of papers from beneath his pillow, then put it back immediately. 'I know what these papers contain by heart, ' he said. 'These last three weeks, I have re-read them ten times each day. You shall read them too, but later, when I'm calmer and can make you understand how much feeling and love this confession reveals. For the moment, I have a favour to ask you.' 'What is it?' 'You have a carriage downstairs?' 'Yes.' 'Well, would you be so good as to take my passport, call at the bureau and ask if they are holding any letters for me poste restante? My father and my sister must have written to me here in Paris, and I left in such a hurry that I didn't take time to see before I set off. When you get back, we'll go together to inform the police superintendent of tomorrow's ceremony.' Armand handed me his passport and I went round to the rue Jean- Jacques-Roussear. There were two letters in the name of Duval. I picked them up and returned. When I reappeared, Armand was fully dressed and ready to go out. 'Thank you, 'he said, taking the letters. 'Yes, ' he added, after glancing at the addresses, 'yes, they are from my father and my sister. They must have been totally mystified by my silence.' He opened the letters and guessed at, rather than read their contents, for each was four pages long, and after a moment he folded them up again. 'Let's be off, ' he said, 'I'll reply tomorrow.' We went to see the superintendent of police, and Armand handed over Marguerite's sister's letter of attorney. In return, the superintendent gave him an advice note for the cemetery keeper; it was agreed that the transfer of the remains should take place the following day at ten in the morning, that I should come and collect him an hour beforehand and that we would drive to the cemetery together. I too was curious to be present at the spectacle, and I confess I did not sleep that night. Judging by the thoughts which assailed me, it must have been a long night for Armand. When I entered his apartment at nine the following morning, he was horribly pale, but appeared calm. He smiled at me and held out his hand. His candles had burned right down and, before leaving, Armand picked up a very thick letter, addressed to his father, which had doubtless been the confidant of the night's reflections. Half an hour later, we were at Montmartre. The superintendent was already waiting for us. We made our way slowly in the direction of Marguerite's grave. The superintendent led the way, Armand and I following a few paces behind. From time to time, I felt my companion's arm tremble convulsively, as though a series of shudders had suddenly coursed through him. When this happened, I would look at him; he understood my look and smiled at me, but from the time we left his apartment we had not exchanged a single word. Armand stopped just short of the grave to wipe his face which was streaming with large drops of perspiration. I took advantage of the halt to catch my breath, for I myself felt as though my heart was being squeezed in a vice. Why is it that we should find a mixture of pain and pleasure in sights of this kind? By the time we reached the grave, the gardener had taken the pots of flowers away, the iron railings had been removed and two men were digging with picks. Armand leaned against a tree and watched. The whole of his life seemed to be concentrated in those eyes of his. Suddenly, one of the picks grated on a stone. At the sound, Armand recoiled as though from an electric shock, and he grasped my hand with such strength that he hurt me. One grave-digger took a wide shovel and little by little emptied the grave; when there remained only the stones which are always used to cover the coffin, he threw them out one by one. I kept an eye on Armand, for I was afraid that his sensations, which he was visibly repressing, might get the better of him at any moment; but he went on watching, his eyes fixed and staring like a madman's, and a slight twitching of the cheeks and lips was the only indication of a violent nervous crisis. For my own part, I can say only one thing: that I regretted having come. When the coffin was completely exposed, the superintendent said to the grave-Diggers: 'Open it up.' The men obeyed, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. The coffin was made of oak, and they set about unscrewing the upper panel which served as a lid. The dampness of the earth had rusted the screws, and it was not without considerable effort that the coffin was opened. A foul odour emerged, despite the aromatic herbs with which it had been strewn. 'Dear God! Dear God!' Armand murmured, and he grew paler than ever. The grave-diggers themselves stepped back a pace. A large white winding-sheet covered the corpse and partly outlined its misshapen contours. This shroud had been completely eaten away at one end, and allowed one of the dead woman's feet to protrude. I was very near to feeling sick, and even now as I write these lines, the memory of this scene comes back to me in all its solemn reality. 'Let's get on with it, ' said the superintendent. At this, one of the men reached out his hand, began unstitching the shroud and, seizing it by one end suddenly uncovered Marguerite's face. It was terrible to behold and it is horrible to relate. The eyes were simply two holes, the lips had gone, and the white teeth were clenched. The long, dry, black hair was stuck over the temples and partly veiled the green hollows of the cheeks, and yet in this face I recognized the pink and white, vivacious face which I had seen so often. Armand, helpless to avert his eyes from her countenance, had put his handkerchief to his mouth and was biting on it. As for me, I felt as though my head was being constricted by an iron band: a mist settled over my eyes, my ears were filled with buzzing noises, and it was as much as I could manage to open a small bottle I had brought with me just in case, and take deep breaths of the salts which it contained. At the height of my dizziness, I heard the superintendent say to Monsieur Duval: 'Do you identify the body?' 'Yes, ' the young man answered dully. 'All right, close it up and take it away, ' the superintendent said. The grave-diggers pulled the shroud back over the dead woman's face, closed up the coffin, took one end each and headed for the spot which had been pointed out to them. Armand did not move. His eyes were riveted on the empty grave: he was as pale as the corpse which we had just seen...He might have been turned to stone. I saw what would happen when, away from this scene, his grief subsided and would consequently be no longer able to sustain him. I went up to the superintendent. 'Is the presence of this gentleman, ' I said, gesturing towards Armand, 'required for anything else?' 'No, ' he said, ' and I would strongly advise you to take him away, for he seems to be unwell.' 'Come, ' I said to Armand, taking him by the arm. 'What? ' he said, looking at me as though he did not recognize me. 'It's over, ' I added, ' you must come away, my friend. You look pale, you're cold, you'll kill yourself with such emotions.' 'You're right, let's go, ' he replied mechanically, but without moving one step. So I took him by the arm and dragged him away. He allowed himself to be led off like a little child, merely muttering from time to time: 'Did you see the eyes?' And he turned round as though the sight of them had called him back. But his stride became jerky; he no longer seemed capable of walking without staggering; his teeth chattered, his hands were cold, violent nervous convulsions took possession of his entire body. I spoke to him; he did not reply. It was as he could do to allow himself to be led. At the gate, we found a cab. And none too soon. He had scarcely sat down inside, when the trembling grew stronger, and he had a severe nervous seizure. Through it, his fears of alarming me made him murmur as he pressed my hand: 'It's nothing, nothing, I simply want to weep.' And I heard him take deep breaths, and the blood rushed to his eyes, but the tears would not come. I made him inhale from the smelling bottle which had helped me and, by the time we reached his apartment, only the trembling was still in evidence. I put him to bed with the help of his servant, ordered a large fire to be lit in his bedroom, and hurried off to fetch my own doctor to whom I explained what had just happened. He came at once. Armand was blue in the face. He was raving and stammering disconnected words through which only the name of Marguerite could be distinctly heard. 'How is he?' I asked the doctor when he had examined the patient. 'Well now, he has brain fever, no more and no less, and it's as well for him. For I do believe that otherwise, God forgive me, he would have gone mad. Fortunately, his physical sickness will drive out his mental sickness, and most likely in a month he will be out of danger from both of them.' 第六章 我去看阿尔芒的时候，他正躺在床上。 他一看见我，就向我伸出滚烫的手。 “您在发烧，”我对他说。 “没事，只是路上赶得太急，感到疲劳罢了。” “您从玛格丽特姐姐家里回来吗？” “是啊，谁告诉您的？” “我已经知道了，您想办的事谈成了吗？” “谈成了，但是，谁告诉您我出门了？谁告诉您我出门去干什么的？” “公墓的园丁。” “您看到那座坟墓了吗？” 我简直不敢回答，因为他讲这句话的声调说明他的心情还是非常痛苦，就像我上次看到他的时候一样。每当他自己的思想或者别人的谈话触及这个使他伤心的话题时，他那激动的心情会有很长一段时间不能自持。 因此我只是点点头，表示我已去过。 “坟墓照管得很好吧？”阿尔芒接着说。 两大滴泪珠顺着病人的脸颊滚落下来，他转过头去避开我，我装着没有看见，试着把话岔开，换一件别的事情谈谈。 “您出门已经有三个星期了吧，”我对他说。 阿尔芒用手擦擦眼睛，回答我说：“整整三个星期。” “您的旅程很长哪。” “啊，我并不是一直在路上，我病了两个星期，否则我早就回来了，可是我一到那里就发起烧来，只好呆在房间里。” “您病还没有完全好就回来啦。” “如果再在那儿多待上一个星期，没准我就要死在那儿了。” “不过现在您已经回来了，那就应该好好保重身体，您的朋友们会来看望您的。如果您同意的话，我就算是第一个来看您的朋友吧。” “再过两小时，我就要起床。” “那您太冒失啦！” “我一定得起来。” “您有什么急事要办？” “我必须到警长那儿去一次。” “为什么您不委托别人去办这件事呢？您亲自去办会加重您的病的。” “只有办了这件事才能治好我的病，我非要见她一面不可。从我知道她死了以后，尤其是看到她的坟墓以后，我再也睡不着了。我不能想象在我们分离的时候还那么年轻、那么漂亮的姑娘竟然已经不在人世。我一定要亲眼看见才能相信。我一定要看看天主把我这么心爱的人弄成了什么样子，也许这个使人恐惧的景象会治愈我那悲痛的思念之情。您陪我一起去，好不好？……如果您不太讨厌这类事的话。” “她姐姐对您说了些什么？” “什么也没有说，她听到有一个陌生人要买一块地替玛格丽特造一座坟墓，感到非常惊奇，她马上就同意了我的要求，在授权书上签了名。” “听我的话，等您病完全好了以后再去办这件迁葬的事吧。” “唉，请放心吧，我会好起来的。再说，如果我不趁现在有决心的时候，赶紧把这件事情办了，我可能会发疯的，办了这件事才能治愈我的痛苦。我向您发誓，只有在看一眼玛格丽特以后，我才会平静下来。这可能是发高烧时的渴念，不眠之夜的幻梦，谵妄发作时的反应；至于在看到她之后，我是不是会像朗塞①先生那样成为一个苦修士，那要等到以后再说了。” ①朗塞（１６２６—１７００）：年轻时生活放荡，在他的情妇蒙巴宗夫人死后，他就笃信宗教，成了一个苦修士。 “这我懂得，”我对阿尔芒说，“愿为您效劳；您看到朱利?迪普拉没有？” “看见了。啊！就在我上次回来的那一天看见她的。” “她把玛格丽特留在她那儿的日记交给您了吗？” “这就是。” 阿尔芒从枕头下面取出一卷纸，但立刻又把它放了回去。“这些日记里写的东西我都能背下来了，”他对我说，“三个星期以来，我每天都要把这些日记念上十来遍。您以后也可以看看，但要再过几天，等我稍微平静一些，等我能够把这些日记里面写的有关爱情和内心的表白都解释给您听时，您再看吧。 “现在，我要请您办一件事。” “什么事？” “您有一辆车子停在下面吧？” “是啊。” “那么，能不能请您拿了我的护照到邮局去一次，问问有没有寄给我的留局待领的信件？我的父亲和妹妹给我的信一定都寄到巴黎来了，上次我离开巴黎的时候那么仓促，抽不出空在动身之前去打听一下。等您去邮局回来以后，我们再一起去把明天迁葬的事通知警长。” 阿尔芒把护照交给我，我就到让－雅克－卢梭大街去了。 那里有两封给迪瓦尔先生的信，我拿了就回来了。 我回到他家里的时候，阿尔芒已经穿着整齐，准备出门了。 “谢谢，”他接过信对我说，“是啊，”他看了看信封上的地址又接着说，“是啊，这是我父亲和我妹妹寄给我的。他们一定弄不懂我为什么没有回信。” 他打开了信，几乎没有看，只是匆匆扫了一眼，每封信都有四页，一会儿他就把信折了起来。 “我们走吧，”他对我说，“我明天再写回信。” 我们到了警长那儿，阿尔芒把玛格丽特姐姐的委托书交给了他。 警长收下委托书，换了一张给公墓看守人的通知书交给他；约定次日上午十点迁葬。我在事前一个小时去找阿尔芒，然后一起去公墓。 我对参加这样一次迁葬也很感兴趣，老实说，我一夜都没睡好。 连我的脑子里都是乱糟糟的，可想而知这一夜对阿尔芒来说是多么漫长啊！ 第二天早晨九点钟，我到了他的家里，他脸色苍白得吓人，但神态还算安详。 他对我笑了笑，伸过手来。 几支蜡烛都点完了，在出门之前，阿尔芒拿了一封写给他父亲的厚厚的信，他一定在信里倾诉了他夜里的感想。 半个小时以后，我们到达蒙马特公墓。 警长已经在等我们了。 大家慢慢地向玛格丽特的坟墓走去，警长走在前面，阿尔芒和我在后面几步远的地方跟着。 我觉得我同伴的胳膊在不停地抽搐，像是有一股寒流突然穿过他的全身。因此，我瞧瞧他，他也懂得了我目光的含义，对我微笑了一下。可是从他家里出来后，我们连一句话也不曾交谈过。 快要走到坟前时，阿尔芒停了下来，抹了抹脸上豆大的汗珠。 我也利用这个机会舒了一口气，因为我自己的心也好像给虎钳紧紧地钳住了似的。 在这样痛苦的场合，难道还会有什么乐趣可言！我们来到坟前的时候，园丁已经把所有的花盆移开了，铁栅栏也搬开了，有两个人正在挖土。 阿尔芒靠在一棵树上望着。 仿佛他全部的生命都集中在他那两只眼睛里了。 突然，一把鹤嘴锄触到了石头，发出了刺耳的声音。 一听到这个声音，阿尔芒像遭到电击似的往后一缩，并使劲握住我的手，握得我手也痛了。 一个掘墓人拿起一把巨大的铁铲，一点一点地清除墓穴里的积土；后来，墓穴里只剩下盖在棺材上面的石块，他就一块一块地往外扔。 我一直在观察阿尔芒，时刻担心他那明显克制着的感情会把他压垮；但是他一直在望着，两眼发直，瞪得大大的，像疯子一样，只有从他微微颤抖的脸颊和双唇上才看得出他的神经正处在极度紧张的状态之中。 至于我呢，我能说的只有一件事，那就是我很后悔到这里来。 棺材全部露出来以后，警长对掘墓的工人们说： “打开！” 这些人就照办了，仿佛这是世界上最简单的一件事。 棺材是橡木制的，他们开始旋取棺材盖上的螺钉，这些螺钉受了地下的潮气都锈住了。好不容易才把棺材打了开来，一股恶臭迎面扑来，尽管棺材四周都是芳香扑鼻的花草。 “啊，天哪！天哪！”阿尔芒喃喃地说，脸色雪白。 连掘墓人也向后退了。 一块巨大的白色裹尸布裹着尸体，从外面可以看出尸体的轮廓。尸布的一端几乎完全烂掉了，露出了死者的一只脚。 我差不多要晕过去了，就在我现在写到这几行的时候，这一幕景象似乎仍在眼前。 “我们快一点吧。”警长说。 两个工人中的一个动手拆开尸布，他抓住一头把尸布掀开，一下子露出了玛格丽特的脸庞。 那模样看着实在怕人，说起来也使人不寒而栗。 一对眼睛只剩下了两个窟窿，嘴唇烂掉了，雪白的牙齿咬得紧紧的，干枯而黑乎乎的长发贴在太阳穴上，稀稀拉拉地掩盖着深深凹陷下去的青灰色的面颊。不过，我还是能从这一张脸庞上认出我以前经常见到的那张白里透红、喜气洋洋的脸蛋。 阿尔芒死死地盯着这张脸，嘴里咬着他掏出来的手帕。 我仿佛有一只铁环紧箍在头上，眼前一片模糊，耳朵里嗡嗡作响，我只能把我带在身边以防万一的一只嗅盐瓶打开，拼命地嗅着。 正在我头晕目眩的时候，听到警长在跟迪瓦尔先生说： “认出来了吗？” “认出来了。”年轻人声音喑哑地回答说。 “那就把棺材盖上搬走。”警长说。 掘墓工人把裹尸布扔在死人的脸上，盖上棺盖，一人一头把棺材抬起，向指定的那个方向走去。 阿尔芒木然不动，两眼凝视着这个已出空的墓穴；脸色就像刚才我们看见的死尸那样惨白……他似乎变成一块石头了。 我知道在这个场面过去，支持着他的那种痛苦缓解以后，将会发生些什么事情。 我走近警长。 “这位先生，”我指着阿尔芒对他说，“是不是还有必要留在这儿？” “不用了，”他对我说，“而且我还劝您把他带走，他好像不太舒服。” “走吧！”于是我挽着阿尔芒的胳膊，对他说。 “什么？”他瞧着我说，好像不认识我似的。 “事情办完了，”我接着又说，“您现在该走了，我的朋友，您脸色发白，浑身冰凉，您这样激动是会送命的。” “您说得对，我们走吧，”他下意识地回答，但是一步也没有挪动。 我只好抓住他的胳膊拉着他走。 他像个孩子似的跟着走，嘴里不时地咕噜着： “您看到那双眼睛吗？” 说着，他回过头去，好像那个幻觉在召唤他。 他步履蹒跚，踉踉跄跄地向前移动着。他的牙齿格格作响，双手冰凉，全身的神经都在剧烈地颤动。 我跟他讲话，他一句也没有回答。 他唯一能做的，就是让我带着走。 我们在门口找到了车子，正是时候。 他刚在车子里坐下，便抽搐得更厉害了，这是一次真正的全身痉挛。他怕我被吓着，就紧紧地握住我的手，喃喃地说： “没什么，没什么，我只是想哭。” 我听到他在喘粗气，他的眼睛充血，眼泪却流不出来。 我让他闻了闻我刚才用过的嗅盐瓶。我们回到他家里时，看得出他还在哆嗦。 仆人帮助我把他扶到床上躺下，我把房里的炉火生得旺旺的，又连忙去找我的医生，把刚才的经过告诉了他。 他立刻就来了。 阿尔芒脸色绯红，神志昏迷，结结巴巴地说着一些胡话，这些话里只有玛格丽特的名字才叫人听得清楚。 医生检查过病人以后，我问医生说：“怎么样？”“是这样，算他运气，他得的是脑膜炎，不是什么别的病，天主饶恕我，我还以为他疯了呢！幸而他肉体上的病将压倒他精神上的病。一个月以后，兴许他两种病都能治好。”

Chapter 7 ILLNESSES like the one to which Armand had succumbed have at least this much to be said for them: they either kill you at once or let themselves be conquered very quickly. A fortnight after the events which I have just recounted, Armand was convalescing very satisfactorily, and we were bound by a firm friendship. I had scarcely left his sick room throughout the whole time of his illness. Spring had dispensed its flowers, leaves, birds, and harmonies in abundance, and my friend's window cheerfully overlooked his garden which wafted its healthy draughts up to him. The doctor had allowed him to get up, and we often sat talking by the open window at that hour of the day when the sun is at its warmest, between noon and two o'clock. I studiously avoided speaking to him of Marguerite, for I was still afraid that the name would reawaken some sad memory which slumbered beneath the sick man's apparent calm. But Armand, on the contrary, seemed to take pleasure in speaking of her? not as he had done previously, with tears in his eyes, but with a gentle smile which allayed my fears for his state of mind. I had noticed that, since his last visit to the cemetery and the spectacle which had been responsible for causing his serious breakdown, the measure of his mental anguish seemed to have been taken by his physical illness, and Marguerite's death had ceased to present itself through the eyes of the past. A kind of solace had come with the certainty he had acquired and, to drive off the somber image which often thrust itself into his mind, he plunged into the happier memories of his affair with Marguerite and appeared willing to recall no others. His body was too exhausted by his attack of fever, and even by its treatment, to allow his mind to acknowledge any violent emotions, and despite himself the universal joy of spring by which Armand was surrounded directed his thoughts to happier images. All this time, he had stubbornly refused to inform his family of the peril he was in, and when the danger was past, his father still knew nothing of his illness. One evening, we had remained longer by the window than usual. The weather had been superb and the sun was setting in a brilliant twilight of blue and gold. Although we were in Paris, the greenery around us seemed to cut us off from the world, and only the rare sound of a passing carriage from time to time disturbed our conversation. 'It was about this time of year, and during the evening of a day like today, that I first met Marguerite, ' said Armand, heeding his own thoughts rather than what I was saying. I made no reply. Then he turned to me and said: 'But I must tell you the story; you shall turn it into a book which no one will believe, though it may be interesting to write.' 'You shall tell it to me some other time, my friend, ' I told him, 'you are still not well enough.' 'The evening is warm, I have eaten my breast of chicken, ' he said with a smile; 'I am not the least feverish, we have nothing else to do, I shall tell you everything.' 'Since you are so set on it, I'll listen.' 'It's a very simple tale, ' he then added, 'and I shall tell it in the order in which it happened. If at some stage you do make something of it, you are perfectly free to tell it another way.' Here is what he told me, and I have scarcely changed a word of his moving story. Yes (Armand went on, letting his head fall against the back of his armchair), yes, it was on an evening like this! I had spent the day in the country with one of my friends, Gaston R. We had returned to Paris in the evening and, for want of anything better to do, had gone to the Theatre des Varietes. During one of the intervals, we left our seats and, in the corridor, we saw a tall woman whom my friend greeted with a bow. 'Who was that you just bowed to?' I asked him. 'Marguerite Gautier, ' he replied. 'It strikes me she is very much changed, for I didn't recognize her, ' I said with a tremor which you will understand in a moment. 'She's been ill, The poor girl's not long for this world.' I recall these words as though they had been said to me yesterday. Now, my friend, I must tell you that for two years past, whenever I met her, the sight of that girl had always made a strange impression on me. Without knowing why, I paled and my heart beat violently. I have a friend who dabbles in the occult, and he would call what I felt an affinity of fluids; I myself believe quite simply that I was destined to fall in love with Marguerite, and that this was a presentiment. The fact remains that she made a strong impression on me. Several of my friends had seen how I reacted, and they had hooted with laughter when they realized from what quarter that impression came. The first time I had seen her was in the Place de la Bourse, outside Susse's. An open barouche was standing there, and a woman in white had stepped out of it. A murmur of admiration had greeted her as she entered the shop. For my part, I stood rooted to the spot from the time she went in until the moment she came out. Through the windows, I watched her in the shop as she chose what she had come to buy. I could have gone in, but I did not dare. I had no idea what sort of woman she was and was afraid that she would guess my reason for entering the shop and be offended. However I did not believe that I was destined ever to see her again. She was elegantly dressed; she wore a muslin dress with full panels, a square Indian shawl embroidered at the corners with gold thread and silk flowers, a Leghorn straw hat and a single bracelet, one of those thick gold chains which were then just beginning to be fashionable. She got into her barouche and drove off. One of the shop-assistants remained in the doorway with his eyes following the carriage of his elegant customer. I went up to him and asked him to tell me the woman's name. 'That's Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier, ' he replied. I did not dare ask him for her address and I walked away. The memory of this vision ?for, truly, vision it was ?did not fade from my mind like many other visions I had already seen, and I searched everywhere for this woman in white so regal in her beauty. A few days after this, there was a big production at the Opera-Comique. I went along. The first person I saw, in a stage-box in the balcony, was Marguerite Gautier. The young man I was with recognized her too, for he said, mentioning her by name: 'Take a look at that pretty creature.' Just then, Marguerite turned her opera glasses in our direction, saw my friend, smiled at him and gestured that he was to come and pay his respects. 'I'll go along and wish her a pleasant evening, ' he told me, 'I'll be back in a moment.' I could not help myself saying: 'You're a lucky man!' 'In what way?' 'Going to see that woman.' 'Are you in love with her?' 'No, ' I said, reddening, for I really did not know how I stood in the matter, 'but I would like to get to know her.' 'Come with me, I'll introduce you.' 'Ask her permission first.' 'Oh, nonsense! There's no need to be formal with her. Come on.' These words of his were hurtful to me. I trembled at the thought that I should learn for certain that Marguerite was not worthy of my feelings for her. In a book by Alphonse Karr, entitled Ain Rauchen, there is a man who, one evening, follows a very elegant woman with whom he has fallen in love at first sight, so beautiful is she. Merely to kiss the hand of this woman, he feels he has strength enough for any undertaking, the will to conquer all and the courage to do anything. He scarcely dares glance at the slim ankles which she reveals in her efforts to avoid dirtying her dress as it drags on the ground. As he is dreaming of the things he would do to possess her, she stops him at a street corner and asks if he would like to come upstairs with her. He turns his head away, crosses the street and returns home sadly. I now remembered this study and I, who would gladly have suffered for her, was afraid that this woman might accept me too quickly and give me too promptly a love which I should have desired to earn through some long delay or great sacrifice. Of such stuff are we men made; and it is fortunate indeed that the imagination indulges the senses with fancies of this kind, and that the desires of the body make such concessions to the dreams of the soul. So, had someone said to me: 'You shall have this woman tonight and tomorrow you shall be put to death', I would have accepted. Had I been told: 'Give her ten Louis and she's yours', I should have refused and wept like a child who sees the castle which he had glimpsed during the night vanish as he wakes. However, I wanted to meet her; it was one way, indeed the only way, of knowing how I stood with her. So I told my friend that I insisted that she should give her permission for him to introduce me, and I loitered in the corridors, reflecting that any moment now she would see me and that I should not know what sort of expression to assume when she looked at me. I tried to string together in advance the words I would speak to her. What sublime nonsense love is! A moment later, my friend came down again. 'She's expecting us, ' he said. 'Is she along?' I asked. 'She's with another woman.' 'There aren't any men?' 'No.' 'Let's go.' My friend made for the theater exit. 'Hold on, it's not that way, ' I said to him. 'We're going to buy some sweets. She asked for some.' We went into a confectioner's in the galleries of the Passage de l'Opera. I would have gladly bought the whole shop, and was casting round for what could be made into a selection, when my friend said: 'A pound of sugared raisins.' 'Are you sure she likes them?' 'She never eats any other kind of sweets, it's a well-known fact.' When we were outside, he went on: 'Now then. Have you any idea what sort of woman I am about to introduce you to? Don't imagine you'll be meeting a duchess, she's just a kept woman ?none more kept, my dear fellow. Don't be shy, just say whatever comes into your head.' 'Er, of course, ' I stammered, and followed him, telling myself that I was about to be cured of my passion. When I stepped into her box, Marguerite was laughing uproariously. I would have preferred her to be sad. My friend introduced me. Marguerite inclined her head slightly and said: 'Where are my sweets?' 'Here you are.' As she took them, she looked straight at me. I lowered my eyes and blushed. She leaned across, whispered something into her companion's ear, and both of them burst out laughing. It was only too obvious that I was the cause of their mirth: my embarrassment deepened as a result. At the time, I had as a mistress a little middle-class girl, very loving, very cloying, who made me laugh with her sentimentality and sad billets-doux. I realized how much I must have hurt her by the hurt I now felt and, for the space of five minutes, I loved her as never woman was loved. Marguerite ate her raisins without paying any further attention to me. Having introduced me, my friend had no intention of leaving me in this ridiculous position. 'Marguerite, ' he said, 'you shouldn't be surprised if Monsieur Duval does not speak to you. You have such an effect on him that he cannot think of a thing to say.' 'I rather believe that this gentleman came here with you because you found it tiresome to come alone.' 'Were that true, ' I said in turn, 'I would not have asked Ernest to obtain your leave to introduce me.' 'Perhaps it was just a way of putting off the fatal moment.' Anyone who has spent any time at all in the company of girls of Marguerite's sort is quite aware of what pleasure they take in making misplaced remarks and teasing men they meet for the first time. It is no doubt a way of levelling the scores for the humiliations which they are often forced to undergo at the hands of the men they see every day. So, if you wish to give as good as you get, you need to have a certain familiarity with their world, and this I did not have. Moreover, the idea that I had formed of Marguerite made her jesting seem worse to me. Nothing about this woman left me indifferent. And so, getting to my feet, I said to her with a faltering in my voice which I found impossible to conceal completely: 'If that is what you think of me, Madame, all that remains for me is to ask you to forgive my indiscretion and to take my leave, assuring you that it will not happen again.' Thereupon, I bowed and left. I had scarcely closed the door when I heard a third burst of laughter. I would dearly have wished for someone to try to elbow me out of his way at that moment. I returned to my seat in the stalls. The three knocks were sounded for the curtain to rise. Ernest rejoined me. 'What a way to behave!' he said to me as he took his seat. 'They think you're mad.' 'What did Marguerite say after I left?' 'She laughed, and declared she'd never seen anybody funnier than you. But you mustn't think you're beaten. Just don't do women like that the honour of taking them seriously. They have no idea what good taste and manners are; it's just the same with pet dogs that have perfume poured over them ?they can't stand the smell, and go off and roll in some gutter.' 'Anyway, what's it to me?' 'I said, trying to sound offhand. 'I shan't ever see that woman again, and even if I liked her before I got to know her, everything is very different now that I have met her.' 'Bah! I wouldn't be at all surprised one of these days to see you sitting in the back of her box and hear people saying how you're ruining yourself on her account. Still, you may be right, she has no manners, but she'd make an attractive mistress all the same.' Fortunately, the curtain went up and my friend said no more. It would be quite impossible for me to tell you what play was performed. All I remember was that, from time to time, I would glance up at the box I had left so abruptly, and that the shapes of new callers kept appearing in quick succession. However, I was far from having put Marguerite out of my mind. Another thought now took possession of me. I felt that I had both her insulting behaviour and my discomfiture to expunge; I told myself that, even if I had to spend everything I had, I would have that woman and would take by right the place which I had vacated so quickly. Some time before the final curtain, Marguerite and her companion left their box. Despite myself, I rose from my seat. 'You're not leaving?' said Ernest. 'Yes.' 'Why?' Just then, he noticed that the box was empty. 'Go on, then, ' he said, 'and good luck, or rather, better luck!' I left. On the stairs, I heard the rustle of dresses and the sound of voices. I stepped to one side and, without being observed, saw the two women walk by me together with the two young men who were escorting them. In the colonnade outside the theatre, a young servant came up to the two women. 'Go and tell the coachman to wait outside the Cafe Anglais, ' said Marguerite, 'we shall go as far as there on foot.' A few minutes later, as I loitered on the boulevard, I saw Marguerite at the window of one of the restaurant's large rooms: leaning on the balcony, she was pulling the petals one by one off the camellias in her bouquet. One of the two men was leaning over her shoulder and was whispering to her. I found a seat in the Maison d'Or, in one of the private rooms on the first floor, and did not take my eyes off the window in question. At one in the morning, Marguerite got into her carriage with her three friends. I took a cab and followed. The carriage stopped outside 9 rue d'Antin. Marguerite got out and went up to her apartment alone. No doubt this happened by chance, but this chance made me very happy. From that day on, I often encountered Marguerite at the theatre or on the Champs-Elysees. She was unchangingly gay and I was unfailingly quickened by the same emotions. But then a fortnight passed without my seeing her anywhere. I ran into Gaston and asked him about her. 'The poor girl is very ill, ' he replied. 'What's the matter with her?' 'The matter with her is that she's got consumption and, because she lives the sort of life which is not calculated to make her better, she's in bed and dying.' The heart is a strange thing; I was almost glad she was ill. Every day, I called to have the latest news of the patient, though without signing the book or leaving my card. It was in this way that I learned of her convalescence and her departure for Bagneres. Then time went by, and the impression she had made on me, if not the memory, seemed to fade gradually from my mind. I travelled; new intimacies, old habits and work took the place of thoughts of her, and whenever I did think back to that first encounter, I preferred to see the whole thing as one of those passions which one experiences in youth, and laughs at in no time at all. Besides, there would have been no merit in vanquishing her memory, for I had lost sight of Marguerite since the time of her departure and, as I have explained to you, when she passed close to me in the passageway of the Theatre des Varietes, I did not recognize her. She was wearing a veil, it is true; but two years earlier, however many veils she had been wearing, I would not have needed to see her to recognize her: I would have known her instinctively. This did not prevent my heart form racing when I realized that it was her. The two years spent without seeing her, together with the effects which this separation seemed to have brought about were sent up in the same smoke by a single touch of her dress. 第七章 有些疾病干脆爽快，不是一下子送了人的命，便是过不了几天就痊愈，阿尔芒患的正是这一类病。 在我刚才叙述的事情过去半个月以后，阿尔芒已经完全康复，我们彼此已经成为好友。在他整个患病期间，我几乎没有离开过他的房间。 春天到了，繁花似锦，百鸟和鸣，我朋友房间里的窗户欢乐地打开了，窗户朝着花园，花园里清新的气息一阵阵向他袭来。 医生已经允许他起床，从中午十二点到下午两点阳光最暖和的时候，窗子是开着的，我们经常坐在窗边聊天。 我一直留意着不要扯到玛格丽特，生怕一提起这个名字会使得情绪已安定下来的病人重新想起他过去的伤心事；阿尔芒却相反，他似乎很乐意谈到她，也不再像过去那样一谈起她就眼泪汪汪的，而是带着一脸柔和的微笑，这种微笑使我对他心灵的健康感到放心。 我注意到，自从上次去公墓看到了那个使他突然发病的场面以来，他精神上的痛苦仿佛已被疾病替代了，对于玛格丽特的死，他的想法和过去不一样了。他对玛格丽特的死已经确信无疑，心中反而感到轻松，为了驱走经常出现在他眼前的阴暗的形象，他一直在追忆跟玛格丽特交往时最幸福的时刻，似乎他也只愿意回忆这些事情。 阿尔芒大病初愈，高烧乍退，身体还极度虚弱，在精神上不能让他过于激动。春天大自然欣欣向荣的景象围绕着阿尔芒，使他情不自禁地回忆起过去那些欢乐的景象。 他一直固执地不肯把病危的情况告诉家里，一直到他脱离险境以后，他父亲还蒙在鼓里。 一天傍晚，我们坐在窗前，比平时坐得晚了一些，那天天气非常好，太阳在闪耀着蔚蓝和金黄两色的薄暮中入睡了。虽说我们身在巴黎，但四周的一片翠绿色仿佛把我们与世界隔绝了，除了偶尔传来的街车辚辚声，没有其他声音来打扰我们的谈话。 “差不多就像这么个季节，这么个傍晚，我认识了玛格丽特。”阿尔芒对我说。他陷入了遐想，我对他说话他是听不见的。 我什么也没有回答。 于是，他转过头来对我说： “我总得把这个故事讲给您听；您可以把它写成一本书，别人未必相信，但这本书写起来也许会很有趣的。”“过几天您再给我讲吧，我的朋友。”我对他说，“您身体还没有完全复原呢。” “今天晚上很暖和，鸡脯肉我也吃过了①，”他微笑着对我说，“我不发烧了，我们也没有什么事要干，我把这个故事原原本本地讲给您听吧。” ①法国习惯病后调养时以鸡脯肉滋补，与我国习惯相似。 “既然您一定要讲，那我就洗耳恭听。” “这是一个十分简单的故事，”于是他接着说，“我按事情发生的先后顺序给您讲，如果您以后要用这个故事写点什么东西，随您怎么写都可以。” 下面就是他跟我讲话的内容，这个故事非常生动，我几乎没有作什么改动。 是啊，——阿尔芒把头靠在椅背上，接着说道，——是啊，就是在这样的一个傍晚！我跟我的朋友R?加斯东在乡下玩了一天，傍晚我们回到巴黎，因为困得无聊，我们就去杂耍剧院看戏。 在一次幕间休息时，我们到走廊里休息，看见一个身材颀长的女人走过，我朋友向她打了个招呼。 “您在跟谁打招呼？”我问他。 “玛格丽特?戈蒂埃。”他对我说。 “她的模样变得好厉害，我几乎认不出她来了。”我激动地说。我为什么激动，等会儿您就明白了。 “她生过一场病，看来这个可怜的姑娘是活不长了。” 这些话，我记忆犹新，就像我昨天听到的一样。 您要知道，我的朋友，两年以来，每当我遇见这个姑娘的时候，就会产生一种说不出来的感觉。 我会莫名其妙地脸色泛白，心头狂跳。我有一个朋友是研究秘术的，他把我这种感觉称为“流体的亲力”；而我却很简单地相信我命中注定要爱上玛格丽特，我预感到了这点。 她经常给我留下深刻的印象，我的几位朋友是亲眼目睹的，当他们知道我这种印象是从谁那儿来的时候，总是大笑不止。 我第一次是在交易所广场絮斯商店①门口遇到她的。一辆敞篷四轮马车停在那儿，一个穿着一身白色衣服的女人从车上下来。她走进商店的时候引起了一阵低低的赞叹声。而我却像被钉在地上似的，从她进去一直到她出来，一动都没有动。我隔着橱窗望着她在店铺里选购东西。我原来也可以进去，但是我不敢。我不知道这个女人是什么人，我怕她猜出我走进店铺的用意而生气。然而那时候，我也没有想到以后还会见到她。 ①絮斯商店：当时一家有名的时装商店。 她服饰典雅，穿着一条镶满花边的细纱长裙，肩上披一块印度方巾，四角全是金镶边和丝绣的花朵，戴着一顶意大利草帽，还戴着一只手镯，那是当时刚刚时行的一种粗金链子。 她又登上她的敞篷马车走了。 店铺里一个小伙计站在门口，目送这位穿着高雅的漂亮女顾客的车子远去。我走到他身边，请他把这个女人的名字告诉我。 “她是玛格丽特?戈蒂埃小姐，”他回答我说。 我不敢问她的地址就离开了。 我以前有过很多幻觉，过后也都忘了；但是这一次是真人真事，因此这个印象就一直留在我的脑海里。于是我到处去寻找这个穿白衣服的绝代佳人。 几天以后，喜剧歌剧院有一次盛大的演出，我去了。我在台前旁侧的包厢里看到的第一个人就是玛格丽特?戈蒂埃。 我那位年轻的同伴也认识她，因为他叫着她的名字对我说： “您看！这个漂亮的姑娘！” 正在这时，玛格丽特拿起望远镜朝着我们这边望，她看到了我的朋友，便对他莞尔一笑，做手势要他过去看她。 “我去跟她问个好，”他对我说，“一会儿我就回来。” 我情不自禁地说：“您真幸福！” “幸福什么？” “因为您能去拜访这个女人。” “您是不是爱上她了？” “不。”我涨红了脸说，因为这一下我真有点儿不知所措了，“但是我很想认识她。” “跟我来，我替您介绍。” “先去征得她同意吧。” “啊！真是的，跟她是不用拘束的，来吧。” 他这句话使我心里很难过，我害怕由此而证实玛格丽特不值得我对她这么动情。 阿尔封斯?卡尔①在一本书名为《烟雾》的小说里说：一天晚上，有一个男人尾随着一个非常俊俏的女人；她体态优美，容貌艳丽，使他一见倾心。为了吻吻这个女人的手，他觉得就有了从事一切的力量，战胜一切的意志和克服一切的勇气。这个女人怕她的衣服沾上泥，撩了一下裙子，露出了一段迷人的小腿，他都几乎不敢望一眼。正当他梦想着怎样才能得到这个女人的时候，她却在一个街角留住了他，问他是不是愿意上楼到她家里去。他回头就走，穿过大街，垂头丧气地回到了家里。 ①阿尔封斯?卡尔（１８０８—１８９０）：法国新闻记者兼作家。 我记起了这段描述。本来我很想为这个女人受苦，我担心她过快地接受我，怕她过于匆忙地爱上我；我宁愿经过长期等待，历尽艰辛以后才得到这种爱情。我们这些男人就是这种脾气；如果能使我们头脑里的想象赋有一点诗意，灵魂里的幻想高于肉欲，那就会感到无比的幸福。 总之，如果有人对我说：“今天晚上您可以得到这个女人，但是明天您就会被人杀死。”我会接受的。如果有人对我说：“花上十个路易①，您就可以做她的情夫。”我会拒绝的，而且会痛哭一场，就像一个孩子在醒来时发现夜里梦见的宫殿城堡化为乌有一样。 ①路易：法国从前使用的金币，每枚值二十法郎。 可是，我想认识她；这是要知道她是怎样的一个人的方法，而且还是唯一的方法。 于是我对朋友说，我一定要他先征得玛格丽特的同意以后，再把我介绍给她。我独自在走廊里踱来踱去，脑子里在想着，她就要看到我了，而我还不知道在她的注视之下应该采取什么态度。 我尽量把我要对她说的话事先考虑好。 爱情是多么纯洁，多么天真无邪啊！ 过不多久，我的朋友下来了。 “她等着我们，”他对我说。 “她只有一个人吗？”我问道。 “有一个女伴。” “没有男人吗？” “没有。” “我们去吧。” 我的朋友向剧场的大门走去。 “喂，不是从那儿走的呀，”我对他说。 “我们去买些蜜饯，是玛格丽特刚才向我要的。” 我们走进了开设在剧场过道上的一个糖果铺。 我真想把整个铺子都买下来。正在我观看可以买些什么东西装进袋子的时候，我的朋友开口了： “糖渍葡萄一斤。” “您知道她爱吃这个吗？” “她从来不吃别的蜜饯，这是出了名的。” “啊！”当我们走出店铺时他接着说，“您知道我要把您介绍给一个什么样的女人？您别以为是把您介绍给一位公爵夫人，她不过是一个妓女罢了，一个地地道道的妓女。亲爱的，您不必拘束，想到什么就说什么好啦。” “好吧，好吧，”我嘟嘟囔囔地说。我跟在朋友的后面走着，心里却在想，我的热情看来要冷下去了。 当我走进包厢的时候，玛格丽特放声大笑。 我倒是愿意看到她愁眉苦脸。 我的朋友把我介绍给她，玛格丽特对我微微点了点头，接着就说： “那么我的蜜饯呢？” “在这儿。” 在拿蜜饯的时候，她对我望了望，我垂下眼睛，脸涨得绯红。 她俯身在她邻座那个女人的耳边轻轻地说了几句话，随后两个人都放声大笑起来。 不用说是我成了她们的笑柄；我发窘的模样更加让她们笑个不停。那时我本来就有一个情妇，她是一个小家碧玉，温柔而多情。她那多情的性格和她伤感的情书经常使我发笑。由于我这时的感受，我终于懂得了我从前对她的态度一定使她非常痛苦，因此有五分钟之久我爱她就像一个从未爱过任何女人的人一样。 玛格丽特吃着糖渍葡萄不再理我了。 我的介绍人不愿意让我陷于这种尴尬可笑的境地。“玛格丽特，”他说，“如果迪瓦尔先生没有跟您讲话，您也不必感到奇怪。您把他弄得不知所措，他连该说什么话也不知道了。” “我看您是因为一个人来觉得无聊才请这位先生陪来的。” “如果真是这样的话，”我开口说话了，“那么我就不会请欧内斯特来，要求您同意把我介绍给您了。” “这很可能是一种拖延这个倒霉时刻的办法。” 谁要是曾经跟玛格丽特那样的姑娘稍许有过一点往来，谁就会知道她们喜欢装疯卖傻，喜欢跟她们初次见面的人恶作剧。她们不得不忍受那些每天跟她们见面的人的侮辱，这无疑是对那些侮辱的一种报复。 因此要对付她们，也要用她们圈内人的某种习惯，而这种习惯我是没有的；再说，我对玛格丽特原有的看法，使我对她的玩笑看得过于认真了，对这个女人的任何方面，我都不能无动于衷。因此我站了起来，带着一种难于掩饰的沮丧声调对她说： “如果您认为我是这样一个人的话，夫人，那么我只能请您原谅我的冒失，我不得不向您告辞，并向您保证我以后不会再这样卤莽了。” 说完，我行了一个礼就出来了。 我刚一关上包厢的门，就听到了第三次哄笑声。这时候我真希望有人来撞我一下。 我回到了我的座位上。 这时候开幕锤敲响了。 欧内斯特回到了我的身边。 “您是怎么搞的！”他一面坐下来一面对我说，“她们以为您疯了。” “我走了以后，玛格丽特说什么来着？” “她笑了，她对我说，她从来也没有看见过像您那样滑稽的人；但是您决不要以为您失败了，对这些姑娘您不必那么认真。她们不懂得什么是风度，什么是礼貌；这就像替狗洒香水一样，它们总觉得味道难闻，要跑到水沟里去打滚洗掉。” “总之，这跟我有什么相干？”我尽量装得毫不介意似地说，“我再也不要见到这个女人了，如果说在我认识她以前我对她有好感；现在认识她以后，情况却大不相同了。” “算了吧！总有一天我会看见您坐在她的包厢里，也会听到您为她倾家荡产的消息。不过，即便那样也不能怪您，她没有教养，但她是一个值得弄到手的漂亮的情妇哪！” 幸好启幕了，我的朋友没有再讲下去。要告诉您那天舞台上演了些什么是不可能的。我所能记得起来的，就是我不时地抬起眼睛望着我刚才匆匆离开的包厢，那里新的来访者川流不息。 但是，我根本就忘不了玛格丽特，另外一种想法在我脑子里翻腾。我觉得我不应该念念不忘她对我的侮辱和我自己的笨拙可笑。我暗自说道，就是倾家荡产，我也要得到这个姑娘，占有那个我刚才一下子就放弃了的位置。 戏还没有结束，玛格丽特和她的朋友就离开了包厢。 我身不由己地也离开了我的座位。 “您这就走吗？”欧内斯特问我。 “是的。” “为什么？” 这时候，他发现那个包厢空了。 “走吧，走吧，”他说，“祝您好运气，祝您万事顺利。” 我走出了场子。 我听到楼梯上有窸窣的衣裙声和谈话声。我闪在一旁不让人看到，只见两个青年陪着这两个女人走过。在剧场的圆柱走廊里有一个小厮向她们迎上前来。 “去跟车夫讲，要他到英国咖啡馆门口等我，”玛格丽特说，“我们步行到那里去。” 几分钟以后，我在林荫大道上踯躅的时候，看到在那个咖啡馆的一间大房间的窗口，玛格丽特正靠着窗栏，一瓣一瓣地摘下她那束茶花的花瓣。 两个青年中有一个俯首在她肩后跟她窃窃私语。 我走进了附近的金屋咖啡馆，坐在二楼的楼厅里，目不转睛地盯着那个窗口。 深夜一点钟，玛格丽特跟她三个朋友一起登上了马车。 我也跳上一辆轻便马车尾随着她。 她的车子驶到昂坦街九号门前停了下来。 玛格丽特从车上下来，一个人回到家里。 她一个人回家可能是偶然的，但是这个偶然使我觉得非常幸福。 从此以后，我经常在剧院里，在香榭丽舍大街遇见玛格丽特，她一直是那样快活；而我始终是那样激动。 然而，一连有两个星期我在哪儿都没有遇到她。在碰见加斯东的时候，我就向他打听她的消息。 “可怜的姑娘病得很重，”他回答我说。 “她生的什么病？” “她生的是肺病，再说，她过的那种生活对治好她的病是毫无好处的，她正躺在床上等死呢。” 人心真是不可捉摸；我听到她的病情几乎感到很高兴。 我每天去打听她的病况，不过我既不让人家记下我的名字，也没有留下我的名片。我就是通过这种方法知道了她已病愈，后来又去了巴涅尔的消息。 随着时光的流逝，如果不能说是我逐渐地忘了她，那就是她给我的印象慢慢地淡薄了。我外出旅游，和亲友往来，生活琐事和日常工作冲淡了我对她的思念。即使我回忆起那次邂逅，也不过把它当作是一时的感情冲动。这种事在年幼无知的青年中是常有的，一般都事过境迁，一笑了之。 再说，我能够忘却前情也没有什么了不起的，因为自从玛格丽特离开巴黎之后，我就见不到她了，因此，就像我刚才跟您说的那样，当她在杂耍剧院的走廊里，从我身边走过的时候，我已经认不出她了。 固然那时她戴着面纱，但换了在两年以前，尽管她戴着面纱，我都能一眼认出她来，就是猜也把她猜出来了。 尽管如此，当我知道她就是玛格丽特的时候，心里还是怦怦乱跳。由于两年不见她面而在逐渐淡漠下去的感情，一看到她的衣衫，刹那间便又重新燃烧起来了。

Chapter 8 HOWEVER (Armand went on after a pause), though I realized full well that I was still in love, I felt stronger than I had before and, in my desire to be with Marguerite again, there was also a determination to make her see that I now had the upper hand. Many are the paths the heart will tread, and many the excuses its finds, that it may reach what it desires! I could not therefore remain in the corridors any longer, and went back to my seat in the pit, quickly glancing around the auditorium as I did so to see in which box she was sitting. She was in the stage-box in the stalls, and quite alone. She looked much altered, as I have told you, and I could not detect on her lips her old unconcerned smile. She had been ill; she still was. Although it was already April, she was still dressed for winter and wore velvet. I looked at her so insistently that my eye caught hers. She considered me for a moment or two, reached for her opera-glasses to get a better look, and clearly thought she recognized me, though without being able to say positively who I was. For when she lowered her opera- glasses, a smile ?that captivating greeting of women ? strayed across her lips in reply to the acknowledgement the seemed to expect from me. But I made no response, as a way of asserting an advantage over her and of appearing to have forgotten while she remembered. Believing that she was mistaken, she turned her head away. The curtain went up. I have seen Marguerite many times in the theatre. I never once saw her pay the slightest attention to what was happening on stage. For me too, the play was of very little interest, and I had eyes only for her while doing my utmost to ensure that she did not notice. It was thus that I observed her exchanging looks with the person who occupied the box opposite hers; I raised my eyes to this other box, and in it recognized a woman with whom I was reasonably familiar. She had once been a kept woman, had tried the stage, had not succeeded and, counting on her contacts among the fashionable women of Paris, had gone into business and opened a milliner's shop. In her, I saw a way of contriving a meeting with Marguerite, and I took advantage of a moment when she was looking in my direction to wish her a pleasant evening with hands and eyes. What I had foreseen happened: she summoned me to her box. Prudence Duvernoy ?such was the apt name of the milliner ?was one of those ample women of forty with whom no great diplomatic subtleties are required to get them to say what you wish to know, especially when what you wish to know is as simple as what I had to ask. Seizing a moment when she was inaugurating a new round of signals with Marguerite, I asked her: 'Who's that you're watching?' 'Marguerite Gautier.' 'Do you know her?' 'Yes, I'm her milliner, and she's a neighbour of mine.' 'So you live in the rue d'Antin.' 'In number 7. The window of her dressing-room looks on to the window of mine.' 'They say she's a charming girl.' 'Don't you know her?' 'No, but I'd very much like to.' 'Do you want me to tell her to come across to our box?' 'No, I'd prefer you to introduce me to her.' 'At her place?' 'Yes.' 'That's more difficult.' 'Why?' 'Because she's under the protection of an old Duke who is very jealous.' ' "Protection", how charming.' 'Yes, protection, ' Prudence went on. 'Poor old thing. He'd be hard put to it to be her lover.' Prudence then related how Marguerite had become acquainted with the Duke at Bagneres. 'And that is why, ' I continued, 'she's here on her own?' 'That's right.' 'But who'll drive her home?' 'He will.' 'So he'll come and fetch her?' 'Any minute now.' 'And who's taking you home?' 'Nobody.' 'Allow me.' 'But you're with a friend, I believe.' 'Allow us, then.' 'What's this friend of yours?' 'He's a charming fellow, very witty. He'll be delighted to meet you.' 'Very well, then, it's agreed, all four of us will leave after this play is finished, for I've seen the last one before.' 'Splendid. I'll go and tell my friend.' 'Off you go.' I was on the point of leaving when Prudence said: 'Ah! there's the Duke just coming into Marguerite's box.' I looked. And indeed, a man of seventy had just sat down behind the young woman and was giving her a bag of sweets which, with a smile, she began to eat at once, and then she pushed them across the front ledge of her box with a sign to Prudence which could be translated as: 'Do you want some?' 'No, ' was Prudence's reply. Marguerite retrieved the bag and, turning round, began chatting to the Duke. So exact an account of all these detailed happenings must seem very childish, but anything connected with that girl is so present in my recollection that I cannot help but remember it all now. I went down to let Gaston know what I had just arranged for him and me. He was game. We left our seats in the stalls and made for Madame Duvernoy's box. We had barely opened the door leading out of the orchestra stalls when we were forced to stop and make way for Marguerite and the Duke who were leaving. I would have given ten years of my life to have been in that old man's shoes. When he reached the boulevard, he handed her up into a phaeton, which he drove himself, and they disappeared, borne away at a trot by two superb horses. We entered Prudence's box. When the play was over, we went down and got an ordinary cab which took us to 7 rue d'Antin. When we reached her door, Prudence invited us up to view her business premises, which we had never seen before, and of which she seemed very proud. You can imagine how eagerly I accepted. I felt that I was imperceptibly drawing closer to Marguerite. It was not long before I had turned the conversation round to her. 'Is the old Duke with your neighbour?' I asked Prudence. 'No, no; she's most likely on her own.' 'But she'll be terribly bored, ' said Gaston. 'We usually spend our evenings together or, when she gets home, she calls down to me. She never goes to bed before two in the morning. She can't get to sleep before then.' 'Why not?' 'Because she's got consumption, and she's almost always feverish.' 'Doesn't she have any lovers?' I asked. 'I never see anybody staying behind when I leave, but I don't say there's nobody comes after I've gone. When I'm there of an evening, I often come across a certain Count de N who thinks he can get somewhere with her by paying calls at eleven o'clock and sending her all the jewels she could possibly want; but she can't stand the sight of him. She's wrong, he's a very rich young man. I tell her from time to time, not that it does a bit of good: "My dear child, he's just the man for you!" She listens to me well enough ordinarily, but then she turns her back on me and answers that he is too stupid. He may be stupid, I grant you, but he'd set her up on a good footing, whereas that old Duke could die from one day to the next. Old men are selfish; his family are always on at him about his affection for Marguerite: that makes two reasons why he'll not leave her a penny. I'm forever going on at her about it, but she says that there'll still be time enough to say yes to the Count when the Duke's dead. 'It's not always much fun, ' Prudence continued, 'living the way she does. I can tell you it wouldn't do for me. I'd send the old relic packing. He's a dull old thing: he calls her his daughter, looks after her like a little child, and is forever hovering round her. I'm pretty sure that even at this time of night one of his servants is hanging about in the street to see who comes out and especially who goes in.' 'Oh, poor Marguerite!' said Gaston, sitting down at the piano and playing a waltz, 'I had no idea. Still, I have noticed that she hasn't seemed as jolly for some time now.' 'Hush!' said Prudence, pricking up her ears. Gaston stopped. 'She's calling me, I think.' We listened. And indeed, a voice was calling Prudence. 'Come along, gentlemen, off with you, ' Madame Duvernoy told us. 'So that's what you mean by hospitality, ' Gaston said laughingly, 'we'll be off when it suits us.' 'Why should we go?' 'I'm going to Marguerite's.' 'We'll wait here.' 'I won't have it.' 'In that case, we'll come with you.' 'That's even more out of the question.' 'I know Marguerite, 'said Gaston, ' it's perfectly all right for me to drop in to pay my respects.' 'But Armand doesn't know her.' 'I shall introduce him.' 'Impossible.' Once more we heard Marguerite's voice still calling Prudence. Prudence ran into her dressing- room. I followed with Gaston. She opened the window. We hid ourselves so that we could not be seen from outside. 'I've been calling you for ten minutes, 'said Marguerite from her window in a tone that verged on the peremptory. 'What do you want with me?' 'I want you to come at once.' 'Why?' 'Because Count de N is still here, and he's boring me to death.' 'I can't just now.' 'What's stopping you?' 'I've got two young men here who won't go away.' 'Tell them you've got to go out.' 'I have told them.' 'Well, they can stay there; when they see you've gone, they'll leave.' 'After turning the place upside down?' 'But what do they want?' 'They want to see you.' 'What are their names?' 'You know one of them, Monsieur Gaston R.' 'Ah, yes, I know him; and the other?' 'Monsieur Armand Duval. Don't you know him?' 'No; but bring them all the same. Anything would be better than the Count. I shall be waiting for you, so hurry.' Marguerite shut her window, and Prudence shut hers. Marguerite, who had for an instant recalled my face, did not remember my name. I would have been better pleased to be remembered in an unflattering light than forgotten altogether like this. 'I knew it, ' said Gaston, 'I knew she'd be delighted to see us.' 'Delighted isn't the word, ' answered Prudence, putting on her hat and shawl, 'she'll see you to make the Count go away. Try to be more agreeable than him, or otherwise ?I know Marguerite ?she'll take it out on me.' We followed Prudence down the stairs. I was shaking; I had a feeling that this visit would have a great influence on my life. I was even more apprehensive than the evening I had been introduced in the box at the Opera-Comique. When we arrived at the door of the apartment with which you are acquainted, my heart was beating so loud that I could not think. A few chords from a piano reached our ears. Prudence rang the bell. The piano stopped. A woman, who looked rather more like a lady's companion than a maid, opened the door to us. We passed through the drawing- room, and from the drawing-room into the parlour, which was at that time exactly as you have seen it since. A young man was leaning against the mantelpiece. Marguerite, seated at the piano, was letting her fingers run over the keys, starting more pieces than she finished. Everything about the scene exuded boredom which stemmed, on the man's side, from an embarrassing awareness of his own dullness and, on the woman's, from the visit of this lugubrious personage. Hearing Prudence's voice, Marguerite rose to her feet and, coming up to us after first exchanging a look of gratitude with Madame Duvernoy, she said to us: 'Do come in, gentlemen, you are most welcome.' 第八章 可是，——阿尔芒歇了一会儿又接着说，——一方面我明白我仍然爱着玛格丽特，一方面又觉得我比以前要坚强些了，我希望再次跟玛格丽特见面，还想让她看看我现在比她优越得多。 为了要实现心中的愿望该想出多少办法，编出多少理由啊！ 因此，我在走廊里再也待不下去了，我回到正厅就坐，一面飞快地朝大厅里扫了一眼，想看看她坐在哪个包厢里。 她独自一人坐在底层台前包厢里。我刚才已经跟您说过，她变了，嘴上已不再带有那种满不在乎的微笑。她生过一场病，而且病还没有完全好。 尽管已经是四月份的天气了，她穿得还是像在冬天里一样，全身衣裳都是天鹅绒的。 我目不转睛地瞅着她，终于把她的眼光给吸引过来了。 她对我端详了一会儿，又拿起望远镜想仔细瞧瞧我，她肯定觉得我面熟，但一下子又想不起我是谁。因为当她放下望远镜的时候，嘴角上浮现出一丝微笑，这是女人用来致意的一种非常妩媚的笑容，显然她在准备回答我即将向她表示的敬意。但是我对她的致意一点反应也没有，似乎故意要显得比她高贵，我装出一副她记起了我，我倒已经把她忘掉了的神气。 她以为认错了人，把头掉了过去。 启幕了。 在演戏的时候，我向玛格丽特看了好几次，可是我从未见到她认认真真地在看戏。 就我来说，对演出同样也是心不在焉的，我光关心着她，但又尽量不让她觉察到。 我看到她在和她对面包厢里的人交换眼色，便向那个包厢望去，我认出了坐在里面的是一个跟我相当熟悉的女人。 这个女人过去也做过妓女，曾经打算进戏班子，但是没有成功。后来靠了她和巴黎那些时髦女子的关系，做起生意来了，开了一家妇女时装铺子。 我从她身上找到了一个跟玛格丽特会面的办法，趁她往我这边瞧的时候，我用手势和眼色向她问了好。 果然不出我所料，她招呼我到她包厢里去。 那位妇女时装铺老板娘的芳名叫普律当丝?迪韦尔诺瓦，是一个四十来岁的胖女人，要从她们这样的人那里打听些什么事是用不到多费周折的，何况我要向她打听的事又是那么平常。 我趁她又要跟玛格丽特打招呼的时候问她说： “您是在看谁啊？” “玛格丽特?戈蒂埃。” “您认识她吗？” “认识，她是我铺子里的主顾，而且也是我的邻居。” “那么您也住在昂坦街？” “七号，她梳妆间的窗户和我梳妆间的窗正好对着。” “据说她是一个很迷人的姑娘。” “您不认识她吗？” “不认识，但是我很想认识她。” “您要我叫她到我们的包厢里来吗？” “不要，最好还是您把我介绍给她。” “到她家里去吗？” “是的。” “这不太好办。” “为什么？” “因为有一个嫉妒心很重的老公爵监护着她。” “监护，那真太妙了！” “是啊，她是受到监护的，”普律当丝接着说，“可怜的老头儿，做她的情夫真够麻烦的呢。” 于是普律当丝对我讲了玛格丽特在巴涅尔认识公爵的经过。 “就是因为这个缘故，”我继续说，“她才一个人上这儿来的吗？” “完全正确。” “但是谁来陪她回去呢？” “就是他。” “那么他是要来陪她回去的罗，是吗？” “过一会儿他就会来的。” “那么您呢，谁来陪您回去呢？” “没有人。” “我来陪您回去吧！” “可是我想您还有一位朋友吧。” “那么我们一起陪您回去好啦。” “您那位朋友是个什么样的人？” “一个非常漂亮和聪明的小伙子，他认识您一定会感到很高兴。” “那么，就这样吧，等这幕戏完了以后我们三人①一起走，最后一幕我已经看过了。” ①原文为四人，似误，现改为三人。——译者 “好吧，我去通知我的朋友。” “您去吧。” “喂！”我正要出去的时候，普律当丝对我说，“您看，走进玛格丽特包厢的就是那位公爵。” 我朝那边望去。 果然，一个七十来岁的老头儿刚刚在这个年轻女人的身后坐下来，还递给她一袋蜜饯，她赶紧笑眯眯地从纸袋里掏出蜜饯，然后又把那袋蜜饯递送到包厢前面，向普律当丝扬了扬，意思是说： “您要来一点吗？” “不要，”普律当丝说。 玛格丽特拿起那袋蜜饯，转过身去，开始和公爵聊天。 把这些琐事都讲出来似乎有些孩子气，但是与这个姑娘有关的一切事情我都记得清清楚楚，因此，今天我还是禁不住一一地想起来了。 我下楼告诉加斯东我刚才为我们两人所作的安排。 他同意了。 我们离开座位想到楼上迪韦尔诺瓦夫人的包厢里去。 刚一打开正厅的门，我们就不得不站住，让玛格丽特和公爵走出去。 我真情愿少活十年来换得这个老头儿的位置。 到了街上，公爵扶玛格丽特坐上一辆四轮敞篷马车，自己驾着那辆车子，两匹骏马拉着他们得得地远去了。 我们走进了普律当丝的包厢。 这一出戏结束后，我们下楼走出剧院，雇了一辆普通的出租马车，车子把我们送到了昂坦街七号。到了普律当丝家门口，她邀请我们上楼到她家里去参观她引以自豪的那些商品，让我们开开眼界。可想而知我是多么心急地接受了她的邀请。 我仿佛觉得自己正在一步步地向玛格丽特靠拢，不多会儿，我就把话题转到玛格丽特身上。 “那个老公爵这会儿在您女邻居家里吗？”我对普律当丝说。 “不在，她肯定一个人在家。” “那她一定会感到非常寂寞的，”加斯东说。 “我们每天晚上几乎都是在一起消磨时间的，不然就是她从外面回来以后再叫我过去。她在夜里两点以前是从不睡觉的，早了她睡不着。” “为什么？” “因为她有肺病，她差不多一直在发烧。” “她没有情人吗？”我问。 “每次我去她家的时候，从未看见有人留在她那儿，但是我不能担保就没有人等我走了以后再回去。晚上我在她家里经常遇到一位N伯爵，这位伯爵自以为只要经常在晚上十一时去拜访她，她要多少首饰就给她多少首饰，这样就能渐渐地得到她的好感。但是她看见他就讨厌。她错了，他是一个阔少爷。我经常对她说：‘亲爱的孩子，他是您需要的男人！’但是毫无用处。她平时很听我的话，但一听到我讲这句话时就转过脸去，回答我说这个人太蠢了。说他蠢，我也承认，但是对她来说，总算是有了一个着落吧，那个老公爵说不定哪一天就要归天的。老公爵什么也不会留给玛格丽特的，这有两个原因：这些老头子个个都是自私的，再加他家里人一直反对他对玛格丽特的钟爱。我和她讲道理，想说服她，她总是回答我说，等公爵死了，再跟伯爵好也来得及。” 普律当丝继续说：“像她这样的生活并不总是很有趣的，这我是很清楚的。这种生活我就受不了，我会很快把这个老家伙撵跑的。这个老头儿简直叫人腻烦死了；他把玛格丽特称作他的女儿，把她当成孩子似的照顾她，他一直在监视她，我可以肯定眼下就有他的一个仆人在街上走来走去，看看有谁从她屋里出来，尤其是看看有谁走进她的家里。”“啊，可怜的玛格丽特！”加斯东说，一面在钢琴前坐下，弹起了一首圆舞曲，“这些事我不知道，不过最近我发现这一阵她不如以前那么快乐了。” “嘘，别作声！”普律当丝侧着耳朵听着。 加斯东停下不弹了。 “好像她在叫我。” 我们一起侧耳静听。 果然，有一个声音在呼唤普律当丝。 “那么，先生们，你们走吧，”迪韦尔诺瓦夫人对我们说。 “啊！您是这样款待客人的吗？”加斯东笑着说，“我们要到想走的时候才走呢。” “为什么我们要走？” “我要到玛格丽特家里去。” “我们在这儿等吧。” “那不行。” “那我们跟您一起去。” “那更不行。” “我认识玛格丽特，”加斯东说，“我当然可以去拜访她。” “但是阿尔芒不认识她呀！” “我替他介绍。” “那怎么行呢？” 我们又听到玛格丽特的叫声，她一直在叫普律当丝。 普律当丝跑进她的梳妆间，我和加斯东也跟了进去，她打开了窗户。 我们两人躲了起来，不让外面的人看见。 “我叫了您有十分钟了，”玛格丽特在窗口说，口气几乎有些生硬。 “您叫我干吗？” “我要您马上就来。” “为什么？” “因为N伯爵还赖在这儿，我简直被他烦死了。” “我现在走不开。” “有谁拦着您啦？” “我家里有两个年轻人，他们不肯走。” “对他们讲您非出去不可。” “我已经跟他们讲过了。” “那么，就让他们留在您家里好啦；他们看见您出去以后，就会走的。” “他们会把我家里搞翻天的！” “那么他们想干什么？” “他们想来看您。” “他们叫什么名字？” “有一位是您认识的，他叫R?加斯东先生。” “啊！是的，我认识他；另一位呢？” “阿尔芒?迪瓦尔先生。您不认识他吗？” “不认识；不过您带他们一起来吧，他们总比伯爵好些。 我等着您，快来吧。” 玛格丽特又关上窗户，普律当丝也把窗户闭上了。 玛格丽特刚才曾一度记起了我的面貌，但这会儿却记不起我的名字。我倒宁愿她还记得我，哪怕对我印象不好也没有关系，但不愿意她就这样把我忘了。 加斯东说：“我早知道她会高兴见到我们的。” “高兴？恐怕未必。”普律当丝一面披上披肩，戴上帽子，一面回答说，“她接待你们两位是为了赶走伯爵，你们要尽量比伯爵知趣一些，否则的话，我是知道玛格丽特这个人的，她会跟我闹别扭的。” 我们跟着普律当丝一起下了楼。 我浑身哆嗦，仿佛预感到这次拜访会在我的一生中产生巨大的影响。 我很激动，比那次在喜剧歌剧院包厢里被介绍给她的时候还要激动。 当走到您已认得的那座房子门前时，我的心怦怦直跳，脑子里已经糊里糊涂了。 我们听到传来几下钢琴和音的声音。 普律当丝伸手去拉门铃。 琴声顿时停了下来。 一个女人出来开门，这个女人看上去与其说像一个女用人，倒不如说更像一个雇来的女伴。 我们穿过大客厅，来到小客厅，就是您后来看到的那间小客厅。 一个年轻人靠着壁炉站在那里。 玛格丽特坐在钢琴前面，懒洋洋地在琴键上一遍又一遍地弹着她那弹不下去的曲子。 房间里的气氛很沉闷，男的是因为自己一筹莫展而局促不安，女的是因为这个讨厌的家伙的来访而心情烦躁。 一听到普律当丝的声音，玛格丽特站起身来，向她投去一个表示感谢的眼色，她向我们迎上前来，对我们说： “请进，先生们，欢迎光临。”

Chapter 9 'GOOD evening, my dear Gaston, ' Marguerite said to my companion, ' I'm so glad to see you. Why didn't you come to my box at the Varietes?' 'I was afraid of being indiscreet.' 'Friends, ' and Marguerite stressed the word, as though she wish to let it be known to all who were present that, despite the familiar way in which she greeted him, Gaston was not and had never been anything other than a friend, 'friends can never be indiscreet.' 'In that case, allow me to present Monsieur Armand Duval!' 'I've already given Prudence leave to do so.' 'I should perhaps say, madame, ' I said, bowing and managing to make more or less intelligible sounds, 'I have already had the honour of being introduced to you.' Marguerite's delightful eyes seemed to be searching among her memories, but she did not remember, or appeared not to remember. 'Madame, ' I went on, 'I am grateful that you have forgotten that first meeting, for I behaved quite ridiculously and must surely have seemed very tiresome to you. It was two years ago, at the Opera-Comique; I was with Ernest de.' 'Ah! Now I remember!' Marguerite went on with a smile. 'It wasn't that you were ridiculous, but I who was a tease. As I still am rather, though less so nowadays. Have you forgiven me?' And she held out her hand which I kissed. 'It's true, ' she continued. 'The fact is that I have this awful habit of wanting to embarrass people I see for the first time. It's very silly. My doctor says it's because I am highlystrung and always unwell: you must take my doctor's word for it.' 'But you look extremely well.' 'Oh! I've been very ill.' 'I know.' 'Who told you?' 'Everyone knew. I often used to come to find out how you were, and I was very happy to learn of your convalescence.' 'No one ever brought me your card.' 'I never left one.' 'Are you the young man who called every day to ask after me all the time I was ill, and would never leave his name?' 'I am.' 'Then you are more than kind, you are generous. You, Count, would never have done that, ' she added, turning to Monsieur de N but not before giving me one of those looks with which women let you know what they think of a man. 'I have known you for only two months, ' replied the Count. 'And this gentleman has known me for only five minutes. You always give the silliest answers.' Women are pitiless with people they dislike. The Count reddened and bit his lip. I felt sorry for him, for he seemed just as much in love as I was, and Marguerite's callous frankness must have made him very wretched, especially in the presence of two strangers. 'You were playing something when we arrived, ' I then said, to change the subject. 'Won't you give me the pleasure of treating me like an old friend, and continue?' 'Oh!' she said, settling on to the sofa and gesturing to us to sit down beside her, 'Gaston knows exactly what my playing is like. It's all very well when I'm alone with the Count, but I shouldn't wish to put you through such torture.' 'So you do favour me in this respect?' replied Monsieur de N, with a smile intended to be subtle and ironic. 'You are quite wrong to reproach me for doing so. It's the only time I ever favour you in anything.' It was clear that the poor fellow could not say anything right. He gave the young woman a truly beseeching look. 'Tell me, Prudence, ' she continued, 'did you do what I asked?' 'Yes.' 'Good, you shall tell me all about it later. We have things to talk about, so you mustn't go until I've spoken to you.' 'I think we are intruding, ' I said at this point, 'and now that we ?or rather I ?have managed a second introduction to expunge the memory of the first, Gaston and I will withdraw.' 'I won't hear of it; what I said wasn't intended for you. On the contrary, I'd like you to stay.' The Count took out an extremely handsome watch which he consulted: 'Time I was going to the club, ' he said. Marguerite did not reply to this. The Count then moved away from the mantelpiece and, coming up to her: 'Good-bye, madame.' Marguerite rose to her feet. 'Good-bye, my dear Count, must you go so soon?' 'Yes. I fear I bore you.' 'You do not bore me today more than any other day. When shall we see you again?' 'Whenever you permit.' 'Good-bye, then!' It was cruel of her, you will agree. Fortunately, the Count had been brought up very correctly and had an excellent character. He simply kissed the hand which Marguerite rather nonchalantly held out to him and, after taking his leave of us, went out. As he was stepping through the doorway, he shot a glance at Prudence. She shrugged her shoulders in a way which said: 'Sorry, but I did all I could.' 'Nanine!' called Marguerite, ' show she Count a light!' We heard the door open and close. 'At last!' exclaimed Marguerite as she reappeared, 'he's gone; that young man gets terribly on my nerves.' 'My dear girl, 'said Prudence, 'you really are too unkind to him, he's so good to you, so thoughtful. On your mantelpiece, there's yet another watch that he's given you, and it will have set him back at least a thousand ecus, I'll be bound.' And Madame Duvernoy, who had been moving towards the mantelpiece, was now playing with the bauble as she spoke, and casting covetous looks at it. 'My dear, ' said Marguerite, sitting down at her piano, 'when I weigh in one hand what he gives me and, in the other, the things he says to me, I conclude that I let him have his visits very cheaply.' 'The poor boy is in love with you.' 'If I had to listen to everybody who is in love with me, I wouldn't have the time to eat my dinner.' And she ran her fingers over the piano, after which she turned and said to us: 'Would you like anything? I'd love a little punch.' 'And I could eat a nice piece of chicken, ' said Prudence. 'Shall we have supper?' 'That's it, let's go out for supper, ' said Gaston. 'No, we'll have supper here.' She rang. Nanine appeared. 'Send out for supper.' 'What shall I order?' 'Anything you like, but be quick, as quick as you can.' Nanine went out. 'How lovely!' said Marguerite, skipping like a child, 'we are going to have supper. How boring that idiotic Count is!' The more I saw of this woman, the more enchanted I was. She was entrancingly beautiful. Even her thinness became her. I was lost in contemplation. I would be hard put to explain what was going on inside me. I was full of indulgence for the life she led, full of admiration for her beauty. Proof of her disinterestedness was provided by the fact that she could turn down a fashionable and wealthy young man who was only too ready to ruin himself for her, and this, in my eyes, acquitted her of all past faults. There was in this woman something approaching candour. She was visibly still in the virgin stage of vice. Her confident bearing, her supple waist, her pink, flared nostrils, her large eyes faintly ringed with blue, all pointed to one of those passionate natures which give out a bouquet of sensuality, just as flasks from the Orient, however tightly sealed they might be, allow the fragrance of the fluids they contain to escape. In short, either because it was her nature or else an effect of her state of health, her eyes flickered intermittently with flashes of desires which, if spoken, would have been a heaven- sent relevation to any man she loved. But those who had loved Marguerite were beyond counting, and those whom she had loved had not yet begun to be counted. In other words, one could detect in this girl a virgin who had been turned into a courtesan by the merest accident of chance, and a courtesan whom the merest accident of chance could have turned into the most loving, the most pure of virgins. Marguerite still had something of a proud spirit and an urge to imdependence ?two sentiments which, when violated, are quite capable of achieving the same results as maidenly modesty. I said nothing. It was as though my soul had flowed completely into my heart, and my heart into my eyes. 'So, ' she went on suddenly, 'it was you who came for news of me when I was ill?' 'Yes.' 'You know, that is really quite sublime! And what can I do to thank you?' 'Allow me to come and call on you from time to time.' 'Come as often as you like, between five and six, and from eleven to midnight. I say, Gaston, do play the Invitation to the Waltz!' 'Why?' 'Firstly because I should like it, and secondly because I can never manage to play it when I'm by myself.' 'What do you find difficult with it?' 'The third part, the passage with the sharps.' Gaston got to his feet, sat down at the piano and began to play Weber's splendid melody, the music of which lay open of the stand. Marguerite, with on hand resting on the piano, looked at the score, her eyes following each note which she accompanied in a soft singing voice and, when Gaston reached the passage which she had mentioned, she hummed it and played it with her fingers on the back of the piano: 'Re, mi, re, doh, re, fa, mi, re...that's the part I can't get. Again.' Gaston played it again, after which Marguerite said to him: 'Now let me try.' She took his place and played in turn; but still her stubborn fingers tripped over one or other of the notes which we have just mentioned. 'It's inconceivable, ' she said with a quite childlike ring in her voice, 'that I can't manage to play this passage! You won't believe it, but sometimes I sit up working on it until two in the morning! And when I think that fool of a Count can play it without music, and admirably well at that, then I do believe that's why I get so cross with him.' And she began again, and still with the same result. 'The hell with Weber, music and pianos!' she said, flinging the score to the other end of the room. 'Would anybody believe that I simply can't play eight sharps in a row?' And she crossed her arms, glaring at us and stamping her foot. The blood rushed to her cheeks and a small cough parted her lips. 'Come now, ' said Prudence, who had removed her hat and was smoothing her hair in a mirror, 'you'll only get angry an make yourself ill. Let's have supper. It's much the best thing: I'm absolutely starving.' Marguerite rang again, then she turned back to the piano and began quietly crooning a squalid song ?without making any mistakes in the accompaniment. Gaston knew the song, and they truned it into a sort of duet. 'I really wish you wouldn't sing such vulgar rubbish, ' I said to Marguerite casually, making it sound like a request. 'Oh, how innocent you are!' she said, smiling and holding out her hand to me. 'It's not for my sake but yours.' Marguerite made a gesture which meant: 'Oh! it's a long time since I had anything to do with innocence.' At this juncture, Nanine appeared. 'Is supper ready?' asked Marguerite. 'Yes, madame, in just a moment.' 'By the by, ' Prudence said to me, 'you haven't seen round the apartment. Come, I'll show you.' As you know, the drawing-room was a marvel. Marguerite came with us for a few steps, then she called Gaston and went with him into the dining-room to see if supper was ready. 'Hullo!' cried Prudence loudly, looking at the contents of a shelf from which she picked up a Dresden figurine, 'I didn't know you had this little chap!' 'Which one?' 'The shepherd boy holding a cage with a bird in it.' 'You can have it if you like it.' 'Oh! but I couldn't deprive you of him.' 'I wanted to give it to my maid, I think it's hideous. But since you like it, take it.' Prudence saw only the gift and not the manner in which it was given. She put her shepherd boy to one side, and led me into the dressing-room where she showed me two miniatures which made a pair and said: 'That's Count de G who was madly in love with Marguerite. He's the one who made her name. Do you know him?' 'No. And who's this?' I asked, pointing to the other miniature. 'That's the young Vicomte de L. He had to go away.' 'Why?' 'Because he was just about ruined. Now there was somebody who really loved Marguerite!' 'And I imagine she loved him very much?' 'She's such a funny girl, you never know where you are with her. The evening of the day he went away, she went to the theatre as usual, and yet she had cried when he said goodbye.' Just then Nanine appeared, and announced that supper was served. When we went into the dining- room, Marguerite was leaning against one wall and Gaston, who was holding both her hands, was whispering to her. 'You're mad, ' Marguerite was saying to him, 'you know perfectly well that I don't want anything to do with you. You can't wait two years after getting to know a woman like me before asking to be her lover. Women like me give ourselves at once or never. Come, gentlemen, let's eat!' And, slipping out of Gaston's grasp, Marguerite sat him on her right, me on her left, and then said to Nanine: 'Before you sit down, go to the kitchen and tell them they're not to answer the door if anyone rings.' This order was given at one in the morning. We laughed, we drank, we ate a great deal at that supperparty. Within minutes, the merriment had sunk to the lowest level, and witticisms of the kind which certain smart circles find so amusing and never fail to defile the lips of those who utter them, erupted periodically to be greeted with loud acclamations by Nanine, Prudence and Marguerite. Gaston was enjoying himself unreservedly: he was a young man whose heart was in the right place, but his mind had been a little warped by the kind of people he had mixed with in his early days. At one point, I had opted to steel myself, to make my heart and my thoughts immune to the spectacle before my eyes, and to contribute my share to the jollity which seemed to be a dish on the menu. But, little by little, I cut myself off from the uproar, my glass had stayed full and I had grown almost sad as I watched this beautiful creature of twenty drink, talk like a stevedore, and laugh all the louder as what was said became more shocking. But the merriment, this way of talking and drinking which seemed to me to be in the other guests the effects of dissoluteness, habit and duress, appeared with Marguerite to be a need to forget, a restlessness, a nervous reaction. With each glass of champagne, her cheeks took on a feverish flush, and a cough, which had been nothing at the start of supper, eventually became sufficiently troublesome to force her head against the back of her chair and make her hold her chest with both hands each time the coughing seized her. I felt the pain which these daily excesses must have inflicted upon so frail a constitution. At length happened a thing which I had foreseen and dreaded. Towards the end of supper, Marguerite was taken with a fit of coughing much stronger than any she had had while I had been there. It was as though her chest was being torn to pieces from the inside. The poor girl turned purple, closed her eyes with the pain, and put her lips to a serviette which turned red with a splash of blood. Then she got up and ran into her dressing-room. 'What's up with Marguerite?' asked Gaston. 'What's up with her is that she's been laughing too much and is spitting blood, ' said Prudence. 'Oh, it won't be anything, it happens every day. She'll come back. Let's just leave her alone. She prefers it that way.' For my part, I could bear it no longer and, to the great astonishment of Prudence and Nanine who called me back, I went in to join Marguerite. 第九章 “晚上好，亲爱的加斯东，”玛格丽特对我的同伴说，“看到您很高兴，在杂耍剧院，您为什么不到我包厢里来？” “我怕有点冒昧。” “作为朋友来说，永远也谈不上冒昧。”玛格丽特着重地说了朋友这两个字，仿佛她要使在场的人了解，尽管她接待加斯东的样子很亲热，但加斯东不论过去和现在都只不过是一个朋友而已。 “那么，您允许我向您介绍阿尔芒?迪瓦尔先生吗？” “我已经答应普律当丝给我介绍了。” “不过，夫人，”我弯了弯腰，好不容易讲了一句勉强听得清的话，“我有幸早已被人介绍给您过了。” 从玛格丽特迷人的眼睛里似乎看得出她在回忆，但是她一点儿也想不起来，或者是，看起来似乎她想不起来。 “夫人，”接着我又说，“我很感激您已经忘记了第一次的介绍，因为那时我很可笑，一定惹您生气了。那是两年前，在喜剧歌剧院，跟我在一起的是欧内斯特?德……” “唷！我记起来了！”玛格丽特微笑着说，“那时候不是您可笑，而是我爱捉弄人，就像现在一样，不过我现在比过去好些了。您已经原谅我了吧，先生？” 她把手递给我，我吻了一下。 “真是这样，”她又说，“您想象得到我的脾气有多坏，我老是喜欢捉弄初次见面的人，使他们难堪，这样做其实是很傻的。我的医生对我说，这是因为我有些神经质，并且总是觉得不舒服的缘故，请相信我医生的话吧。” “但是现在看来您的身体很健康。” “啊！我生过一场大病。” “这我知道。” “是谁对您说的？” “您生病大家都知道，我经常来打听您的病情，后来我很高兴地知道您的病好了。” “我从来没有收到过您的名片。” “我从来不留名片。” “据说在我生病的时候，有一个青年每天都来打听我的病情，但一直不愿留下姓名，这个年轻人难道就是您吗？” “就是我。” “那么，您不仅宽宏大量，而且心肠挺好。”她向我望了一眼。女人们在给一个男人作评价感到用语言不足以表达时，常用这种眼光来补充。随后她转身向N伯爵说：“伯爵，换了您就不会这样做了吧。” “我认识您才不过两个月呀，”伯爵辩解说。 “而这位先生认识我才不过五分钟呢，您尽讲些蠢话。” 女人们对她们不喜欢的人是冷酷无情的。 伯爵满脸通红，咬着嘴唇。 我有些可怜他，看来他似乎像我一样爱上了她，而玛格丽特毫不掩饰的生硬态度一定使他很难堪，尤其是在两个陌生人面前。 “我们进来的时候，您正在弹琴，”我想把话扯开去，就说道，“请您把我当老朋友看待，继续弹下去好吗？” “啊！”她一面对我们做手势要我们坐下，一面倒在长沙发上说，“加斯东知道我弹些什么。如果我只是跟伯爵在一起弹弹倒还凑合，但是我可不愿意让你们两位遭这份罪。” “您对我居然这么偏爱？”N伯爵聊以解嘲地微笑着说。 “您这就错怪我了；我指的仅仅是这一件事罢了。” 这个可怜的青年注定只能一言不发了，他简直像哀求似地向那个姑娘望了一眼。 “那么，普律当丝，”她接着说，“我托您的事办好了吗？” “办好了。” “那好，过一会儿告诉我好了。我们有些事要谈谈，在我没有跟您谈之前，您先别走呀。” “我们也许来得不是时候，”于是我说，“现在我们，还不如说是我，已经得到了第二次介绍，这样就可以把第一次介绍忘掉。我们，加斯东和我，少陪了。” “根本不是这么回事；这话不是说给你们听的，恰恰相反，我倒希望你们留下来。” 伯爵掏出一块非常精致的表，看了看时间。 “是我去俱乐部的时间了，”他说。 玛格丽特一声也不吭。 于是伯爵离开了壁炉，走到她面前说： “再见，夫人。” 玛格丽特站了起来。 “再见，亲爱的伯爵，您这就走吗？” “是的，恐怕我使您感到讨厌了。” “今天您也并不比往常更使我讨厌。什么时候再能见到您啊？” “等您愿意的时候。” “那么就再见吧！” 您得承认，她这一招可真厉害！ 幸好伯爵受过良好的教育，又很有涵养。他只是握着玛格丽特漫不经心地向他伸过去的手吻了吻，向我们行了个礼就走了。 在他正要踏出房门的时候，他望了望普律当丝。 普律当丝耸了耸肩膀，那副神气似乎在说： “您要我怎么办呢，我能做的事我都做了。” “纳尼娜！”玛格丽特大声嚷道，“替伯爵照个亮。” 我们听到开门和关门的声音。 “总算走了！”玛格丽特嚷着回进来，“这个年轻人使我浑身难受。” “亲爱的孩子，”普律当丝说，“您对他真是太狠心了，他对您有多好，有多体贴。您看壁炉架上还有他送给您的一块表，我可以肯定这块表至少花了他三千个法郎。” 迪韦尔诺瓦夫人走近壁炉，拿起她刚讲到的那件首饰把玩着，并用贪婪的眼光盯着它。 “亲爱的，”玛格丽特坐到钢琴前说，“我把他送给我的东西放在天平的这一边，把他对我说的话放在另一边，这样一称，我觉得接受他来访还是太便宜了他。” “这个可怜的青年爱您。” “如果一定要我听所有爱我的人说话，我也许连吃饭的工夫也没有了。” 接着她随手弹了一会，然后转身对我们说： “你们想吃点什么吗？我呢，我很想喝一点儿潘趣酒①。” ①潘趣酒：一种用烧酒或果子酒掺上糖、红茶、柠檬等的英国式饮料。 “而我，我很想来一点儿鸡，”普律当丝说，“我们吃夜宵好不好？” “好啊，我们出去吃夜宵，”加斯东说。 “不，我们就在这里吃。” 她拉了铃，纳尼娜进来了。 “吩咐准备夜宵！” “吃些什么呢？” “随您的便，但是要快，马上就要。” 纳尼娜出去了。 “好啦，”玛格丽特像个孩子似的跳着说，“我们要吃夜宵啦。那个笨蛋伯爵真讨厌！” 这个女人我越看越入迷。她美得令人心醉。甚至连她的瘦削也成了一种风韵。 我陷入了遐想。 我究竟怎么啦？连我自己也说不清楚，我对她的生活满怀同情，对她的美貌赞赏不已。她不愿接受一个漂亮、富有、准备为她倾家荡产的年轻人，这种冷漠的神态使我原谅了她过去所有的过失。 在这个女人身上，有某种单纯的东西。 可以看出她虽然过着放荡的生活，但内心还是纯洁的。她举止稳重，体态婀娜，玫瑰色的鼻翅微微张翕着，大大的眼睛四周有一圈淡蓝色，表明她是一种天性热情的人，在这样的人周围，总是散发着一股逗人情欲的香味；就像一些东方的香水瓶一样，不管盖子盖得多严，里面香水的味儿仍然不免要泄漏出来。 不知是由于她的气质，还是由于她疾病的症状，在这个女人的眼里不时闪烁着一种希冀的光芒，这种现象对她曾经爱过的人来说，也许等于是一种天启。但是那些爱过玛格丽特的人是不计其数的，而被她爱过的人则还没有计算呢。 总之，这个姑娘似乎是一个失足成为妓女的童贞女，又仿佛是一个很容易成为最多情、最纯洁的贞节女子的妓女。在玛格丽特身上还存在着一些傲气和独立性：这两种感情在受了挫伤以后，可能起着与廉耻心同样的作用。我一句话也没有讲，我的灵魂似乎钻到了我的心坎里，而我的心灵又仿佛钻到了我的眼睛里。 “这么说，”她突然又继续说，“在我生病的时候，经常来打听我病况的就是您啦？” “是的。” “您知道这可太美啦，我怎么才能感谢您呢？” “允许我经常来看您就行。” “您爱什么时候来就什么时候来，下午五点到六点，半夜十一点到十二点都可以。好吧，加斯东，请为我弹一首《邀舞曲》。” “为什么？” “一来是为了使我高兴，二来是因为我一个人总是弹不了这首曲子。” “您在哪一段上遇到困难啦？” “第三段，有高半音的一节。” 加斯东站起身，坐到钢琴前面，开始弹奏韦伯①的这首名曲，乐谱摊在谱架上。 玛格丽特一手扶着钢琴，眼睛随着琴谱上每一个音符移动，嘴里低声吟唱着。当加斯东弹到她讲过的那一节的时候，她一面在钢琴背上用手指敲打着，一面低声唱道： “ré、mi、ré、do、ré、fa、mi、ré，这就是我弹不下去的地方，请再弹一遍。” 加斯东又重新弹了一遍，弹完以后，玛格丽特对他说： “现在让我来试试。” ①韦伯（１７８６—１８２６）：德国作曲家。 她坐到位子上弹奏起来，但是当她那不听使唤的手指弹到那几个音符时又有一个音符弹错了。 “真使人难以相信，”她用一种近乎孩子气的腔调说道， “这一段我就是弹不好！你们信不信，有几次我就是这样一直弹到深夜两点多钟！每当我想到这个蠢伯爵竟然能不用乐谱就弹得那么好，我就恨透了他，我想我就是为了这一点才恨他的。” 她又开始弹奏了，但仍旧弹不好。 “让韦伯、音乐和钢琴全都见鬼去吧！”她一面说，一面把乐谱扔到了房间的另一头，“为什么我就不会接连弹八个高半音呢？” 她交叉双臂望着我们，一面顿着脚。 她脸涨得通红，一阵轻微的咳嗽使她微微地张开了嘴。 “您看，您看，”普律当丝说，她已经脱下帽子，在镜子前面梳理两鬓的头发，“您又在生气了，这又要使您不舒服了，我们最好还是去吃夜宵吧，我快饿死了。” 玛格丽特又拉了拉铃，然后她又坐到钢琴前弹奏，嘴里曼声低吟着一首轻佻的歌。在弹唱这首歌的时候，她一点也没有出错。 加斯东也会唱这首歌，他们就来了个二重唱。 “别唱这些下流歌曲了，”我带着一种恳求的语气亲切地对玛格丽特说。 “啊，您有多正经啊！”她微笑着对我说，一面把手伸给我。 “这不是为了我，而是为了您呀。” 玛格丽特做了一个姿势，意思是说：呵，我早就跟贞洁绝缘了。 这时纳尼娜进来了。 “夜宵准备好了吗？”玛格丽特问道。 “太太，一会儿就好了。” “还有，”普律当丝对我说，“您还没有参观过这屋子呢，来，我领您去看看。” 您已经知道了，客厅布置得很出色。 玛格丽特陪了我们一会儿，随后她叫加斯东跟她一起到餐室里去看看夜宵准备好了没有。 “瞧，”普律当丝高声说，她望着一只多层架子，从上面拿下了一个萨克森小塑像，“我还不知道您有这么一个小玩意儿呢。” “哪一个？” “一个手里拿着一只鸟笼的小牧童，笼里还有一只鸟。” “如果您喜欢，您就拿去吧。” “啊！可是我怕夺了您的好东西。” “我觉得这个塑像很难看，我本来想把它送给我的女用人；既然您喜欢，您就拿去吧。” 普律当丝只看重礼物本身，并不讲究送礼的方式。她把塑像放在一边，把我领到梳妆间，指着挂在那里的两张细密肖像画对我说，“这就是G伯爵，他以前非常爱玛格丽特，是他把她捧出来的。您认识他吗？” “不认识。那么这一位呢？”我指着另一幅肖像问道。 “这是小L子爵，他不得不离开了她。” “为什么？” “因为他几乎破了产。这又是一个爱过玛格丽特的人！” “那么她肯定也很爱他罗。” “这个姑娘脾气古怪，别人永远也不知道她在想些什么。小L子爵要走的那天晚上，她像往常一样到剧场去看戏，不过在他动身的时候，她倒是哭了。” 这时，纳尼娜来了，通知我们夜宵已经准备好了。 当我们走进餐室的时候，玛格丽特倚着墙，加斯东拉着她的手，轻声地在和她说话。 “您疯了，”玛格丽特回答他说，“您很清楚我是不会同意您的，像我这样一个女人，您认识已有两年了，怎么现在才想到要做我的情人呢。我们这些人，要么马上委身于人，要么永远也不。来吧，先生们，请坐吧。” 玛格丽特把手从加斯东手里抽回来，请他坐在她右面，我坐在左面，接着她对纳尼娜说： “你先去关照厨房里的人，如果有人拉铃，别开门，然后你再来坐下。” 她吩咐这件事的时候，已是半夜一点钟了。 在吃夜宵的时候，大家嬉笑玩乐，狂饮大嚼。过不多久，欢乐已经到了顶点，不时可以听到一些不堪入耳的脏话，这种话在某个圈子里却被认为是很逗乐的，纳尼娜，普律当丝和玛格丽特听了都为之欢呼。加斯东纵情玩乐，他是一个心地善良的青年，但是他的头脑有点糊涂。我一度真想随波逐流，不要独善其身，索性参加到这场如同一盘美肴似的欢乐中去算了。但是慢慢地我就同这场喧闹分离开来了，我停止饮酒，看着这个二十岁的美丽的女人喝酒，她的谈笑粗鲁得就像一个脚夫，别人讲的话越下流，她就笑得越起劲，我心情越来越忧郁了。 然而这样的寻欢作乐，这种讲话和喝酒的姿态，对在座的其他客人们似乎可以说是放荡、坏习气，或者精力旺盛的结果；但在玛格丽特身上，我却觉得是一种忘却现实的需要、一种冲动、一种神经质的激动。每饮一杯香槟酒，她的面颊上就泛起一阵发烧的红晕。夜宵开始时，她咳嗽还很轻微，慢慢地她越咳越厉害，不得不把头仰靠在椅背上，每当咳嗽发作时，她的双手便用力按住胸脯。 她身体孱弱，每天还要过这样的放荡生活，以此折磨自己，我真为她心疼。 后来，我担心的事终于发生了，在夜宵快结束时，玛格丽特一阵狂咳，这是我来到她家里以来她咳得最厉害的一次，我觉得她的肺好像在她胸膛里撕碎了。可怜的姑娘脸涨得绯红，痛苦地闭上了眼睛，拿起餐巾擦着嘴唇，餐巾上随即染上了一滴鲜血，于是她站起身来，奔进了梳妆间。 “玛格丽特怎么啦？”加斯东问。 “她笑得太厉害，咳出血来了，”普律当丝说，“啊，没事，她每天都是这样的。她就要回来的。让她一个人在那儿好啦，她喜欢这样。” 至于我，我可忍不住了，不管普律当丝和纳尼娜非常惊讶地想叫住我，我还是站起身来径自去找玛格丽特。

Chapter 10 THE room in which she had taken refuge was lit by a single candle on a table. Lying back on a large couch, her dress undone, she held one hand on her heart and allowed the other to hang limply. On the table was a silver basin half full of water. The water was mottled with flecks of blood. Marguerite, extremely pale and with her mouth half open, was trying to catch her breath. At times, her chest swelled in a long, indrawn sigh which, when released, seemed to afford her some slight relief and left her for a few seconds with a feeling of well- being. I went to her? she did not stir ?sat down and took the hand which was resting on the couch. 'Ah! Is it you?' she said with a smile. My face must have looked distraught, for she added: 'Aren't you very well either?' 'I'm all right, but how about you? Are you still feeling ill?' 'Not very.' And, with a handkerchief, she wiped away the tears which the coughing had brought to her eyes. 'I'm used to it now.' 'You are killing yourself, ' I said, and there was emotion in my voice. 'I wish I could be your friend, a relative, so that I could stop you harming yourself like this.' 'Ah! There's absolutely no need for you to be alarmed, ' she replied bitterly. 'You can see how well the others look after me. The truth is they know there's nothing anybody can do about what I've got.' Thereupon, she got to her feet and, taking the candle, set it on the mantelpiece and looked at herself in the mirror. 'How pale I look!' she said, refastening her dress and running her fingers through her dishevelled hair. 'Oh, who cares! Let's go back into supper. Are you coming?' But I remained seated and did not move. She realized just how shaken I had been by this scene, for she came up to me and, holding out her hand, she said: 'Don't be silly. Do come.' I took her hand which I put to my lips, and despite myself I moistened it with a few pent-up tears. 'Well, now! You really are a child!' she said, as she sat down again beside me. 'There, you're crying! What's the matter?' 'I must seem very stupid to you, but what I've just seen has made me feel quite dreadful.' 'You are really very kind! But what do you expect? I can't sleep, I've got to take my mind off things for a while. And anyhow, with girls like me, if there's one more or fewer of us, what difference does it make? The doctors tell me the blood I cough is really only bronchial; I pretend I believe them, it's all I can do for them.' 'Listen, Marguerite, ' I said then, with an effusion which I was unable to check, 'I don't know what sort of influence you might have over my life, but I do know this: at this moment, there is no one, not even my sister, about whom I feel more concerned than you. It's been like that ever since I first saw you. So, in Heaven's name, look after yourself properly, don't go on living as you do.' 'If I looked after myself properly, I'd die. What keeps me going is the pace of the life I lead. In any case, taking care of yourself is all well and good for society ladies who have a family and friends. But women like me are abandoned the moment we're no more use for feeding the vanity or pleasure of our lovers, and then long, empty evenings follow long empty days. I know, believe me. I was in bed for two months; after the first three weeks, no one came to see me any more.' 'I realize that I mean nothing to you, ' I went on, 'but if you wanted, I'd care for you like a brother, I wouldn't leave you and I'd make you better. And then, when you were strong enough, you could go back to the life you lead now, if that's what you wanted; but of this I am sure? you would come to prefer a quiet life which would make you happier and keep you pretty.' 'You may think like that this evening, because the wine has made you sentimental, but you wouldn't have as much patience as you say you have.' 'Let me remind you, Marguerite, that you were ill for two months and during those two months, I called every day to find out how you were.' 'That's true. But why did you never come up?' 'Because I didn't know you then.' 'But whoever observes such niceties with girls like me?' 'One always observes the niceties with any woman; at least, that's what I believe.' 'So you'd look after me?' 'Yes.' 'You'd stay by me every day?' 'Yes.' 'And even every night?' 'For as long as you weren't tired of me.' 'What would you say that was?' 'Devotion.' 'And where does this devotion come from?' 'From an irresistible attraction that draws me to you.' 'In other words you're in love with me? Just say it straight out, it's a great deal simpler.' 'I may be: but if I ever tell you some day that I do, this is not that day.' 'It would be better for you if you never said it.' 'Why?' 'Because there are only two things that can come from such an admission.' 'And they are?' 'Either I turn you down, in which case you will resent me, or I say yes, in which case you won't have much of a mistress; someone who is temperamental, ill, depressed, or gay in a way that is sadder than sorrow itself, someone who coughs blood and spends a hundred thousand francs a year ?which is all very well for a rich old man like the Duke, but it's not much of a prospect for a young man like yourself. And, if it's proof you want, the fact is that all the young lovers I have ever had have never stayed around for very long.' I did not answer: I listened. Her frankness, which seemed to verge on the confessional, and the dismal life which I half-glimpsed beneath the golden veil that covered its stark reality from which the poor girl sought escape in debauchery, drunkenness and sleepless nights, all made such an impression on me that I could not find a thing to say. 'But come, ' Marguerite continued, 'we're talking foolish nonsense. Give me your hand and let's go back to the diningroom. The others must be wondering what to make of our absence.' 'Go back, if that's what you want, but please let me stay here.' 'Why?' 'Because I can't bear to see you so bright and cheerful.' 'In that case, I'll be sad.' 'Listen, Marguerite, let me tell you something which other men have no doubt told you often, something which the habit of hearing will perhaps prevent you from believing, though it is nonetheless real, something which I shall never say to you again.' 'And this something?' she said, with a smile such as young mothers smile when listening to their child being silly. ' ...is this. From the moment I first saw you, I don't know how or why, you have occupied a place in my life. Though I've tried to drive your image out of my mind, it has always come back. Today, when I met you after two years without seeing you, you took an even stronger hold on my heart and my thoughts. Now you have received me here, now I know you and can see everything that is strange in you, the truth is that you've become indispensable to me, and I shall go out of my mind, not simply if you do not love me, but if you do not let me love you.' 'But, you wretched man, I shall say to you what Madame D used to say: you just be very rich, then! You clearly have no idea that I spend six or seven thousands francs a month, and that spending this much has become necessary for my way of life; can't you see, you poor fool, that I'd ruin you in no time at all? that you family would have you declared unfit to manage your affairs to teach you not to live with creatures like me? Love me, like a good friend, but not otherwise. Come and see me, we'll laugh, we'll talk, but don't go getting ideas about my merits: they are very small. You have a kind heart, you need to be loved, you are too young and too sensitive to live in our world. Find yourself some married woman. You can see I'm a decent sort of girl, and I'm being frank with you.' 'Hello! What on earth are you pair up to? 'cried Prudence, whom we had not heard coming, as she appeared at the bedroom door, her hair half undone and her dress open. In her disordered appearance, I recognized Gaston's handiwork. 'We're having a serious talk, ' said Marguerite, ' leave us for a while, we'll rejoin you shortly.' 'All right, all right, talk away, my children, 'said Prudence, and she left, closing the door as if to reinforce the tone in which she had spoken these last words. 'So it's agreed, 'Marguerite went on, when we were alone, ' you will stop loving me.' 'I shall go away.' 'It's as bad as that?' I had gone too far to turn back, and besides, this girl overwhelmed me. Her mixture of high spirits, sadness, ingenuousness and prostitution, the very illness which as surely heightened her sensitivity to impressions as it did her nervous reactions ?everything made me see that if, from the outset, I did not gain some hold over her heedless, fickle nature, then she would be lost to me forever. 'So what you are saying is quite serious? ' she said. 'Very serious.' 'But why didn't you tell me all this before?' 'When could I have told you?' 'The day after you were introduced to me at the Opera-Comique.' 'I think you'd have received me very badly if I had come to see you.' 'Why?' 'Because I had behaved stupidly the previous evening.' 'Yes, that's true. But all the same, you were already in love with me then.' 'Yes.' 'None of which prevented you from going home to bed and sleeping very soundly after the play. We all know about great loves of that sort.' 'Now that's where you're wrong. Do you know what I did that evening we met at the Opera-Comique?' 'No. ' 'I waited for you outside the entrance to the Cafe Anglais. I followed the carriage which brought you and your friends back here and, when I saw you get out by yourself and go up to your apartment alone, I was very happy.' Marguerite began to laugh. 'What are you laughing at?' 'Nothing.' 'Tell me, I beg you, or I shall think that you're laughing at me again.' 'You won't be cross?' 'I have no right to be cross.' 'Well, there was a good reason why I should return alone.' 'What was that?' 'There was someone waiting for me here.' Had she stabbed me with a knife, she could not have hurt me more. I stood up and, offering my hand, said: 'Goodbye.' 'I knew you'd be cross, ' she said. 'Men have a mania for wanting to know things that will upset them.' 'But I assure you, ' I added coldly, as though I had wanted to show that I was cured of my passion for ever, ' I assure you that I am not cross. It was only natural that someone should have been waiting for you, as natural as it is that I should leave here at three in the morning.' 'Have you got someone waiting for you at home too?' 'No, but I must go.' 'Goodbye, then.' 'You are sending me away.' 'Not at all.' 'Then why do you say hurtful things?' 'What hurtful things?' 'You told me someone was waiting for you.' 'I couldn't help laughing at the thought of your being so happy to see me coming in by myself, when there was such a good reason for me to do so.' 'People often find happiness in foolish things. It is unkind to destroy their happiness when, simply by allowing it to continue, we can increase the joy of those who have discovered such happiness.' 'But what do you think I am? I am neither a virgin nor a duchess. I'd never met you before today and I don't have to justify my actions to you. Assuming that one day I become your mistress, you must realize that I've had other lovers before you. If you're going to carry on and be jealous now, what's it going to be like after? if there's ever an after! I never met a man like you.' 'That's because no man has ever loved you as I do.' 'Let's be clear about this: are you really in love with me?' 'As much as anyone could possibly love anybody, I believe.' 'And how long has this been going on?' 'Since I saw you one day get out of your barouche and go into Susse's, three years ago.' 'How wonderful, it really is! And what do I have to do to acknowledge this great love?' 'You must love me a little, ' I said, with a beating heart which almost prevented me from speaking; for, despite the half-mocking smiles with which she had accompanied the whole of our conversation, it seemed to me that Marguerite was beginning to share my troubled state and that I was approaching the moment which I had been so long awaiting. 'But what about the Duke?' 'What Duke?' 'My old Duke. He's very suspicious.' 'He won't know.' 'And if he does?' 'He'll forgive you.' 'Oh no! He'll leave me and then what'll become of me?' 'You are already running that risk for someone else's sake.' 'How do you know that?' 'From the order you gave that no one should be allowed in tonight.' 'You're right; but he is a good friend.' 'Who you don't much care for, if you can close you door to him at this time of night.' 'You're in no position to criticize me since I did it to receive you and your friend.' Imperceptibly, I had drawn closer to Marguerite, I had put my arms around her waist and could feel her supple body pressing lightly against my clasped hands. 'If you only knew how much I love you!' I whispered. 'Do you really mean it?' 'I swear it.' 'Well, if you promise to do everything I say without arguing, without finding fault or asking questions, I will love you, perhaps.' 'Whatever you ask!' 'But I warn you, I want to be free to do whatever I choose, without having to tell you anything about the life I lead. For a long time now, I've been looking for a young, easygoing lover, someone who would love me without asking questions, someone I could love without his feeling that he has any rights over me. I have never found one yet. Men, instead of being content with being freely given for long periods what they hardly dared hope to get once, are forever asking their mistresses for an account of the present, the past and even the future. As they get used to a mistress, they try to dominate her, and they become all the more demanding the more they are given. If I decide to take a new lover now, I want him to have three very rare qualities: he must be trusting, submissive and discreet.' 'Very well, I shall be everything you desire.' 'We'll see. ' 'And when will we see?' 'Later.' 'Why?' 'Because, ' said Marguerite, slipping out of my arms and taking a single bloom from a large bunch of red camellias which had been delivered that morning and putting it in my buttonhole, 'because you can't always implement treaties the day they are signed.' The meaning is plain. 'And when shall I see you again?' I said, taking her in my arms. 'When this camellia is a different colour.' 'And when will it be a different colour.' 'Tomorrow, between eleven and midnight. Are you happy?' 'How can you ask?' 'Not a word of any of this to your friend nor to Prudence, nor anyone.' 'I promise. ' 'Now kiss me, and let's go back to the dining-room.' She proffered her lips, smoothed her hair again and then she, singing as she went, and I, who was madly elated, left the room together. In the drawing-room, she stopped and said softly: 'It must seem strange to you that I should appear ready to accept you straightway like this: do you know the reason?' 'The reason, ' she went on, taking my hand and pressing it to her heart which I could fell beating violently and insistently, 'the reason is that since I shall not live as long as the others, I have promised myself that I shall live my life faster.' 'Don't talk to me like this, I implore you.' 'Oh, cheer up! 'she went on, laughing. 'However little time I have to live, I'll live long enough to see you love out.' And, singing, she went into the dining-room. 'Where's Nanine? ' she said, seeing Gaston and Prudence alone. 'Asleep in your bedroom, waiting for you to go to bed, ' answered Prudence. 'Poor girl, I'm wearing her out! Come, gentlemen, be off with you, it's high time.' Ten minutes later, Gaston and I were on our way out. Marguerite squeezed my hand as she said good- bye and remained with Prudence. 'Well?' asked Gaston, when we were outside, 'what do you make of Marguerite?' 'She's an angel and I'm mad about her.' 'I thought so. Did you tell her?' 'Yes.' 'And did she promise to believe you?' 'No.' 'She's not like Prudence, then.' 'Did she promise to believe you?' 'She did more than that, old man! You wouldn't think so, but that Duvernoy woman is still a bit of all right, even if she is on the large side!' 第十章 她躲进去的那个房间只点着一支蜡烛，蜡烛放在桌子上。她斜靠在一张大沙发上，裙衣敞开着，一只手按在心口上，另一只手悬在沙发外面，桌子上有一只银脸盆，盛着半盆清水； 水里漂浮着一缕缕大理石花纹似的血丝。 玛格丽特脸色惨白，半张着嘴，竭力想喘过气来，她不时深深地吸气，然后长嘘一声，似乎这样可以轻松一些，可以舒畅几秒钟。 我走到她面前，她纹丝不动，我坐了下来，握住她搁在沙发上的那只手。 “啊！是您？”她微笑着对我说。 大概我脸上表情很紧张，因为她接着又问我，“难道您也生病了？” “我没有病，可是您呢，您还觉得不舒服吗？” “还有一点儿，”她用手绢擦掉了她咳出来的眼泪，说，“这种情况我现在已经惯了。” “您这是在自杀，夫人，”我用一种激动的声音对她说，“我要做您的朋友，您的亲人，我要劝您不要这样糟蹋自己。” “啊！您实在用不着这么大惊小怪，”她用带点儿辛酸的语调争辩说，“您看其他人是否还关心我，因为他们非常清楚这种病是无药可治的。” 她说完后就站起身，拿起蜡烛放在壁炉上，对着镜子照着。 “我的脸色有多么苍白啊！”她边说边把裙衣系好，用手指掠着散乱的头发，“啊！行了！我们回到桌子上去，来吧。” 但是我还是坐着不动。 她知道我这种情感是被这幕景象引起的，便走近我的身边，把手伸给我说： “看您，来吧。” 我接住她的手，把它放在唇边吻着，两滴忍了好久的泪水不由自主地流了出来，润湿了她的手。 “嗳，多孩子气！”她一面说一面重新在我身边坐下，“啊，您在哭！您怎么啦？” “您一定以为我有点痴，可我刚才看到的景象使我非常难过。” “您心肠真好！您叫我怎么办好呢？我晚上睡不着，那就只得稍微消遣消遣；再说像我这样的姑娘，多一个少一个又有什么关系呢？医生对我说这是支气管出血，我装着相信他们的话，我对他们还能怎么样呢？” “请听我说，玛格丽特，”我再也抑制不住自己的感情了，就说，“我不知道您对我的生命会产生什么样的影响，但是我所知道的是，眼下我最关心的就是您，我对您的关心超过了对任何人，甚至超过了对我妹妹的关心。这种心情自从见到您以来就有了。好吧，请看在上天的份上，好好保重自己的身体吧，别再像您现在这样地生活了吧！” “如果我保重自己的身体，我反而会死去，现在支撑着我的，就是我现在过的这种充满狂热的生活。说到保重自己的身体，那只是指那些有家庭、有朋友的上流社会的太太小姐们说的，而我们这些人呢，一旦我们不能满足情人的虚荣心，不能供他们寻欢作乐，消愁解闷，他们就会把我们撇在一边，我们就只好度日如年地忍受苦难，这些事我知道得一清二楚，哼！我在床上躺了两个月，第三个星期之后就谁也不来看我了。” “我对您来说确实算不了什么，”我接着说，“但是，如果您不嫌弃的话，我会像一个兄弟一样来照顾您，不离开您，我会治好您的病。等您身体复原之后，只要您喜欢，再恢复您现在这种生活也行；但是我可以肯定，您一定会喜欢过清静生活的，这会使您更加幸福，会使您永远这样美丽。” “今儿晚上您这样想，那是因为您酒后伤感，但是，您自夸的那份耐心您是不会有的。” “请听我对您说，玛格丽特，您曾经生了两个月的病，在这两个月里面，我每天都来打听您的病情。” “这倒不假，但是为什么您不上楼来呢？” “因为那时候我还没有认识您。” “跟我这样一个姑娘还有什么不好意思的呢？” “跟一个女人在一起总会有点儿不好意思，至少我是这样想的。” “这么说，您真的会来照顾我吗？” “是的。” “您每天都留在我身边吗？” “是的。” “甚至每天晚上也一样吗？” “任何时间都一样，只要您不讨厌我。” “您把这叫做什么？” “忠诚。” “这种忠诚是从哪儿来的呢？” “来自一种我对您无法克制的同情。” “这样说来您爱上我了吗？您干脆就这样说，不是更简单吗？” “这是可能的，但是，即使我有一天要对您说，那也不是在今天。” “您最好还是永远也别对我讲的好。” “为什么？” “因为这样表白只能有两种结果。” “哪两种？” “或者是我拒绝您，那您就会怨恨我；或者是我接受您，那您就有了一个多愁善感的情妇；一个神经质的女人，一个有病的女人，一个忧郁的女人，一个快乐的时候比痛苦还要悲伤的女人，一个吐血的、一年要花费十万法郎的女人，对公爵这样一个有钱的老头儿来说是可以的，但是对您这样一个年轻人来说是很麻烦的。我以前所有的年轻的情夫都很快地离开了我，那就是证据。” 我什么也没有回答，我听着这种近乎忏悔的自白，依稀看到在她纸醉金迷的生活的外表下掩盖着痛苦的生活。可怜的姑娘在放荡、酗酒和失眠中逃避生活的现实。这一切使我感慨万端，我一句话也说不出来。 “不谈了吧，”玛格丽特继续说，“我们简直是在讲孩子话。把手递给我，一起回餐室去吧，别让他们知道我们在干什么。” “您高兴去就去吧，但是我请您允许我留在这儿。” “为什么？” “因为您的快乐使我感到非常痛苦。” “那么，我就愁眉苦脸好啦。” “啊，玛格丽特，让我跟您讲一件事，这件事别人或许也经常对您说，您因为听惯了，也不会把它当回事。但这的确是我的心里话，我以后也永远不会再跟您讲第二遍了。” “什么事？……”她微笑着对我说，年轻的母亲在听她们的孩子讲傻话时常带着这种微笑。 “自从我看到您以后，我也不知道是怎么回事，更不知道是为了什么，您在我的生命中就占了一个位置，我曾想忘掉您，但是办不到，您的形象始终留在我的脑海里。我已经有两年没有看到您了，但今天，当我遇到您的时候，您在我心坎里所占的位置反而更加重要了。最后，您今天接待了我，我认识了您，知道了您所有奇特的遭遇，您成了我生命中不可缺少的人，别说您不爱我，即使您不让我爱您，我也会发疯的。” “但您有多么可怜啊，我要学D太太①说过的话来跟您讲了，‘那么您很有钱罗！’难道您不知道我每个月要花上六、七千法郎。这种花费已经成了我生活上的需要，难道您不知道，可怜的朋友，要不了多久，我就会使您破产的。您的家庭会停止供给您一切费用，以此来教训您不要跟我这样一个女人一起生活。像一个好朋友那样爱我吧，但是不能超过这个程度。您常常来看看我，我们一起谈谈笑笑，但是用不着过分看重我，因为我是分文不值的。您心肠真好，您需要爱情。但是要在我们这个圈子里生活，您还太年轻，也太容易动感情，您还是去找个有夫之妇做情妇吧。您看，我是个多好的姑娘，我跟您说话有多坦率。” ①指迪韦尔诺瓦太太。 “嘿嘿！你们在这里搞什么鬼啊？”普律当丝突然在门口叫道，她什么时候来的，我们一点也没听见。她头发蓬松，衣衫零乱，我看得出这是加斯东的手作的怪。 “我们在讲正经事，”玛格丽特说，“让我们再谈几句，我们一会儿就来。” “好，好，你们谈吧，孩子们，”普律当丝说着就走了。一面关上了门，仿佛是为了加重她刚才说的几句话的语气似的。 “就这样说定了，”玛格丽特在只剩下我们两个人的时候接着说：“您就不要再爱我了。” “我马上就走。” “竟然到这种地步了吗？” 我真是骑虎难下，再说，这个姑娘已经使我失魂落魄了。这种既有快乐，又有悲伤，既有纯洁，又有淫欲的混合物，还有那使她精神亢奋，容易冲动的疾病，这一切都使我知道了如果一开始我就控制不了这个轻浮和健忘的女人，我就会失去她。 “那么，您说的是真话吗？”她说。 “完全是真的。” “那您为什么不早对我说？” “我什么时候有机会对您说这些话呢？” “您在喜剧歌剧院被介绍给我的第二天就可以对我说嘛。” “我以为如果我来看您的话，您大概不会欢迎我的。” “为什么？” “因为前一天晚上我有点傻里傻气。” “这倒是真的，但是，您那个时候不是已经爱上我了吗？” “是啊。” “既然如此，您在散戏后倒还能回家去安心睡觉。这些伟大的爱情就是这么回事，这个我们一清二楚。” “那么，您就错了，您知道那天晚上我在离开喜剧歌剧院以后干了些什么？” “我不知道。” “我先在英国咖啡馆门口等您，后来跟着您和您三位朋友乘坐的车子，到了您家门口。当我看到您一个人下了车，又一个人回家的时候，我心里很高兴。” 玛格丽特笑了。 “您笑什么？” “没有什么。” “告诉我，我求求您，不然我以为您还在取笑我。” “您不会生气吗？” “我有什么权利生气呢？” “好吧，我一个人回家有一个很美妙的原因。” “什么原因？” “有人在这里等我。” 即使她给我一刀子也不会比这更使我痛苦，我站起来，向她伸过手去。 “再见，”我对她说。 “我早知道您一定会生气的，”她说，“男人们总是急不可耐地要知道会使他们心里难受的事情。” “但是，我向您保证，”我冷冰冰地接着说，仿佛要证明我已经完全控制住了我的激情，“我向您保证我没有生气。有人等您那是十分自然的事，就像我凌晨三点钟要告辞一样，也是十分自然的事。” “是不是也有人在家里等您呢？” “没有，但是我非走不可。” “那么，再见啦。” “您打发我走吗？” “没有的事。” “为什么您要使我痛苦？” “我使您痛苦什么啦？” “您对我说那时候有人在等您。” “当我想到您看见我单独一人回家就觉得那么高兴，而那时又有这么一个美妙的原因的时候，我就忍不住要笑出来啦。” “我们经常会有一种孩子般的快乐，而要是只有让这种快乐保持下去，才能使得到这种快乐的人更加幸福的话，去摧毁这种快乐就太恶毒了。” “可是您到底把我当什么人看呀？我既不是黄花闺女，又不是公爵夫人。我不过今天才认识您，我的行为跟您有什么相干，就算将来有一天我要成为您情妇的话，您也该知道，除了您我还有别的情人，如果您现在还没有成为我的情人就跟我吃起醋来了，那么将来，就算有这个‘将来’吧，又该怎么办呢？我从来没有看见过像您这样的男人。” “这是因为从来也没有一个人像我这样爱过您。” “好吧，您说心里话，您真的很爱我吗？” “我想，我能爱到什么程度就爱到了什么程度。” “而这一切是从……？” “从我看见您从马车上下来走进絮斯商店那一天起开始的，那是三年以前的事了。” “您讲得太美了，您知道吗？可我该怎样来报答这种伟大的爱情呢？” “应该给我这么一点爱，”我说，心跳得几乎连话也讲不出来，因为尽管玛格丽特讲话的时候流露出一种含讥带讽的微笑，我还是觉得出来，她似乎也跟我一样有点心慌意乱了，我等待已久的时刻正在逐步逼近。 “那么公爵怎么办呢？” “哪个公爵？” “我的老醋罐子。” “他什么也不会知道。” “如果他知道了呢？” “他会原谅您的。” “啊，不会的！他就不要我了，那我怎么办呢？” “您为别人不也在冒这种危险吗？” “您怎么知道的？” “您刚才不是吩咐今晚不要让人进来吗？这我就知道了。” “这倒是真的，但这是一位规矩朋友。” “既然您这么晚还把他挡在门外，说明您也并不怎么看重他。” “这也用不着您来教训我呀，因为这是为了接待你们，您和您的朋友。” 我已经慢慢地挨近了玛格丽特，我轻轻地搂着她的腰，她轻盈柔软的身躯已经在我的怀抱里了。 “您知道我有多么爱您！”我轻轻地对她说。 “真的吗？” “我向您发誓。” “那么，如果您答应一切都照我的意思办，不说二话，不监视我，不盘问我，那么我可能会爱您的。” “我全都听您的！” “我有言在先，只要我喜欢，我要怎么着就怎么着，我不会把我的生活琐事告诉您的。很久以来我一直在找一个年轻听话的情人，他要对我多情而不多心，他接受我的爱但又并不要求权利。这样的人我还从来没有找到过。男人们总是这样的，一旦他们得到了他们原来难以得到的东西，时间一长，他们又会感到不满足了，他们进而要求了解他们情人的目前、过去、甚至将来的情况。在他们逐渐跟情人熟悉以后，就想控制她，情人越迁就，他们就越得寸进尺。倘使我现在打定主意要再找一个情人的话，我希望他具有三种罕见的品格：信任我，听我的话，而且不多嘴。” “所有这些我都能做到。” “我们以后再看吧！” “什么时候呢？” “再过些时候。” “为什么？” “因为，”玛格丽特从我怀抱里挣脱身子，在一大束早上送来的红色茶花中间摘了一朵，插在我衣服的纽孔里，说道，“因为条约总不会在签字的当天就执行的。” 这是不难理解的。 “那么我什么时候可以再见到您呢？”我一面说，一面把她紧紧地搂在怀里。 “当这朵茶花变颜色的时候。” “那么什么时候它会变颜色呢？” “明天晚上，半夜十一点到十二点之间，您满意了吧？” “这您还用问吗？” “这件事您对谁也不要说，不论是您的朋友、普律当丝，还是别的什么人。” “我答应您。” “现在，吻我一下，我们一起回餐室去吧。” 她的嘴唇向我凑了过来，随后她又重新整理了一下头发，在我们走出这个房间的时候，她唱着歌；我呢，几乎有些疯疯癫癫的了。 走进客厅时，她站住了，低声对我说： “我这种似乎准备马上领您情的模样，您该觉得有些意外吧，您知道这是什么缘故吗？” “这是因为，”她把我的手紧紧压在她的胸口上，我觉得她的心在剧烈地跳动，她接着对我说，“这是因为，明摆着我的寿命要比别人短，我要让自己活得更痛快些。” “别再跟我讲这种话了，我恳求您。” “喔！您放心吧，”她笑着继续说，“即使我活不多久，我活的时间也要比您爱我的时间长些。” 接着她就走进了餐室。 “纳尼娜到哪儿去了？”她看到只有加斯东和普律当丝两个人就问道。 “她在您房间里打盹，等着侍候您上床呢。”普律当丝回答说。 “她真可怜！我把她累死了！好啦，先生们，请便吧，是时候了。” 十分钟以后，加斯东和我两人告辞出来，玛格丽特和我握手道别，普律当丝还留在那里。 “喂，”走出屋子以后，加斯东问我，“您看玛格丽特怎么样？” “她是一个天仙，我真给她迷住了。” “我早料到了，这话您跟她说了吗？” “说了。” “那么她说过她相信您的话吗？” “没有说。” “普律当丝可不一样。” “普律当丝答应您了吗？” “不仅是答应，我亲爱的！您简直不会相信，她还有趣得很哪，这个胖迪韦尔诺瓦！”

Chapter 11 AT this point in his story, Armand paused. 'Would you close the window?' he said to me, 'I'm beginning to feel cold. While you're doing that, I shall go to bed.' I closed the window. Armand, who was still very weak, took off his dressing-gown and got into bed, allowing his head to rest on the pillow for a few moments, like a man wearied by a long march or troubled by painful memories. 'Perhaps you have talked too much, ' I said. 'Would you like me to go and leave you to sleep? You can tell me the end of the story some other day.' 'Do you find it tedious?' 'On the contrary.' 'In that case, I shall go on with it; if you were to leave me on my own, I shouldn't sleep.' When I reached home, he went on (without having to gather his thoughts together, so fresh in his mind were all these particulars), I did not go to bed. I began to reflect on the day's happenings. The meeting, the introduction, Marguerite's pledge to me, had all been so sudden, so unexpected, that there were moments when I thought I had been dreaming. However, it was not the first time a girl like Marguerite had promised herself to a man, with her promise to take effect on the very day after she was asked to give it. But though I tried to keep this thought uppermost in my mind, that first impression produced in me by my future mistress had been so powerful that it lingered still. Stubbornly, I continued to refuse to think of her as a rather loose girl like all the others and, with the vanity so commonly found in all men, I was ready to believe that she was as unshakeably attracted to me as I was to her. However, I was personally acquainted with examples which showed the exact opposite, and I had often heard it said that Marguerite's love had sunk to the level of a commodity, the price of which fluctuates according to the season. But, yet again, how was such a reputation to be reconciled with the repeated refusals given to the young Count we had found in her apartment? You will say that she did not like him and that, since she was already being kept in some splendour by the Duke, then if she was prepared to go to the length of taking another lover, she would naturally prefer to have a man she did like. But if that were so, why did she not want Gaston, who was charming, witty and rich, and why did she appear to want me, whom she had found so ridiculous the first time she saw me? It is true that events lasting only a moment may achieve more than courtships which last a year. Among those who had been present at the supper, I was the only one to have been anxious on seeing her leave the table. I had followed her. I had been so affected that I had been unable to hide my feelings. I had wept as I kissed her hand. These circumstances, together with my daily calls during the two months of her illness, had perhaps led her to regard me as a man quite different from those she had hitherto known, and she may have told herself that she could very well grant to such devoted love what she had granted on so many other occasions, and it could well have been that none of it meant much more to her than that. All these suppositions, as you can see, were plausible enough. But whatever the reason for her consenting, one thing was sure: she had consented. Now, I was in love with Marguerite, I was going to have her: I could not ask any more of her. Yet, I repeat, though she was a kept woman, I had in my mind turned my love? to poeticize her, perhaps? into such a hopeless passion, that the closer the moment came when I would have no further need for hope, the more uncertain I became. I did not lose my eyes that night. I did not know what to think. I was half mad. At some moments, I could not believe I was handsome enough nor rich enough nor sufficiently fashionable to possess a woman like her; at others, I felt swollen with vanity at the thought that she was to be mine. Then I would start fearing that Marguerite had no more than a passing fancy for me which would last only a few days and, scenting disaster for me if the affair ended abruptly, I told myself that I would do better not to call on her that evening but go away and tell her my fears in a letter. From thinking this, I moved to limitless hopes and boundless optimism. I dreamed impossible dreams for the future; I told myself that this girl would have me to thank for her spiritual and physical salvation, that I would spend the whole of my life by her side, and that her love would make me happier than all the most virginal of loves in creation. In short, I should be quite incapable of repeating to you the countless thoughts which rose from my heart to my head and faded slowly into the sleep which overpowered me when it grew light. When I woke, it was two o'clock. The weather was magnificent. I cannot recall that life has ever seemed to me as exquisite or as full. Memories of the previous evening came back into my mind, untainted, unimpeded and gaily escorted by my hopes for the night to come. I dressed quickly. I felt contented and capable of the finest deeds. From time to time, my heart fluttered in my chest with joy and love. A pleasant feverishness quickened my blood. I had stopped worrying about the arguments which had filled my mind before I had fallen asleep. I saw only the result. I thought only of the moment when I should see Marguerite again. Staying at home was out of the question. My bedroom seemed too small to contain my happiness; I needed the whole of nature to give vent to my feelings. I went out. I walked by the rue d'Antin. Marguerite's brougham was waiting at her door; I headed in the direction of the Champs-Elysees. I loved all the people I met, even though I had never seen any of them before. Love brings out the best in us! After an hour of walking from the Marly Horses to the Rond-Point and from the Rond-Point to the Marly Horses, I saw Marguerite's carriage in the distance: I did not recognize it, I just knew it was hers. As it was turning the corner into the Champs-Elysees, she ordered it to stop, and a tall young man broke away from a group where he had been chatting in order to speak to her. They talked together for a few moments; the young man rejoined his friends, the horses set off again, and as I approached the group, I now recognized the man who had spoken to Marguerite as the same Count de G whose portrait I had seen and whom Prudence had pointed out as the person to whom Marguerite owed her notoriety. It was he who had been forbidden her door the previous night. I assumed that she had ordered her carriage to stop to explain the reasons for his exclusion and, at the same time, I hoped that she had found some new excuse for not receiving him the next night either. How the rest of the day passed, I do not know. I walked, I smoked, I talked, but by ten in the evening, I had no recollection of what I had said or the people I had met. All I remember is that I returned to my rooms, spent three hours getting ready, and looked a hundred times at my clock and my watch which, unfortunately, both continued to tell the same time. When ten thirty struck, I said to myself that it was time to leave. In those days, I lived in the rue de Provence; I walked down the rue du Mont Blanc, crossed the Boulevard, went along the rue Louis-le-Grand, the rue de Port-Mahon and the rue d'Antin. I looked up at Marguerite's windows. There was light in them. I rang. I asked the porter if Mademoiselle Gautier was at home. He replied that she never came home before eleven or a quarter past. I looked at my watch. I thought that I had come at leisurely stroll, but I had taken just five minutes to come from the rue de Provence to Marguerite's. So I walked up and down her shopless street which was deserted at that time of night. At the end of half an hour, Marguerite arrived. She stepped down from her brougham and looked around as though she were watching out for someone. The carriage set off at a trot, for the stables and coachhouse were not located on the premises. Marguerite was about to ring when I went up to her and said: 'Good evening.' 'Oh! it's you, is it?' she said, in a tone which did little to reassure me that she was pleased to see me. 'Didn't you say I could come and call on you today?' 'So I did. I'd forgotten.' These words overturned everything I had thought that morning, everything I had been hoping for all day. However, I was beginning to get used to her ways and did not storm off ?which I should of course have done at once. We went in together. Nanine had opened the door ahead of us. 'Is Prudence back?' asked Marguerite. 'No, Madame.' 'Go and say that she is to come the minute she gets in. But first, turn out the lamp in the drawing-room, and if anyone comes, say I'm not back and won't be coming back.' She was quite clearly a woman with something on her mind, and was perhaps irritated by the presence of an unwanted guest. I did not know how to react nor what to say. Marguerite walked towards her bedroom; I remained where I was. 'Come, ' she said. She took off her hat and her velvet cloak, and tossed them on to her bed, then sank into a large arm-chair in front of the fire, which she always kept lit until the beginning of each summer and, playing with her watch- chain, said: 'Well then, and what news have you got to tell me?' 'No news ?except that I was wrong to come here this evening.' 'Why?' 'Because you seem cross, and because I expect I'm boring you.' 'You're not boring me. Only I'm ill, I've not been well all day, I haven't slept and I have a terrible headache.' 'Do you want me to leave so that you can go to bed?' 'Oh! you can stay. If I want to go to bed, I can go to bed with you here.' At that moment, there was a ring at the door. 'Who can that be now?' she said, with a gesture of impatience. A few instants later, the bell rang again. 'There can't be anybody to answer it; I'll have to go myself.' And so saying, she got up. 'Wait here, ' she said. She walked through the apartment and I heard the front door open. I listened. The person she had admitted halted in the dining-room. By his first words, I recognized the voice of young Count de N. 'How are you this evening?' he was saying. 'Ill, ' replied Marguerite curtly. 'Am I disturbing you?' 'Perhaps.' 'You're not very welcoming! What have I done to upset you, my dear Marguerite?' 'My dear friend, you haven't done anything. I am ill, I must go to bed, so you will be so kind as to go away. I am sick and tired of not being able to come home each evening without seeing you show your face five minutes later. What do you want? You want me to be your mistress? Haven't I said no a hundred times? And haven't I told you that I find you dreadfully irritating and that you can go and look elsewhere? Let me say it again today for the last time: I don't want anything to do with you, that's final. Goodbye. There, that's Nanine just coming back. She'll show you a light. Goodnight.' And without another word, without heeding the young man's stammered replies, Marguerite came back into her bedroom, violently slamming the door through which Nanine duly appeared almost immediately. 'Do you hear, ' Marguerite told her, 'you are always to say to that oaf that I'm not in, or that I don't want to see him. I'm so tired of seeing people forever coming and asking for the same thing, paying me for it and thinking that they've wiped the slate clean. If girls who start in this shameful trade of ours only knew what it's like, they'd sooner be chamber-maids. But oh no! vanity, and the idea of having gowns, carriages, and diamonds lure us on; we believe what we hear, for prostitution has its own articles of faith, and little by little we use up our hearts, our bodies, our beauty. We are feared like wild beasts, scorned like outcasts, surrounded only by people who always take more than they give, and then, one fine day, we crawl away to die like dogs, having ruined the others and ruined ourselves.' 'There, Madame, calm yourself, ' said Nanine, 'your nerves are bad tonight.' 'This dress is too tight, ' Marguerite went on, tearing open the fasteners of her bodice, 'get me a robe. Well, what about Prudence?' 'She wasn't back, but they'll tell her to come the minute she gets home.' 'There's another one, ' Marguerite went on, removing her dress and slipping into a white robe, 'there's another one who knows exactly where to find me when she need me, and can't ever do me a good turn without wanting something. She knows I'm waiting for that answer tonight, that I must have it, that I'm worried, and I just know that she's gone gallivanting without a thought for me.' 'Perhaps she's been delayed.' 'Get them to bring us some punch.' 'You're going to make yourself ill again, ' said Nanine. 'Good. And bring me some fruit, some pate or a chicken wing, something at once. I'm hungry.' There is no need to say what impression this scene made on me, for I am sure you can guess. 'You are going to have supper with me, ' she said. 'Meantime, read a book. I'm going into my dressing- room for a moment.' She lit the candles of a candelabra, opened a door facing the end of her bed, and disappeared. Left to myself, I began to ponder the life this girl led, and my love was swelled by pity. I was walking up and down in her bedroom, thinking, when Prudence came in. 'Hello, you here?' she said. 'Where's Marguerite?' 'In her dressing-room.' 'I'll wait for her to come out. Well now, she thinks you're nice. Did you know?' 'No.' 'Hasn't she told you? Not even a little bit?' 'Not at all.' 'How do you come to be here?' 'I came to pay a call.' 'At midnight?' 'Why not?' 'That's a good one!' 'As a matter of fact, she didn't give me much of a welcome.' 'She'll make you feel more at home in a while.' 'You think so?' 'I've brought her good news.' 'That's all right then. So she's talked to you about me?' 'Yesterday evening ?or rather last night, after you'd gone with your friend? By the way, how is your friend? It's Gaston R, I believe; isn't that what they call him?' 'Yes, ' I said, unable to stop myself smiling as I remembered what Gaston had confided to me, and realized that Prudence hardly knew his name. 'He's a very nice boy. What does he do?' 'He has a private income of twenty- five thousand francs.' 'Oh! Really? Well anyhow, coming back to you, Marguerite asked me a lot of questions about you. She asked who you were, what you did, what mistresses you'd had, everything, really, that can be asked about a man of your age. I told her all I know, and said that you were a very nice boy, and that's about it.' 'I'm grateful. Now, tell me what was this errand she sent you on yesterday?' 'There wasn't one. What she said was intended to make the Count go away. But she did ask me to do something for her today, and I've brought her the answer tonight.' Just then, Marguerite emerged from her dressing-room, daintily wearing a night-cap decorated with bunches of yellow ribbons, known in the trade as cabbage-bows. She looked ravishing in it. On her bare feet she was wearing satin slippers, and she was finishing her nails. 'Well?' she said, when she saw Prudence, 'did you see the Duke?' 'Of course!' 'What did he say?' 'He came up with it.' 'How much?' 'Six thousand.' 'Have you got it?' 'Yes.' 'Did he seem cross?' 'No.' 'Poor man!' The way she said ' Poor man!' is impossible to render. Marguerite took the six one-thousand-franc notes. 'And not before time, ' she said. 'My dear Prudence, do you need any money?' 'As you know, my child, it'll be the fifteenth in two days, so if you could lend me three or four hundred francs, you'd be doing me a good turn.' 'Send round for it tomorrow morning, it's too late to get change now.' 'Don't forget.' 'No need to worry. Are you going to have supper with us?' 'No, Charles is waiting in my apartment.' 'So you're still mad about him?' 'Quite crazy, my dear! I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Armand.' Madame Duvernoy left. Marguerite opened her china- cabinet and tossed the banknotes inside. 'You don't mind if I lie down?' she said, smiling and making for her bed. 'Not only do I not mind, I do wish you would.' She threw the counterpane over the foot of the bed and climbed between the sheets. 'Now, ' she said, 'come and sit by me and we'll talk.' Prudence was right: the answer she had brought Marguerite brightened her mood. 'Will you forgive me for being bad- tempered this evening?' she said, taking my hand. 'I am ready to forgive you much more.' 'And you love me?' 'To distraction.' 'In spite of my awful temper?' 'In spite of everything.' 'Do you swear it?' 'Yes, ' I whispered to her. Nanine came in then, carrying plates, a cold chicken, a bottle of bordeaux, strawberries and cutlery and glasses for two. 'I didn't get any punch made up, ' Nanine said, 'the bordeaux will do you better. Isn't that right, sir?' 'Quite right, ' I answered, still deeply moved by Marguerite's last words, and with my eyes fixed ardently on her. 'Good, ' she said, 'put it all on the little table, and bring it nearer the bed; we'll serve ourselves. That's three nights you've been up, you'll be wanting some sleep. Go to bed: I shan't be needing anything else.' 'Should I double-lock the door?' 'Yes, you should! And, most important of all, say that no one is to be admitted before noon.' 第十一章 故事讲到这里，阿尔芒停下来了。 “请您把窗关上好吗？”他对我说，“我有点儿冷，该我睡觉的时候了。” 我关上窗户。阿尔芒身体还十分虚弱，他脱掉晨衣，躺在床上，把头靠在枕头上歇了一会儿，神气好像是一个经过长途跋涉而精疲力竭的旅人，或是一个被痛苦的往事纠缠得心烦意乱的人。 “您大概话讲多了，”我对他说，“我还是告辞，让您睡觉吧，好不好？改天您再把故事给我讲完吧。” “是不是您觉得这个故事无聊？” “正好相反。” “那我还是继续讲，如果您让我一个人留下，我也睡不着。” 当我回到家里的时候，——他接着就讲，不用多加思索，因为所有详情细节都深深地印在他的脑海里，——我没有睡觉，我开始回忆这一天发生的事：和玛格丽特的相遇、介绍、她私下给我的诺言。这一切发生得那么迅速和意外，我有时还以为是在做梦呢。然而，一个男人向玛格丽特那样的姑娘提出要求，而她答应在第二天就满足他，这也不是第一次。 尽管我有这样的想法，但是我这位未来的情妇给我留下的最初印象非常深刻，我始终不能忘怀。我还是一个心眼儿地认为她跟其他姑娘不一样。我像一个普通男人一样有我的虚荣心，我坚信她对我就像我对她一样地钟情。 然而我又看到了一些互相矛盾的现象，我还经常听说玛格丽特的爱情就像商品一样，价格随着季节不同而涨落。 但在另一方面，我们又看到她坚决拒绝我们在她家里遇到的那个年轻伯爵的要求，这件事跟她的名声又怎么联系得起来呢？也许您会对我说因为她不喜欢他，何况她现在有公爵供养着，生活阔绰得很，如果她要再找一个情人，当然要找一个讨她喜欢的男人。那么为什么她又不要那个既漂亮、聪明，又有钱的加斯东，而像是看上了第一次和她见面就让她觉得十分可笑的我呢？ 的确，有时候一分钟里发生的巧事比整整一年的苦苦追求还管用。 在吃夜宵的那些人中间，唯有我看到她离席而感到不安。我跟在她后面激动得无法自持。我泪流满面地吻着她的手。所有这一切，再加上在她生病的两个月中，我每天去探听她的病情，因而使她感到我确实与众不同，也许她心里在想，对一个用这样的方式来表达爱情的人，她完全可以照常办事，她过去已经干过那么多次，这种事对她已经太无所谓了。 所有这些设想，您也看得出是完全可能的，但是，不管她同意的原因究竟是什么，有一件事是肯定的，那就是她已经同意了。 我一直爱着玛格丽特，现在我即将得到她，我不能再对她有什么苛求了。但是我再对您重复一遍，尽管她是一个妓女，以前我总是以为——可能是我把她诗意化了——这次爱情是一次没有希望的爱情，以致越是这个似乎希望即将得到满足的时刻逐渐接近，我越是疑虑重重。 我一夜没有合眼。 我失魂落魄，如痴似醉。一忽儿我觉得自己还不够漂亮，不够富有，不够潇洒，没有资格占有这样一个女人；一忽儿，我为自己能占有她而沾沾自喜，得意洋洋。接着我又担心玛格丽特是在逢场作戏，对我只不过是几天的热情，我预感到这种关系很快就会结束，并不会有好收场。我心里在想，晚上还是不到她家里去的好，而且要把我的疑虑写信告诉她，然后离开她。接着，我又产生了无限的希望和无比的信心。我做了一些对未来的不可思议的美梦。我心里想要给这位姑娘医好肉体上和精神上的创伤，要和她一起白头到老，她的爱情将比最纯洁无瑕的爱情更使我幸福。 总之，我思绪纷繁，心乱如麻，实在无法向您描绘我当时脑子里的全部想法。天亮了，我迷迷糊糊地睡着了，这些念头才在矇眬中消逝了。 我一觉醒来已经是下午两点钟。天气非常好，我觉得生活从来也没有这样美好，这样幸福过。在我的脑海里清清楚楚地浮现出昨晚的景象，接着又甜滋滋地做起了今晚的美梦。我赶紧穿好衣服，我心满意足，什么美好的事情我都能去做。我的心因快乐和爱情不时地怦怦乱跳，一种甜蜜的激情使我忐忑不安，昨晚那些使我辗转反侧的念头消失了。我看到的只是我的成功，想着的只是和玛格丽特相会的时刻。 我在家里再也呆不住了，我感到自己的房间似乎太小，怎么也容纳不下我的幸福，我需要向整个大自然倾诉衷肠。 我到外面去了。 我走过昂坦街。玛格丽特的马车停在门口等她；我向香榭丽舍大街那边走去。凡是我所遇到的行人，即使是我不认识的，我都感到亲切！ 爱情使一切变得多么美好啊！ 我在玛尔利石马像①和圆形广场之间来回溜达了一个小时，我远远看到了玛格丽特的车子，我并不是认出来的，而是猜出来的。 ①石马像原在巴黎附近的玛尔利，是著名雕刻家古斯图的杰作，后来移到香榭丽舍大街入口处协和广场上。 在香榭丽舍大街拐角上，她叫车子停下来，一个高个子的年轻人离开了正在跟他一起谈话的一群人，迎上前去和她交谈。 他们谈了一会儿；年轻人又回到他那些朋友中去了。马车继续往前行进，我走近那群人，认出了这个跟玛格丽特讲话的人就是G伯爵，我曾经看到过他的肖像，普律当丝告诉过我玛格丽特今日的地位就是他造成的。 他就是玛格丽特头天晚上嘱咐挡驾的那个人，我猜想她刚才把车停下是为了向他解释昨晚不让他进门的原因，但愿她这时能再找到一个借口请他今晚也别来了。 我一点也记不得这一天剩下来的时间是怎么过的；我散步、抽烟、跟人聊天，但是，到了晚上十点钟，我一点儿也记不起那天晚上遇到过什么人，讲过些什么话。 我所能记得起来的只是：我回到家里，打扮了三个小时，我成百次地瞧着我的钟和表，不幸的是它们走得都一样地慢。 十点半一响，我想该去赴约会啦！ 我那时住在普罗旺斯街①，我沿着勃朗峰街前进，穿过林荫大道，经过路易大帝街和马洪港街，最后来到了昂坦街，我望了望玛格丽特的窗户。 ①普罗旺斯街：这条街当时在高级住宅区内；著名人士如罗西尼、肖邦、乔治?桑、塔尔马、比才、大仲马等均在这条街上居住过。 里面有灯光。 我拉了门铃。 我问看门人戈蒂埃小姐是不是在家。 他回答我说戈蒂埃小姐从来不在十一点钟或者十一点一刻之前回来。 我看了看表。 我原以为自己走得很慢，实际上我从普罗旺斯街走到玛格丽特家只花了五分钟！ 于是，我就在这条没有商店、此时已冷冷清清的街上来回徘徊。 半小时后玛格丽特来了。她从马车上下来，一面环顾四周，好像在找什么人似的。 车子慢慢驶走了，因为马厩和车棚不在这座房子里面，玛格丽特正要拉门铃的时候，我走上前去对她说： “晚安！” “哦！是您呀？”她对我说，语气似乎她并不怎么高兴在这里看到我。 “您不是答应我今天来看您的吗？” “噢，对了，我倒忘记了。” 这句话把我早晨的幻想和白天的希望一扫而光。不过，我已经开始习惯了她这种态度，因此我没有转身而去，如果在从前，我肯定会一走了之的。 我们进了屋子。 纳尼娜已预先把门打开。 “普律当丝回来了没有？”玛格丽特问道。 “还没有，太太。” “去通知一声要她一回来就到这儿来，先把客厅里的灯灭掉，如果有人来，就说我还没有回来，今天也不回来了。” 很明显这个女人心里有事，也可能是讨厌某个不知趣的人。我简直不知所措，不知说什么才好，玛格丽特向她的卧室走去，我呆在原地木然不动。 “来吧，”她对我说。 她除下帽子，脱掉天鹅绒外衣，把它们全都扔在床上，随即躺倒在火炉旁边一张大扶手椅里，这只炉子里的火她吩咐一直要生到春末夏初。她一面玩着她的表链一面对我说： “嗳，有什么新闻跟我谈谈？” “什么也没有，不过今晚我不该来。” “为什么？” “因为您好像心情不太好，您大概讨厌我了。” “我没有讨厌您，只是我不太舒服，整整一天我都很不好受，昨天晚上我没有睡好，今天头痛发作得很厉害。” “那我就告辞，让您睡觉，好不好？” “噢！您可以留在这里，如果我想睡的话，您在这儿我一样可以睡。” 这时候有人拉铃。 “还有谁会来呀？”她作了一个不耐烦的动作说道。 一会儿，铃又响了。 “看来没有人去开门啦，还得我自己去开。” 果然，她站了起来，一面对我说： “您留在这里。” 她穿过房间到外面，我听到开门的声音，我静静地听着。 玛格丽特放进来的人走进餐室站住了，来人一开口，我就听出是年轻的N伯爵的声音。 “今儿晚上您身体怎么样？”他问。 “不好，”玛格丽特生硬地回答道。 “我打扰您了吗？” “也许是吧。” “您怎么这样接待我！我有什么地方得罪您了？亲爱的玛格丽特。” “亲爱的朋友，您一点也没有得罪我，我病了，我需要睡觉，因此您要是离开这里的话，我将感到高兴。每天晚上我回来五分钟就看到阁下光临，这实在是要我的命。您到底要怎么样？要我做您的情妇吗？那么我已经讲过一百遍了，不行！我非常讨厌您，您另打主意吧。今天我再对您说一遍，也是最后一遍：我不要您！这样行了吧，再见。好吧，纳尼娜回来了，她会给您照亮的，晚安。” 于是，玛格丽特没有再讲一句话，也没有再去听那个年轻人含糊不清的唠叨，她回到卧室，重重地把门碰上。紧接着，纳尼娜也几乎立即从那扇门里进来了。 “你听着，”玛格丽特对她说，“以后要是这个笨蛋再来，你就告诉他说我不在家，或者说我不愿意接待他。看到这些人老是来向我提这种要求，我实在是受不了，他们付钱给我就认为和我可以两讫了。如果那些就要干我这一行下流营生的女人知道这是怎么一回事，她们宁可去做老妈子的。但是不行啊，我们有虚荣心，经受不了衣裙、马车和钻石这些东西的诱惑。我们听信了别人的话，因为卖淫也有它的信念，我们就一点一点地出卖我们的心灵、肉体和姿色；我们像野兽似的让人提防，像贱民般地被蔑视。包围着我们的人都是一些贪得无厌好占便宜的人，总有一天我们会在毁灭了别人又毁灭了自己以后，像一条狗似的死去。” “好了，太太，您镇静一下，”纳尼娜说，“今天晚上您神经太紧张了。” “这件衣服我穿了不舒服，”玛格丽特一面说，一面把她胸衣的搭扣拉开，“给我一件浴衣吧，嗳，普律当丝呢？” “她还没有回来，不过她一回来，就会有人叫她到太太这儿来的。” “您看，这儿又是一位，”玛格丽特接着说，一面脱下长裙，披上一件白色浴衣，“您看，这儿又是一位，在用得着我的时候她就来找我，但又不肯诚心诚意地帮我一次忙。她知道我今晚在等她的回音，我一直在盼着这个回音，我等得很着急，但是我可以肯定她一定把我的事丢在脑后自顾自玩去了。” “可能她被谁留住了。” “给我们拿些潘趣酒来。” “您又要折磨自己了，”纳尼娜说。 “这样更好。给我再拿些水果、馅饼来，或者来一只鸡翅膀也好，随便什么东西，快给我拿来，我饿了。” 这个场面给我留下什么印象是不用多说的了，您猜也会猜到的，是不是？ “您等一会儿跟我一起吃夜宵，”她对我说，“吃夜宵以前，您拿一本书看看好了，我要到梳妆间去一会儿。” 她点燃了一只枝形烛台上的几支蜡烛，打开靠床脚边的一扇门走了进去。 我呢，我开始思考着这个姑娘的生活，我出于对她的怜悯而更加爱她了。 我一面思索，一面跨着大步在这个房间里来回走动，突然普律当丝进来了。 “啊，您在这儿？”她对我说，“玛格丽特在哪儿？” “在梳妆间里。” “我等她，喂，您很讨她的喜欢，您知道吗？” “不知道。” “她一点也没有跟您说过吗？” “一点也没有。” “您怎么会在这里的呢？” “我来看看她。” “深更半夜来看她？” “为什么不可以？” “笑话！” “她接待我时很不客气。” “她就要客客气气地接待您了。” “真的吗？” “我给她带来了一个好消息。” “那倒不坏，那么她真的对您谈到过我了吗？” “昨天晚上，还不如说是今天早上，在您和您的朋友走了以后……喂，您那位朋友为人怎么样？他的名字叫R?加斯东吧？” “是呀，”我说，想到加斯东对我说的知心话，又看到普律当丝几乎连他的名字也不知道，真使我不禁要笑出来。 “这个小伙子很可爱，他是干什么的？” “他有两万五千法郎年金。” “啊！真的！好吧，现在还是谈谈您的事，玛格丽特向我打听您的事，她问我您是什么人，做什么事，您从前那些情妇是些什么人；总之，对像您这样年纪的人应该打听的事她都打听到了。我们我知道的也全讲给她听，还加了一句，说您是一个可爱的小伙子，就是这些。” “谢谢您，现在请您告诉我她昨天托您办的事吧。” “昨天她什么事也没有托我办，她只是说要把伯爵撵走，但是今天她要我办一件事，今天晚上我就是来告诉她回音的。” 讲到这里，玛格丽特从梳妆间走了出来，娇媚地戴着一顶睡帽，帽上缀着一束黄色的缎带，内行人把这种装饰叫做甘兰式缎结。 她这副模样非常动人。 她光脚趿着缎子拖鞋，还在擦着指甲。 “喂，”看到普律当丝她说道，“您见到公爵了吗？” “当然见到啦！” “他对您说什么啦？” “他给我了。” “多少？” “六千。” “您带来了吗？” “带来了。” “他是不是有些不高兴？” “没有。” “可怜的人！” 讲这句“可怜的人！”的语气真是难以形容。玛格丽特接过六张一千法郎的钞票。 “来得正是时候，”她说，“亲爱的普律当丝，您要钱用吗？” “您知道，我的孩子，再过两天就是十五号，如果您能借我三四百法郎，您就帮了我的大忙啦。” “明天上午叫人来取吧，现在去兑钱时间太晚了。” “可别忘了呀。” “放心好了，您跟我们一起吃夜宵吗？” “不了，夏尔在家里等着我。” “他把您迷住了吗？” “真迷疯啦，亲爱的！明天见。再见了，阿尔芒。” 迪韦尔诺瓦夫人走了。 玛格丽特打开她的多层架，把钞票扔了进去。 “您允许我躺下吗？”她微笑着说，一面向床边走去。 “我不但允许，而且还请求您这样做。” 她把铺在床上的镶着镂空花边的床罩拉向床脚边就躺下了。 “现在，”她说，“过来坐在我身边，我们谈谈吧。” 普律当丝说得对，她带来的回音使玛格丽特高兴起来了。 “今天晚上我脾气不好，您能原谅我吗？”她拉着我的手说。 “我什么都可以原谅您。” “您爱我吗？” “爱得发疯。” “我脾气不好，您也爱我吗？” “无论如何我都爱。” “您向我起誓！” “我起誓，”我柔声对她说。 这时候纳尼娜进来了，她拿来几只盘子，一只熟鸡，一瓶波尔多葡萄酒，一些草莓和两副刀叉。 “我没有关照给您调潘趣酒，”纳尼娜说，“您最好还是喝葡萄酒。是不是，先生？” “当然罗，”我回答说，我刚才听了玛格丽特那几句话，激动的心情还没有平静下来，火辣辣的眼睛凝望着她。“好吧，”她说，“把这些东西都放在小桌子上，把小桌子移到床跟前来，我们自己会吃，不用你侍候了。你已经三个晚上没有睡好啦，你一定困得很，去睡吧，我再也不需要什么啦。” “要把门锁上吗？” “当然要锁上！特别要关照一声，明天中午以前别让人进来。”

Chapter 12 AT five in the morning, when daylight began to appear through the curtains, Marguerite said to me: 'Forgive me if I shoo you away now, but I must. The Duke comes every morning; when he arrives, he'll be told I'm asleep, and he may wait for me to wake.' I took Marguerite's head in both my two hands, her loosened hair cascading on to her shoulders, and I gave her one last kiss, saying: 'When will I see you again?' 'Listen, ' she went on, 'take the little gold key on the mantelpiece there and unlock the door. Then bring me back the key and go. Sometime during the day, you'll receive a letter with my instructions, for you know that you must obey blindly.' 'Yes ?but what if I were already to ask you something?' 'What is it?' 'That you leave the key in my keeping.' 'I've never done for anyone what you're asking me to do now.' 'Well, do it for me, for I swear that I do not love you as the others loved you.' 'Very well, keep it. But I warn you that I could at any time see to it that your key served no useful purpose.' 'How?' 'There are bolts on this side of my door.' 'You wicked creature!' 'I'll have them removed.' 'So you do love me a little?' 'I don't know how it is, but it seems I do. And now, go: I'm almost asleep.' We remained a few moments in each others' arms and then I left. The streets were deserted, the great city was sleeping still, and a pleasant coolness ran through the neighbourhood which, a few hours later, would be overrun by the noise of men. I felt as though the sleeping city belonged to me. I ransacked my memory for the names of men whose happiness, up to that moment, I had envied; and I could not recall one without finding that I was happier than he. To be loved by a chaste young girl, to be the first to show her the strange mystery of love, is a great joy ?but it is the easiest thing in the world. To capture a heart unused to attack is like walking into an open, undefended city. Upbringing, the awareness of duty, and the family, are watchful sentries of course, but there are no sentries, however vigilant, that cannot be eluded by a girl of sixteen to whom nature, through the voice of the man she adores, whispers those first counsels of love which are all the more passionate because they seem so pure. The more sincere a young girl's belief in goodness, the more easily she gives herself, if not to her lover, then at least to love. Because she is unsuspecting, she is powerless, and to be loved by her is a prize which any young man of twenty-five may have whenever he likes. And to see how true this is, simply consider how much supervision and how many ramparts surround young girls! Convents cannot have walls too high, nor mothers locks too strong, nor religion duties too unrelenting to deep all these charming birds safe in cages which no one even tries to disguise with flowers. And so, how keenly must they want that world which is kept hidden from them! How tempting must they believe it to be! How eagerly must they listen to the first voice which, through the bars of their cage, tells of its secrets! And how gratefully to they bless the first hand which lifts a corner of its mysterious veil! But to be truly loved by a courtesan is a much more difficult victory to achieve. In such women, the body has consumed the soul, the senses have burnt out the heart, debauchery has buckled stout armour on to feeling. The words you say to them, they first heard long ago; the tactics you use, they have seen before; the very love they inspire in you, they have sold to others. They love because love is their trade, not because they are swept off their feet. They are better guarded by their calculations than a virgin by her mother and her convent. Which is why they have coined the word ' caprice' to describe those non- commercial affairs in which they indulge from time to time as a relief, an excuse or as a consolation. Such women are like money-lenders who fleece large numbers of people, and think they can make amends by lending twenty francs one day to some poor devil who is starving to death, without asking him to pay interest or requiring him to sign a receipt. But when God allows a courtesan to fall in love, her love, which at first looks like a pardon for her sins, proves almost invariably to be a punishment on her. There is no absolution without penance. When such a creature, who has all the guilt of her past on her conscience, suddenly feels herself gripped by a deep, sincere, irresistible love such as she had never dreamed herself capable of experiencing; when she finally declares her love ?how complete the power of the man she loves! How strong he feels once he has the cruel right to say: 'What you do now for love is no more than you have done for money.' When this happens, they are at a loss for ways of proving what they feel. A boy in a field who, so the fable goes, persisted in finding it amusing to shout 'Help!' to disturb some workmen, was eaten one fine day by a bear, without it occurring to those he had so often deceived that this time his shouts were real. And so it is with these wretched girls when they genuinely fall in love. They have lied so often that no one believes them any more and, beset by remorse, they are eaten by their love. Which explains the great self- sacrifices, the austere self-seclusions of which a few such women have afforded examples. But if a man who inspires such saving love is sufficiently generous of soul to accept it without thought for the past, if he commits himself totally to her, if he really loves as he is loved, then such a man drains in one draught all terrestrial emotions and, after a love like this, his heart is thereafter closed to any other. It was not then, as I returned home that morning, that these thoughts came to me. They could not in any case have been much more at that point than a presentiment of what was to befall me and, in spite of my love for Marguerite, I did not anticipate any such outcome. But I think these thoughts today: now that it is all irrevocably ended, they emerge naturally from what has been. But let us return to that first day of our affair. When I reached home, I was wildly exhilarated. Feeling that the barriers which my imagination had erected between Marguerite and me had disappeared, and believing that she was mine, that I had a small place in her thoughts, that I had the key to her apartment in my pocket and permission to use it, I felt pleased with life and pleased with myself, and I praised God who had let it all happen. One day, a young man walks along a street, comes across a woman, looks at her, turns and looks again, then walks on. This woman, whom he does not know, has pleasures, sorrows, loves in which he has no part. He does not exist for her, and perhaps, if he spoke to her, she would laugh at him just as Marguerite had laughed at me. Weeks, months, years pass by and then, quite unexpectedly, when both have followed their destiny in their separate ways, the logic of chance brings them face to face. The woman becomes the man's mistress and loves him truly. How? Why? Their two lives are now as one: no sooner is their affection sealed than they feel as though it has always existed, and everything that has gone before is blotted from the memory of the two lovers. It really is the oddest thing, you must admit. For my own part, I could not recall how I had ever lived before the previous evening. My whole being cried out for joy at the memory of the words we had exchanged during that first night. Either Marguerite was skilled at deceit, or she truly felt for me one of those sudden passions which can come with the first kiss but sometimes fade as quickly as they came. The more I thought about it, the surer I was that Marguerite could have no reason to feign a love she did not feel and, furthermore, I told myself that women have two ways of loving which may derive the one from the other: they love either with their hearts or with their senses. A woman will often take a lover merely to do the bidding of her senses and, without expecting to, acquires knowledge of the mystery of ethereal love, and henceforth lives only through her heart; a young girl, seeking in marriage simply the union of two pure affections, will often acquire the sudden revelation of physical love, the emphatic culmination of the purest impressions of the soul. I fell asleep in the middle of my thoughts. I was woken by a letter from Marguerite which contained these words: 'These are my orders: This evening at the Vaudeville. Come during the third interval. M. G.' I put her note away in a drawer, so that I would always have reality to hand should I ever have doubts, as happened from time to time. As she did not say that I should go and see her during the day, I dared not call on her; but so great was my desire to meet up with her before that evening that I ventured on to the Champs-Elysees where, like the previous day, I saw her drive up and then down again. At seven, I was at the Vaudeville. I had never arrived at a theatre quite so early. All the boxes filled one after the other. Just one remained unoccupied: the front box in the stalls. At the start of the third act, I heard someone opening the door to this box, on which I had kept my eyes more or less permanently fixed, and Marguerite appeared. She immediately came and stood in the front of her box, scanned the stalls, saw me and thanked me with a glance. She was radiantly beautiful that evening. Was I the reason why she had taken such care to look her best? Did she love me enough to think that the more beautiful I found her, the happier I would be? I still could not be sure; but if this was her intention, then she fully succeeded. For when she appeared, there was a ripple of turning heads and even the actor who was speaking at that moment looked in the direction of the woman whose entrance had disturbed the audience. And I had the key to that woman's apartment, and in three or four hours she would be mine once more! We decry men who ruin themselves for actresses and kept women; what surprises me is that they do not commit twenty times as many follies for them. You need to have lived that kind of life, as I have, to understand just how strongly all those little gratifications of vanity which a mistress provides each day can weld to a man's heart, for want of a better word, the love which he has for her. Then Prudence took her seat in the box and a man, who I recognized as Count de G, sat down at the back. When I saw him, my heart went cold. No doubt Marguerite noticed what effect the presence of this man in her box was having on me, for she smiled at me once more and, turning her back on the Count, appeared to be concentrating hard on the play. When the third interval began, she turned round and spoke briefly; the Count left the box, and Marguerite signalled me to come and see her. 'Good evening, ' she said as I entered, and she held out her hand. 'Good evening, ' I replied, directing the greeting at both Marguerite and Prudence. 'Do sit down.' 'But this is someone's seat. Isn't Count de G coming back?' 'Yes. I sent him off to fetch me some sweets so that we could have a moment alone to talk. Madame Duvernoy knows everything.' 'Yes, my children, 'said she. 'But don't worry. I shan't tell.' 'What's wrong with you this evening?' said Marguerite, rising and coming into the dark back of the box where she kissed me on the forehead. 'I'm not feeling too well.' 'You should go to bed, ' she went on, with that ironic expression which went so well with her fine, quick- witted head. 'Whose?' 'Yours.' 'You know very well that I shan't sleep.' 'In that case, you shouldn't come here sulking just because you saw a man in my box.' 'That's not the reason.' 'Oh yes it is, I know all about such things and you're wrong. Let's not say any more about it. After the play, come to Prudence's and stay there until I call you. Understood?' 'Yes.' Did I have any choice but to obey? 'Do you still love me?' she went on. 'How can you ask!' 'Have you thought about me?' 'All day long.' 'Do you know something? I'm seriously beginning to be afraid I could fall in love with you. You'd better ask Prudence.' 'Ah!' Prudence cried heartily, 'stop pestering me!' 'Now, you are to go back to your seat in the stalls. The Count will return at any minute and there's nothing to be gained if he finds you here.' 'Why not?' 'Because you don't much like seeing him.' 'It's not that. It's just that if you had told me you wanted to come to the Vaudeville this evening, I could have sent you tickets for a box every bit as well as he could.' 'Unfortunately, he brought them round without my asking him to, and offered to escort me. You know very well I couldn't refuse. The most I could do was to write and let you know where I was going, because then you could see me, and because I wanted to see you sooner rather than later. But if that's the thanks I get, let it be a lesson to me.' 'I was wrong. Do forgive me!' 'Very well. Go back to your seat like a good boy, and for heaven's sake no more jealous scenes!' She kissed me again, and I left. In the corridor, I met the Count on his way back. I returned to my seat. After all, the presence of Monsier de G in Marguerite's box was the most uncomplicated thing. He had been her lover, he brought her tickets for a box, he came to the play with her it was all very natural, and the moment I took a girl like Marguerite as my mistress, I had no alternative but to accept her ways. All the same, such considerations did not make me any the less wretched for the rest of the evening, and I felt extremely miserable as I left, having seen Prudence, the Count and Marguerite stepping into the barouche which stood waiting for them at the door. Even so, a quarter of an hour later I was at Prudence's. She had returned only a moment before. 第十二章 清晨五点钟，微弱的晨光透过窗帘照射进来，玛格丽特对我说： “很抱歉，我要赶您走了，这是没有办法的事，公爵每天早上都要来；他来的时候，别人会对他说我还在睡觉，他可能一直要等到我醒来。” 我把玛格丽特的头捧在手里，她那蓬松的头发零乱地披散在周围，我最后吻了吻她，对她说： “我们什么时候再见？” “听着，”她接着说：“壁炉上有一把金色的小钥匙，您拿去打开这扇门，再把钥匙拿来，您就走吧。今天您会收到我一封信和我的命令，因为您知道您应该盲目地服从我。” “是的，不过我现在是不是可以向您要求一点东西呢？” “要求什么？” “把这把钥匙给我。” “这个东西我从来没有给过别人。” “那么，您就给我吧，因为我对您起过誓，我爱您跟别人爱您不一样。” “那么您就拿去吧，但是我要告诉您，我可以让这把钥匙对您毫无用处。” “怎么会呢？” “门里面有插销。” “坏东西！” “我叫人把插销拆了吧。” “那么，您真有点儿爱我吗？” “我也不知道是怎么一回事，不过看来我真的爱上您了。 现在您去吧，我困得很。” 我们又紧紧地拥抱了一会儿，后来我就走了。 街上阒无人迹，巨大的城市还沉睡未醒，到处吹拂着一阵阵柔和的微风，再过几个小时，这里就要熙来攘往，人声鼎沸了。 现在这座沉睡着的城市仿佛是属于我一个人的。过去我一直羡慕有些人运气好，我一个个地回忆着他们的名字，可是我怎么也想不出有谁比我眼下更称心如意的了。 被一个纯洁的少女所爱，第一个向她揭示神秘之爱的奥秘；当然，这是一种极大的幸福，但这也是世界上最简单不过的事情。赢得一颗没有谈过恋爱的心，这就等于进入一个没有设防的城市。教育、责任感和家庭都是最机警的哨兵，但是一个十六岁的少女，任何机警的哨兵都免不了会被她骗过的，大自然通过她心爱的男子的声音对她作第一次爱情的启示，这种启示越是显得纯洁，它的力量也就越是猛烈。 少女越是相信善良就越是容易失身，如果不是失身于情人的话，至少是失身于爱情。因为一个人丧失了警惕就等于失去了力量，得到这样一个少女的爱情虽说是一个胜利，但这种胜利是任何一个二十五岁的男子想什么时候要就什么时候能够到手的。在这些少女的周围，确实是戒备森严。但是要把所有这些可爱的小鸟关在连鲜花也不必费心往里抛的笼子里，修道院的围墙还不够高，母亲的看管还不够严，宗教戒条的作用还不够持久。因此，这些姑娘们该有多么向往别人不让她们知道的外部世界啊！她们该有多么相信这个世界一定是非常引人入胜的，当她们第一次隔着栅栏听到有人来向她们倾诉爱情的秘密时该有多么高兴，对第一次揭开那神奇帐幕一角的那只手，她们该是怎样地祝福它啊！ 但是要真正地被一个妓女所爱，那是一个极其难得的胜利，她们的肉体腐蚀了灵魂，情欲灼伤了心灵，放纵的生活养成了她们的铁石心肠。别人对她们讲的话，她们早已听腻了，别人使用的手腕她们也都熟悉，她们即使有过爱情也已经卖掉了。她们的爱情不是出于感情，而是为了金钱。她们工于心计，因此远比一个被母亲和修道院看守着的处女防范得周密。她们把那些不在做生意范围之内的爱情叫做逢场作戏，她们经常会有一些这样的爱情，她们把这种爱情当作消遣，当作借口，当作安慰，就好像那些放高利贷的人，他们盘剥了成千的人，有一天他借了二十个法郎给一个快要饿死的穷人，没有要他付利息，没有逼着他写借据，就自以为罪已经赎清了。 再说，当天主允许一个妓女萌发爱情的时候，这个爱情，开始时好像是一个宽恕，后来几乎总是变成一种对她的惩罚。没有忏悔就谈不上宽恕。如果一个女人过了一段应该受到谴责的生活，突然觉得自己有了一种深刻的、真诚的、不能自制的爱情，这种她从来以为不可能有的爱情，当她承认这个爱情的时候，那个被她爱的男子就可以统治她了！这个男子有多么得意，因为他有权对她说，“您的爱情跟做买卖也差不离”。然而，这是一种残酷的权利。 这时候她们真不知道怎样来表明她们的真心。有一个寓言讲过：一个孩子跟农民们恶作剧，一直在田野里叫“救命啊，熊来啦！”闹着玩。有一天熊真的来了，那些被他骗过的人这一次不再相信他的呼救声，他终于被熊吃掉了；这就像那些可怜的姑娘萌发了真正的爱情的时候一样。她们说谎次数太多，以致别人不再相信她们了，她们后悔莫及地葬身于她们自己的爱情之中。 因此，也会有一些真正忠于爱情，认真从良的妓女。 但是，当一个激起这种超脱的爱情的男子有一颗宽宏的心，愿意接受这个女人而不去回忆她的过去，当他投身于这个爱情之中；总之，当他被她所爱一样地爱上了她时，这个人顿时就享尽了人间所有美好的感情，经过这次爱情以后，他再也不会爱上别人了。 在没有经历过以后发生的那些事情之前，我是不可能预感到这些想法的，所以尽管我爱着玛格丽特，却没有产生过相似的念头，今天我才有了这些想法。一切都过去了，这些想法是已经发生的事所产生的自然后果。 现在还是回到我们这段恋情的第一天来吧。当我回家的时候，我欣喜若狂。想到我原来想象存在于玛格丽特和我之间的障碍已经消失，想到我已得到了她，想到我在她脑子里已经有了一定的地位，想到她的房间的钥匙在我口袋里，并且我还有权利使用这把钥匙，我感到人生非常美满，我踌躇满志，我赞美天主，是他赐给了我这一切。 一天，一个年轻人走过一条街，他碰见一个女人，他望了望她，转身就走了。他不认得这个女人。这个女人有她的快乐、她的悲哀和她的爱情，跟他毫不相干。她的心目中也没有他这个人，如果他要跟她搭话，她也许会像玛格丽特嘲笑我一样地嘲笑他。几个星期，几个月，几年过去了。突然，在他们听从着各自的命运在不同的道路上行走的时候，一个偶然的机缘使他们重新相会。这个女人爱上了他，成了这个男人的情妇。这两个青年从此就难分难舍，形影不离，这是怎么回事，这又是为什么？一旦他们爱上了，就仿佛这个爱情由来已久，所有往事在这两个情人的脑海中都消失了，我们承认这是很奇怪的。 至于我，我也记不起这天晚上以前我是怎样生活过来的，一想到这第一个晚上我们俩谈的话，我全身舒坦。要么是玛格丽特善于骗人，要么她对我有一股突如其来的热情，这种热情在第一次接吻时就显露了出来，不过后来有过几次，这种激情又像它迸发时那样遽然地熄灭了。 我越想越觉得玛格丽特没有任何理由来假装爱我，我还想到女人有两种恋爱方式，这两种方式可以互为因果：她们不是从心底里爱人就是因感官的需要而爱人。一个女人接受一个情人一般只是为了服从她感官上的需要，她不知不觉地懂得了超肉欲爱情的神秘性，并且在以后只是靠精神爱情来生活；通常一个年轻的姑娘，起初只认为婚姻是双方纯洁感情的结合，后来才突然发现了肉体的爱情，也就是精神上最纯洁的感情所产生的有力的结果。 我想着想着慢慢地睡着了。玛格丽特的来信把我唤醒了，信里面写着这样几句话： 这是我的命令：今天晚上在歌舞剧院见面，请 在第三次幕间休息时来找我。 玛?戈 我把信放进抽屉里锁了起来。我这人有时候会神思恍惚，这样做了就可以在日后疑心是否真有此事时，有个实实在在的凭据。 她没有叫我在白天去看她，我也不敢贸然到她家里去；但是我实在想在傍晚以前就看到她，于是我就到香榭丽舍大街去。和昨天一样，我又在那里看见她经过，并在那里下了马车。 七点钟，我就到了歌舞剧院①。 ①歌舞剧院：一七九一年始建于王宫附近，一八三八年被烧毁，一八六八年重建于交易所广场，后来又迁至嘉布遣纳大街。 我从未这样早到剧院里去过。 那些包厢里慢慢地都坐满了人，只有一个包厢是空的：底层台前包厢。 第三幕开始的时候，我听见那个包厢里有开门的声响，我的眼睛几乎没有离开过这个包厢，玛格丽特出现了。 她马上走到包厢前面，往正厅前座里寻找，看到我以后，就用目光向我表示感谢。 这天晚上她有多美啊！ 她是为了我才打扮得这样漂亮的吗？难道她爱我已经爱到了这般地步，认为她越是打扮得漂亮，我就越感到幸福吗？这我还不知道，但假使她真的是这样想的话，那么她是成功了，因为当她出现的时候，观众的脑袋像一片波涛似的纷纷向她转去，连舞台上的演员也对着她望，因为她刚一露面就使观众为之倾倒。 而我身上却有着这个女人的房门钥匙，三四个小时以后，她又将是我的了。 人们都谴责那些为了女戏子和妓女而倾家荡产的人，使我奇怪的倒是，他们怎么没有更进一步地为这些女人做出更加荒唐的事来呢。一定要像我这样地投入到这种生活里去，才能了解到，只有她们在日常生活中满足她们情人的各种微小的虚荣心，才能巩固情人对她们的爱情——我们只能说“爱情”，因为找不到别的字眼。 接着是普律当丝在她的包厢里坐了下来，还有一个男人坐在包厢后座，就是我认识的那位G伯爵。 一看到他，我感到浑身冰冷。 玛格丽特一定发现了她包厢里的男人影响了我的情绪，因为她又对我笑了笑，然后把背转向伯爵，显得一门心思在看戏。到了第三次幕间休息时，她转回身去，说了几句话，伯爵离开了包厢，于是玛格丽特做手势要我过去看她。 “晚安，”我进去的时候她对我说，同时向我伸过手来。 “晚安，”我向玛格丽特和普律当丝说。 “请坐。” “那我不是占了别人的座位啦，G伯爵不来了吗？” “他要来的，我叫他去买蜜饯，这样我们可以单独谈一会儿，迪韦尔诺瓦夫人是信得过的。” “是啊，我的孩子们，”迪韦尔诺瓦夫人说，“放心好了，我什么也不会讲出去的。” “您今天晚上怎么啦？”玛格丽特站起来，走到包厢的阴影里搂住我，吻了吻我的额头。 “我有点不舒服。” “您应该去睡一会儿才好，”她又说，她那俏皮的神色跟她那娇小玲珑的脑袋极为相配。 “到哪里去睡？” “您自己家里呀！” “您很清楚我在自己家里是睡不着的。” “那么您就不该因为看见有一个男人在我的包厢里就来给我看脸色呀。” “不是为了这个原因。” “是这个原因，我一看就知道，您错了，我们别再谈这些事了。散戏后您到普律当丝家里去，一直等到我叫您，您听明白了吗？” “听明白了。” 我难道能不服从吗？ “您仍然爱我吗？”她问。 “这还用问吗？” “您想我了吗？” “整天都在想。” “我真怕我真的爱上您了，您知道吗？还是问问普律当丝吧。” “啊！”那个女胖子回答说，“那可真叫人受不了。” “现在，您回到您的位子上去，伯爵要回来了，没有必要让他在这里看见您。” “为什么？” “因为您看到他心里不痛快。” “没有的事，不过如果您早跟我讲今天晚上想到歌舞剧院来，我也会像他一样把这个包厢的票子给您送来的。” “不幸的是，我没有向他要他就给我送来了，还提出要陪我来。您知道得很清楚，我是不能拒绝的。我所能做的，就是写信告诉您我在哪里，这样您就可以见到我，因为我自己也很希望早些看到您；既然您是这样感谢我的，我就要记住这次教训。” “我错了，请原谅我吧。” “这就太好了，乖乖地回到您的座位上去，再不要吃什么醋了。” 她再一次吻了我，我就走出来了。 在走廊里我遇到了回包厢的伯爵。 我回到了自己的座位上。 其实，G伯爵在玛格丽特的包厢里出现是件极其平常的事。他过去是她的情人，给她送来一张包厢票，陪她来看戏，这一切都是非常自然的事情。既然我有一个玛格丽特那样的姑娘做情妇，当然我就应该容忍她的生活习惯。 这天晚上剩下来的时间我也不见得更好受一些，在看到普律当丝、伯爵和玛格丽特坐上等在剧院门口的四轮马车以后，我也怏怏地走了。 可是一刻钟以后我就到了普律当丝的家里，她也刚好回来。

Chapter 13 'YOU got here almost as quickly as we did, ' said Prudence. 'Yes, ' I replied mechanically. 'Where's Marguerite?' 'In her apartment.' 'By herself?' 'With Monsieur de G.' I strode up and down in her drawing-room. 'Whatever's the matter with you?' 'Do you imagine I think it's funny waiting around like this for Monsieur de G to come out of Marguerite's?' 'You're being unreasonable too. You must understand that Marguerite can't show the Count the door. Monsieur de G has been with her a long time now; he's always given her a lot of money. He still does. Marguerite spends more than a hundred thousand francs a year; she has huge debts. The Duke sends her whatever she asks him for, but she doesn't always dare ask for everything she needs. She can't afford to fall out with the Count who gives her around ten thousand francs a year at least. Marguerite really loves you, my dear, but your affair with her mustn't get serious both for her sake and yours. Your allowance of seven or eight thousand francs wouldn't be anything like enough to pay for her extravagance; it won't even run to the upkeep of her carriage. Just take Marguerite for what she is ?a good- hearted, lively, pretty girl. Be her lover for a month, two months. Give her flowers, buy her sweets, pay for boxes at the theatre. But don't go getting any other ideas, and don't go in for silly jealous scenes. You know what sort of girl you're dealing with: Marguerite's no saint. She likes you, you love her, leave it at that. I think you're foolish to get so touchy! You have the sweetest mistress in the whole of Paris! She receives you in a magnificent apartment, she's covered in diamonds, she needn't cost you a penny unless you decide otherwise, and you're still not satisfied. Hang it all, you expect too much!' 'You're quite right, but I can't help it. The thought that this man is her lover is agony.' 'To begin with, ' Prudence went on, 'is he still her lover? He's just a man that she needs, that's all. For two days now, she's closed her door to him. He came this morning. She had no alternative: she had to accept the tickets for the box and say he could escort her. He brought her home, he came up for a moment, but won't stay, or otherwise you wouldn't be waiting here. All very natural, as I see it. Anyhow, you don't mind the Duke?' 'No, but he's an old man, and I'm sure Marguerite isn't his mistress. In any case, a man can often put up with one affair, but not two. Even so, the ease with which he tolerates such an arrangement can look suspiciously calculating. It brings anyone who submits to it, even if he does so out of love, very close to people just one step beneath who make a business out of submitting and a profit out of their business.' 'Ah, dear man! How behind the times you are! How many times have I seen the noblest, the most fashionable, the wealthiest men do what I now advise, and they have done it without fuss or shame or remorse! It happens every day of the week. How do you imagine all the kept women in Paris could carry on living the kind of lives they lead if they didn't have three of four lovers at the same time? There isn't a man around, however much money he had, who'd be rich enough to cover the expenses of a woman like Marguerite by himself. A private income of five hundred thousand francs is a colossal fortune in France; well, dear man, a private income of five hundred thousand francs wouldn't do it, and here's why. A man who has an income like that has an established household, horses, servants, carriages, hunting estates, friends; often he is married, he has children, he keeps a racing stable, he gambles, travels and a lot more besides. All these habits are so firmly rooted that he cannot drop them without appearing to be ruined and becoming the talk of the town. All in all, with five hundred thousand francs a year, he can't give a woman more than forty or fifty thousand in any twelve months, and even that's a great deal. So other lovers must make up the woman's annual expenditure. With Marguerite, it works out even more conveniently. By a miracle of heaven, she's got in with a rich old man worth ten millions whose wife and daughter are both dead and whose surviving relatives are nephews with a lot of money of their own. He gives her everything she wants without asking anything in exchange. But she can't ask him for more than seventy thousand francs a year, and I'm sure that if she did, then in spite of all his money and his affection for her, he would say no. 'All those young men in Paris with incomes of twenty or thirty thousand francs, that is with barely enough to get by in the circles they move in, are all quite aware, when they are the lovers of a woman like Marguerite, that their mistress couldn't even pay the rent or her servants on what they give her. They don't ever say that they know. They just appear not to see anything and, when they've had enough, they move on. If they are vain enough to want to provide for everything, they ruin themselves like idiots, and go off to get themselves killed in Africa, leaving a hundred thousand francs' worth of debts in Paris. And do you imagine that the woman is grateful? Not a bit of it. The very opposite. She'll say that she sacrificed her position for them, and that as long as she was with them she was losing money. Ah! all these dealings strike you as shameful, don't they? But it's all true. You are a nice boy and I couldn't be fonder of you. I've lived among women like these for twenty years, and I know what they're like and what sort of stuff they're made of. I wouldn't want to see you taking to heart a caprice which some pretty girl has for you. 'Anyway, on top of all that, ' Prudence continued, 'let's say Margurite loves you enough to give up the Count and even the Duke, if the Duke should find out about your affair and tell her to choose between you and him. If that happened, then the sacrifice which she'd be making for you would be enormous, no question about it. What sacrifice could you make to match hers? When you'd had enough of her and didn't want to have anything more to do with her, what would you do to compensate her for what you'd made her lose? Nothing. You would have cut her off from the world in which her fortune and her future lay, she would have given you her best years, and she would be forgotten. Then you'd either turn out to be the usual sort and throw her past in her face, telling her as you walked out that you were only behaving like all her other lovers, and you'd abandon her to certain poverty. Or else you would behave correctly and, believing you had an obligation to keep her by you, you'd land yourself inevitably in trouble, for an affair such as this, forgiveable in a young man, is inexcusable in older men. It becomes an obstacle to everything. It stands in the way of family and ambition which are a man's second and last loves. So believe me, my friend, take things for what they are worth and women as they are, and never give a kept woman any right to say that you owe her anything whatsoever.' All this was sensibly argued, and it had a logic of which I would not have thought Prudence capable. I could think of nothing to say in reply, except that she was right; I gave her my hand and thanked her for her advice. 'Come, come, ' she said, 'now just forget all this gloomy theorizing and laugh. Life is delightful, my dear, it all depends on the prism you look at it through. Listen, ask your friend Gaston. Now there's someone who strikes me as understanding love as I understand it. What you've got to realize ?and you'll be a dull lad if you don't ?is that not far from here there's a beautiful girl who is waiting impatiently to see the back of the man she's with, who is thinking about you, who is keeping tonight for you and who I'm sure loves you. Now come and stand by the window with me, and we'll watch the Count leave: it won't be long now before he leaves the field clear for us.' Prudence opened a window and we leaned on our elbows side by side on the balcony. She watched the occasional passers-by. I stood musing. Everything she had said reverberated inside my head, and I could not help admitting that she was right. But the true love I felt for Marguerite was not easily reconciled with her arguments. Consequently, I heaved intermittent sighs which made Prudence turn round and shrug her shoulders, like a doctor who has lost all hope of a patient. 'How clearly we see how brief life is, ' I said to myself, 'in the fleeting passage of our sensations! I have known Marguerite for only two days, she has been my mistress since just yesterday, and yet she has so overrun my thoughts, my heart and my life that a visit from this Count de G can make me wretched.' Finally, the Count emerged, got into his carriage and drove off. Prudence closed her window. At the same instant, Marguerite was already calling us. 'Come quickly, the table is being set, ' she said, 'and we'll have supper.' When I entered her apartment, Marguerite ran towards me, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me with all her might. 'Are we still grumpy, then?' she said to me. 'No, that's all finished with, ' answered Prudence, 'I've been telling him a few home-truths, and he's promised to be good.' 'Wonderful!' Despite myself, I cast a glance in the direction of the bed. It had not been disturbed: as for Marguerite, she had already changed into a white dressing-gown. We sat down at table. Charm, sweetness, high-spirits ?Marguerite had everything, and from time to time I had to admit that I had no right to ask anything else of her, that many a man would be happy to be in my shoes and that, like Virgil's shepherd, I had only to partake of the easy times which a god, or rather a goddess, held out to me. I tried to put Prudence's theories into practice and be as gay as my two companions. But what came naturally to them was an effort for me, and my excited laughter, which they misunderstood, was very close to tears. At length, supper ended and I remained alone with Marguerite. As was her habit, she went and sat on her rug in front of the fire and looked sadly into the flames in the hearth. She was thinking! Of what? I cannot say. But I looked at her with love and almost with dread at the thought of what I was prepared to suffer for her sake. 'Do you know what I was thinking?' 'No.' 'About this scheme I've hit on.' 'And what is this scheme?' 'I can't tell you yet, but I can tell you what'll happen if it works. What would happen is that is a month from now I'd be free, I wouldn't have any more debts, and we'd go and spend the summer in the country together.' 'And can't you tell me how this is to be managed?' 'No. All it needs is for you to love me as I love you, and everything will come out right.' 'And did you hit on this scheme all by yourself?' 'Yes.' 'And you will see it through alone?' 'I'll have all the worry myself, ' Marguerite said with a smile which I shall never forget, 'but we will both share the profits.' I recalled Manon Lescaut running through M. de B's money with Des Grieux. I answered a little roughly as I got to my feet: 'You will be good enough, my dear Marguerite, to allow me to share the profits of only those enterprises which I myself contrive and execute.' 'And what does that mean?' 'It means that I strongly suspect that Count de G is your associate in this splendid scheme, of which I accept neither the costs nor the profits.' 'Don't be childish. I thought you loved me, but I was wrong. As you wish.' And, so saying, she got up, opened her piano and once more began playing The Invitation to the Waltz as for as the famous passage in the major key which always got the better of her. Was this done out of habit, or was it to remind me of the day we first met? All I know is that with this tune, the memories came flooding back and, drawing close to her, I took her head in my hands and kissed her. 'Do you forgive me?' I said. 'Can't you tell?' she answered. 'But note that this is just our second day, and already I've got something to forgive you for. You're not very good at keeping your promises of blind obedience.' 'I'm sorry, Marguerite, I love you too much, and I just have to know everything you think. What you suggested just now should make me jump for joy, but your mysteriousness about what happens before the plan is carried out makes my heart sink.' 'Oh come now, let's talk about this seriously for a moment, ' she went on, taking my two hands and looking at me with a bewitching smile which I was quite incapable of resisting. 'You love me, do you not, and you'd be happy to spend three or four months alone with me in the country? I too would be happy for us to be alone together, not just happy to go away with you but I need to for my health. I can't leave Paris for so long without putting my affairs in order, and the affairs of a woman like me are invariably very tangled. Well, I've found a way of bringing it all together ?my affairs and my love for you, yes, you, don't laugh, I'm mad enough to be in love with you! And then you get all hoity-toity and start coming out with fine words. Silly boy! Silly, silly boy! Just remember that I love you and don't worry your head about a thing. Well, is it agreed?' 'Everything you want is agreed, as you know very well.' 'In that case, a month from now we'll be in some village or other, strolling by the river and drinking milk. It must sound odd to you hearing me, Marguerite Gautier, talk like this. The fact is, my dear, that when life in Paris, which ostensibly makes me so happy, is not burning me out, it bores me. When that happens, I get sudden yearnings to lead a quieter life which would remind me of my childhood. Everybody, whatever has become of them since, has had a childhood. Oh! don't worry, I'm not about to tell you that I'm the daughter of a retired colonel and that I was raised at Saint- Denis. I'm just a poor girl from the country who couldn't even write her name six years ago. I expect you're relieved, aren't you! Why is it that you should be the first man I've ever approached to share the joy of the desire which has come upon me? I suppose it's because I sensed that you loved me for my sake and not for yours, whereas the others never loved me except for themselves. 'I've been to the country many times, but never the way I should have liked. I'm counting on you to provide the simple happiness I want. Don't be unkind: indulge me. Tell yourself this: "She's not likely to live to be old, and some day I should be sorry I didn't do the very first thing she ever asked me, for it was such a simple thing."' What answer could I give to such words, especially with the memory of a first night of love behind me and with the prospect of a second to come? An hour later, I was holding Marguerite in my arms, and if she had asked me to commit a crime for her, I would have obeyed. I left her at six in the morning. Before I went, I said: 'Shall I see you this evening?' She kissed me harder, but did not reply. During the day, I received a letter containing these words: 'Darling boy, I'm not very well and the doctor has told me to rest, I shall go to bed early tonight and so shall not see you. But, as a reward, I shall expect you tomorrow at noon. I love you.' My first thought was: 'She's deceiving me!' An icy sweat broke out on my forehead, for I was already too much in love with her not to be aghast at the thought. And yet I was going to have to expect it to happen almost daily with Marguerite; it had often happened with my other mistresses without it ever bothering me too much. How was it then that this woman had such power over my life? Then, since I had the key to her apartment, I thought I might call and see her as usual. In this way, I should know the truth soon enough, and if I found a man there, I would offer to give him satisfaction. To while away the time, I went to the Champs-Elysees. I stayed there for four hours. She did not make an appearance. In the evening, I looked in at all the theatres where she usually went. She was not in any of them. At eleven o'clock, I made my way to the rue d'Antin. There was no light in any of Marguerite's windows. Even so, I rang. The porter asked me where I wanted to go. 'To Mademoiselle Gautier's, ' I said. 'She's not back.' 'I'll go up and wait.' 'There's nobody in.' Of course, he had his orders which I could have circumvented since I had a key, but I was afraid of an embarrassing scene and went away. But I did not go home. I could not leave the street and did not take my eyes off Marguerite's house for a moment. I felt that I still had something to learn, or at least that my suspicions were about to be confirmed. About midnight, a brougham, which was all too familiar, pulled up near number 9. Count de G got out and went into the house after dismissing his coach. For a moment, I hoped that he was about to be told, as I had been, that Marguerite was not at home, and that I should see him come out again. But I was still waiting at four in the morning. These last three weeks, I have suffered a great deal. But it has been nothing compared with what I suffered that night. 第十三章 “您来得几乎跟我们一样快！”普律当丝对我说。 “是的，”我不假思索地回答说，“玛格丽特在哪儿？” “在家里。” “一个人吗？” “跟G伯爵在一起。” 我跨着大步在客厅里来回走着。 “嗳，您怎么啦？” “您以为我在这儿等着G伯爵从玛格丽特家里出来很有趣吗？” “您太不通情理了。要知道玛格丽特是不能请伯爵吃闭门羹的。G伯爵跟她来往已经很久，他一直给她很多钱，现在还在给她。玛格丽特一年要花十多万法郎，她欠了很多债。只要她开口，公爵总能满足她的要求，但是她不敢要公爵负担全部开销。伯爵每年至少给她万把法郎，她不能和他闹翻。玛格丽特非常爱您，亲爱的朋友，但是您跟她的关系，为了你们各自的利益，您不应该看得过于认真的。您那七八千法郎的津贴费是不够这个姑娘挥霍的，连维修她的马车也不够。您要恰如其分地把玛格丽特当作一个聪明美丽的好姑娘对待；做她一两个月的情人，送点鲜花、糖果和包厢票给她，其他的事您就不必操心啦！别再跟她闹什么争风吃醋的可笑把戏了。您很清楚您是在跟谁打交道，玛格丽特又不是什么贞洁女人，她很喜欢您，您也很喜欢她，其他的您就不用管了。我认为您这样容易动感情是很可爱的！您有巴黎最讨人喜欢的女人做情妇！她满身戴着钻石，在富丽堂皇的住宅里接待您，只要您愿意，她又不要您花一个子儿，而您还要不高兴。真见鬼！您的要求也太过分了。” “您说得对，但是我没法控制自己，一想到这个人是她的情人，我心里就别扭。” “不过，”普律当丝接着说，“先得看看他现在还是不是她的情人？只是用得着他罢了，仅此而已。 “两天以来，玛格丽特没有让他进门，今天早上他来，她没有办法，只能接受了他的包厢票，让他陪着去看戏，接着又送她回家，到她家里去坐一会。既然您在这儿等着，他不会久留的。依我看，这一切都是很平常的事。再说，您对公爵不是也容忍下来了吗？” “是的，可是公爵是个老头儿呀，我拿得准玛格丽特不是他的情妇。再说，人们一般也只能容忍一个这样的关系，哪里还能容忍两个呢。行这种方便真像是一个圈套，同意这样做的男人，即便是为了爱情也罢，活像下层社会里用这种默许的方法去赚钱的人一样。” “啊！我亲爱的，您太老脑筋了！我见过多少人而且还都是些最高贵，最英俊，最富有的人，他们都在做我劝您做的这种事。何况干这种事又不费什么力气，用不到害臊，大可问心无愧！这样的事司空见惯。而且作为巴黎的妓女，她们不同时有那么三四个情人的话，您要她们怎样来维持那样的排场呢？不可能有谁有一笔那么巨大的家产来独力承担像玛格丽特那样一个姑娘的花费的。每年有五十万法郎的收入，在法国也可算是一个大财主了。可是，我亲爱的朋友，有了五十万法郎的年金还是应付不了，这是因为：一个有这样一笔进款的男人，总有一座豪华的住宅，还有一些马匹、仆役、车辆，还要打打猎，还要应酬交际。一般说一个这样的人总是结过婚的，他有孩子，要跑马，要赌钱，要旅行，谁知道他还要干些什么！这些生活习惯已经根深蒂固，一旦改变，别人就要以为他破产了，就会有流言蜚语。这样算下来，这个人即使每年有五十万法郎的收入，他一年里面花在一个女人身上的钱决不能超过四万到五万法郎，这已经是相当多的了。那么，这个女人就需要别的情人来弥补她开支的不足，玛格丽特已经算是不错的了，像天上掉下了奇迹似的遇上了一个有万贯家财的老头儿，他的妻子和女儿又都死掉了，他的那些侄子外甥自己也很有钱。因此玛格丽特可以有求必应，不必付什么代价，但即便他是这么一个大富翁，每年也至多给她七万法郎，而且我可以断定，假如玛格丽特再要求得多一些，尽管他家大业大，并且也疼爱她，他也会拒绝的。” “在巴黎，那些一年只有两三万法郎收入的年轻人，也就是说，那些勉强能够维持他们自己那个圈子里的生活的年轻人，如果他们有一个像玛格丽特那样的女人做情妇的话，他们心里很明白，他们给她的钱还不够付她的房租和仆役的工资。他们不会对她说他们知道这些情况，他们视而不见，装聋作哑，当他们玩够了，就一走了之。如果他们爱好虚荣，想负担一切开销，那就会像个傻瓜似的落得个身败名裂，在巴黎欠下十万法郎的债，最后跑到非洲去送掉性命完事。您以为那些女人就会因此而感激他们吗？根本不会；相反，她们会说她们为了他们而牺牲了自己的利益，会说在他们相好的时候，倒贴了他们钱财。啊！您觉得这些事很可耻，是吗？这些都是事实。您是一个可爱的青年，我从心底里喜欢您，我在妓女圈子里已经混了二十个年头了，我知道她们是些什么人，也知道应该怎样来看待她们，因此，我不愿意看到您把一个漂亮姑娘的逢场作戏当了真。 “再说，除此之外，”普律当丝继续说，“如果公爵发现了你们的私情，要她在您和他之间选择，而玛格丽特因为爱您而放弃了伯爵和公爵，那么她为您作出的牺牲就太大了，这是无可争辩的事实，您能为她作出同样的牺牲吗？您？当您感到厌烦了，当您不再需要她的时候，您怎样来赔偿她为您蒙受的损失呢？什么也没有！您可能会把她和她那个天地隔绝开来，那个天地里有她的财产和她的前途，她也可能把她最美好的岁月给了您，而您却会把她忘得一干二净。倘若您是一个普通的男人，那么您就会揭她过去的伤疤，对她说您也只不过像她过去的情人那样离开了她，使她陷入悲惨的境地；或者您是一个有良心的人，觉得有责任把她留在身边，那么您就要为自己招来不可避免的不幸。因为，这种关系对一个年轻人来说是可以原谅的，但对一个成年人来说就不一样了。这种男人们的第二次、也是最后一次的爱情，成了您一切事业的累赘，它不容于家庭，也使您丧失雄心壮志。所以，相信我的话吧，我的朋友，您要实事求是些，是什么样的女人就当什么样的女人来对待，无论在哪一方面，也不要让自己去欠一个妓女的情分。” 普律当丝说得合情合理，很有逻辑，这是出乎我意料之外的。我无言以对，只是觉得她说得对，我握住她的手，感谢她给我的忠告。 “算了，算了，”她对我说，“丢开这些讨厌的大道理，开开心心做人吧，生活是美好的，亲爱的，就看您对人生抱什么态度。喂，去问问您的朋友加斯东吧，我对爱情有这样的看法，也是受了他的影响；您应该明白这些道理，不然您就要成为一个不知趣的孩子了。因为隔壁还有一个美丽的姑娘正在不耐烦地等她家里的客人离开，她在想您，今天晚上她要和您一起过，她爱您，我对此有充分把握。现在，您跟我一起到窗口去吧，等着瞧伯爵离开，他很快就会让位给我们的。” 普律当丝打开一扇窗子，我们肩并肩地倚在阳台上。 我望着路上稀少的行人，脑子里却杂念丛生。 听了她刚才对我讲的一番话，我心乱如麻，但是我又不能不承认她说得有道理，然而我对玛格丽特的一片真情，很难和她讲的这些道理联系得上，因此我不时地唉声叹气，普律当丝听见了，就回过头来向我望望，耸耸肩膀，活像一个对病人失去信心的医生。 “由于感觉的迅速，”我心里想，“因此我们就感到人生是那么短促！我认识玛格丽特只不过两天，昨天开始她才成了我的情妇，但她已经深深地印在我的思想、我的心灵和我的生命里，以致这位G伯爵的来访使我痛苦万分。” 伯爵终于出来了，坐上车子走了。普律当丝关上窗子。 就在这个时候玛格丽特叫我们了。 “快来，刀叉已经摆好，”她说，“我们就要吃夜宵了。” 当我走进玛格丽特家里的时候，她忙向我跑来，搂住我的脖子，使劲地吻我。 “我们还老是要闹别扭吗？”她对我说。 “不，以后不闹了，”普律当丝回答说，“我跟他讲了一通道理，他答应要听话了。” “那太好了。” 我的眼睛不由自主地向床上望去，床上没有凌乱的迹象； 至于玛格丽特，她已经换上了白色的睡衣。 大家围着桌子坐了下来。 娇媚、温柔、多情，玛格丽特什么也不缺，我不得不时时提醒自己，我没有权利再向她要求什么了。任何人处在我的地位一定会感到无限幸福，我像维吉尔笔下的牧羊人一样，坐享着一位天神、更可以说是一位女神赐给我的欢乐。 我尽力照普律当丝的劝告去办，强使自己跟那两个女伴一样快乐；她们的感情是自然的，我却是硬逼出来的。我那神经质的欢笑几乎像哭一样，她们却信以为真。 吃完夜宵以后，只剩下我跟玛格丽特两个人了，她像往常一样，过来坐在炉火前的地毯上，愁容满面地望着炉子里的火焰。 她在沉思！想些什么？我不得而知，我怀着恋情，几乎还带着恐惧地望着她，因为我想到了自己准备为她忍受的痛苦。 “你知道我在想什么？” “不知道。” “我在想办法，我已经想出来了。” “什么办法？” “现在我还不能告诉你，但是我可以把这件事的结果告诉你。那就是一个月以后我就可以自由了，我将什么也不欠，我们可以一起到乡下避暑去了。” “难道您就不能告诉我用的是什么办法吗？” “不能，只要你能像我爱你一样地爱我，那一切定能成功。” “那么这个办法是您一个人想出来的吗？” “是的。” “而且由您一个人去办吗？” “由我一个人来承受烦恼，”玛格丽特微笑着对我说，这种微笑是我永远也忘不了的，“但是由我们来共同分享好处。” 听到“好处”这两个字我不禁脸红了，我想起了玛侬?莱斯科和德?格里欧两人一起把B先生当作冤大头①的事。 ①《玛侬?莱斯科》这本小说里的一个情节。玛侬瞒着她的情人，和B先生来往，诈骗B先生的钱财。 我站起身来，用稍嫌生硬的语气回答说： “亲爱的玛格丽特，请允许我只分享我自己想出的办法的好处，而且是由我自己参加的事情中所得到的好处。” “这是什么意思？” “这意思是，我非常怀疑G伯爵在这个美妙的办法里面是不是您的合伙人，对于这个办法我既不负担责任，也不享受它的好处。” “您真是个孩子，我还以为您是爱我的哩，我想错了，那么好吧。” 说到这里，她站了起来，打开钢琴开始弹那首《邀舞曲》，一直弹到她总是弹不下去的那段为止。 不知道她是习惯于弹这支乐曲呢、还是为了要我回想起我们相识那天的情景，我所记得的，就是一听到这个曲调以后，往事就浮现在我的脑海之中，于是，我向她走过去，用双手捧住她的头吻了吻。 “您原谅我吗？”我对她说。 “您瞧，”她对我说，“我们相识才两天，而我已经有些事情要原谅您了，您说过要盲目服从我，但您说话不算数。” “您叫我怎么办呢，玛格丽特，我太爱您了，我对您任何一点想法都要猜疑，您刚才向我提到的事使我快乐得心花怒放，但是实行这个计划的神秘性却使我感到难受。” “看您，冷静一点吧，”她握着我两只手说，同时带着一种使我无法抗拒的媚人的微笑凝视着我，“您爱我，是吗？那么如果就您和我两个人在乡下过三四个月，您会感到高兴的吧。我也一样，能够过几天只有我们两个人的那种清静生活，我将觉得很幸福。我不但觉得幸福，而且这种生活对我的健康也有好处。要离开巴黎这么长时间，总得先把我的事情安排一下，像我这样一个女人，杂事总是很多的。好吧，我总算有了法子来安排一切，安排我的那些杂事和我对您的爱情，是的，对您的爱情，请别笑，我爱您爱得发疯呢！而您现在却神气得很，说起大话来啦。真是孩子气，十足的孩子气，您只要记住我爱您，其他您什么也不要管。同意吗？嗯？” “您想做的我都同意，这您是很清楚的。” “那么，一个月以内，我们就可以到某个乡村去，在河边散步，喝鲜奶。我，玛格丽特?戈蒂埃说这样的话，您可能会感到奇怪吧，我的朋友。这种看来似乎使我十分幸福的巴黎生活，一旦不能激起我的热情，就会使我感到厌烦，因此我突然向往起能使我想起童年时代的那种安静生活。无论是谁都有他的童年时代。喔！您放心，我不会跟您说我是一个退役上校的女儿，或者说我是从圣德尼①培养出来的。我是一个乡下的穷姑娘，六年前我连自己的名字也不会写。这样您就放心了，是吗？那么为什么我有生以来第一次对您说要跟您分享我所得到的快乐。因为我看出您是为了我，而不是为了您自己才爱我的。而别人，从来就是为了他们自己而爱我。 ①圣德尼：巴黎北部的一个小城市，那里有荣誉勋位团的女子学校。 “我过去经常到乡下去，但我从来没有像这一次这样一心想去；对这一次唾手可得的幸福我就指望着您了，别跟我闹别扭，让我得到这个幸福吧！您可以这样想：她活不长了，她第一次要求我做一件轻而易举的事我就不答应她，我以后会不会后悔呢？” 对这些话我还有什么话好说呢？尤其是我还在回味着第一夜的恩爱，盼望着第二夜到来的时候。 一个小时以后，玛格丽特已经躺在我的怀抱里，那时她即使要我去犯罪我也会听从的。 早晨六点钟我要走了，在走之前我问她说： “今晚见吗？” 她热烈地吻我，但是没有回答我的话。 白天，我收到一封信，上面写着这样几句话： 亲爱的孩子： 我有点不舒服，医生嘱咐我休息，今晚我要早 些睡，我们就不见面了。但是为了给您补偿，明天中午我等您。我爱您。 我第一个念头就是：她在骗我！ 我额头上沁出一阵冷汗，我已经深深地爱上了这个女人，因此这个猜疑使我心烦意乱。 然而，我应该预料到，跟玛格丽特在一起，这种事几乎每天都可能发生。这种事过去我和别的情妇之间也经常出现，但是我都没有把它放在心上。那么这个女人对我的生命为什么有这样大的支配力呢？ 这时候我想，既然我有她家里的钥匙，我何不就像平时一样去看她。这样我会很快知道真相，如果我碰到一个男人的话，我就打他的耳光。 这时，我到了香榭丽舍大街，在那里溜达了足足有四个小时，她没有出现。晚上，凡是她经常去的几家剧院我都去了，哪一家也没有她的影子。 十一点钟，我来到了昂坦街。 玛格丽特家的窗户里没有灯光，我还是拉了门铃。 看门人问我找哪一家。 “找戈蒂埃小姐家。”我对他说。 “她还没有回来。” “我到上面去等她。” “她家里一个人也没有。” 当然，既然我有钥匙，我可以不理睬这个不让我进去的禁令，但是我怕闹出笑话来，于是我就走了。 不过，我没有回家，我离不开这条街，我的眼睛一直盯着玛格丽特的房间。我似乎还想打听些什么消息，或者至少要使自己的猜疑得到证实。 将近午夜，一辆我非常熟悉的马车在九号门前停了下来。 G伯爵下了车，把车子打发走了以后，就进了屋子。 那时候，我巴望别人像对我一样地告诉他说玛格丽特不在家，巴望看见他退出来；但是一直等到早晨四点钟，我还在等着。 三个星期以来，我受尽痛苦，但是，和那一晚的痛苦比起来，那简直算不了一回事。

Chapter 14 WHEN I reached home, I began to weep like a child. There is not a man alive who has not been deceived at least once but does not know what it is to suffer so. Weighed down by the kind of fervent resolution which we always think we shall be strong enough to keep, I told myself that I had to put an end to this affair at once, and impatiently waited for morning to come so that I could go and buy a ticket and return to my father and my sister? twin loves on which I could count and which would never let me down. However, I did not want to go away without ensuring that Marguerite knew exactly why I was going. Only a man who is quite out of love with his mistress will leave her without writing. I wrote and rewrote a score of letters in my head. I had been dealing with a woman who was like all other kept women; I had poeticized her far too much. She had treated me like a school-boy and, to deceive me, had resorted to an insultingly simple ruse ?that much was clear. My pride then took over. I had to leave this woman without giving her the satisfaction of knowing how much our parting made me suffer, and this is what I wrote to her, in my most elegant hand and with tears of rage and pain in my eyes. 'My dear Marguerite, I trust that yesterday's indisposition has not proved too troublesome. I called, at eleven last evening, to ask after you, and was told you had not yet returned. Monsieur de G was altogether more fortunate, for he arrived a few moments later and was still with you at four o'clock this morning. Forgive me the tiresome few hours which I inflicted on you, and rest assured that I shall never forget the happy moments which I owe you. I would certainly have called to ask after you today, but I propose to return and join my father. Farewell, my dear Marguerite. I am neither rich enough to love you as I should wish, nor poor enough to love you as you would like. Let us both forget: you, a name which must mean very little to you, and I, happiness which has become impossible for me to bear. I am returning your key which I have never used and which you may find will answer some useful purpose, if you are often ill the way you were yesterday.' As you see, I did not have the strength to end my letter without a touch of supercilious irony, which only went to prove how much in love I still was. I read and reread my letter ten times over, and the thought of the pain it would cause Marguerite calmed me a little. I tried to live up to the bold note it had struck, and when, at eight o'clock, my servant answered my summons, I handed it to him to deliver at once. 'Must I wait for an answer?' Joseph asked. (My manservant was called Joseph. All manservants are called Joseph). 'If you are asked whether a reply is expected, you will say that you don't know, and you will wait.' I clung to hope that she would answer. Poor, weak creatures that we are! The whole of the time my servant was out, I remained in a state of extreme agitation. At some moments, recalling how completely Marguerite had given herself to me, I asked myself by what right had I written her an impertinent letter when she could quite well reply that it was not Monsieur de G who was deceiving me but I who was deceiving Monsieur de G ? which is an argument which allows many a woman to have more than one lover. At other moments, recalling the hussy's solemn oaths, I tried to convince myself that my letter had been far too mild and that there were no words strong enough to scourge a woman who could laugh at love as sincere as mine. Then again, I told myself that it would have been better not to write at all, but to have called on her during the day: in this way, I would have been there to enjoy the tears I made her weep. In the end, I came round to wondering what she would say in her answer, and I was already prepared to believe whatever excuse she gave me. Joseph returned. 'Well?' I said. 'Sir, ' he answered, 'Madame had not risen and was still asleep, but the moment she rings, the letter will be given to her and if there is a reply, it will be brought.' Asleep! A score of times I was on the point of sending round to get the letter back, but I persisted in telling myself: 'Perhaps someone has already given it to her, in which case I would look as though I was sorry I'd sent it.' The nearer it got to the time when it seemed most likely that she would give me an answer, the more I regretted having written. Ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, midday stuck. At noon, I was on the point of setting off for our rendezvous, as though nothing had happened. I was a complete loss for a way of a way of breaking out of iron ring that held me fast. Then, with the superstition of those who wait, I thought that if I went out for a while, I should find an answer when I got back. Replies which we await with impatience always come when we are not at home. I went out, ostensibly to lunch. Instead of lunching at the Cafe Foy, on the corner of the Boulevard, as was my custom, I thought I would have lunch in the Palais-Royal and go via the rue d'Antin. Every time I saw a woman in the distance, I thought it was Nanine bringing me a reply. I walked the length of the rue d'Antin without coming across any sort of messenger. I arrived at the Palais- Royal and went into Very's. The waiter gave me something to eat, or, more accurately, served me whatever he wished, for I ate nothing. Despite myself, my eyes remained fixed on the clock. I returned home, convinced that I would find a letter from Marguerite. The porter had received nothing for me. I still had hopes of my servant. He had seen no one since the time I went out. If Marguerite was going to give me an answer, she would have done so long before. I began to regret the terms of my letter; I should have remained totally silent, since this would doubtless have made her uneasy, and spurred her to make a move; for, seeing that I had not kept our appointment the previous day, she would have asked the reason for my absence and only then should I have given it. In this way, she would have had no alternative but to establish her innocence, and I wanted her to establish her innocence. I already sensed that whatever the excuses she gave me, I would have believed her, and I knew that I should have preferred anything than never to see her again. In the end, I fell to thinking that she would come herself, but the hours ticked by, and she did not come. Marguerite was clearly quite unlike other women, for there are not many who, on receiving a letter like the one I had just written, do not send some sort of reply. At five, I hurried to the Champs- Elysees. 'If I meet her, ' I thought, 'I shall appear unconcerned, and she will see that I have stopped thinking about her already.' On the corner of the rue Royale, I saw her drive past in her carriage. The encounter happened so suddenly that I felt myself grow pale. I have no idea if she noticed my reaction, for I was so taken aback that I saw only her carriage. I did not continue with my stroll to the Champs-Elysees. I looked at the theatre bills, for I still had one chance left of seeing her. There was a first night at the Palais-Royal. Marguerite would obviously be there. I was in the theatre at seven o'clock. All the boxes filled up, but Marguerite did not appear. After a while, I left the Palais-Royal and did the rounds of all the theatres where she went most often ?to the Vaudeville, the Varietes and the Opera- Comique. She was not at any of them. Either my letter had hurt her too much for her to be able to think of going to the theatre, or she was afraid of coming across me and wanted to avoid having things out. This is what my vanity was whispering in my ear on the Boulevard when I ran into Gaston who asked me where I had been. 'To the Palais-Royal.' 'I've been to the Opera, ' he said. 'I rather thought I'd see you there.' 'Why?' 'Because Marguerite was there.' 'Oh! Was she?' 'Yes.' 'On her own?' 'No, with one of her women friends.' 'Anyone else?' 'Count de G showed up in her box for a moment or two, but she went off with the Duke. I thought I'd see you appear any minute. I had a seat next to me which stayed empty the whole evening, and I was sure it had been paid for by you.' 'But why should I go wherever Marguerite goes?' 'Because, dammit, you're her lover!' 'And who told you that?' 'Prudence. I met her yesterday. I congratulate you, old boy. She's a pretty mistress to have, and it's not everybody that can have her. Hang on to her, she'll be a credit to you.' This straightforward observation of Gaston's showed me how ridiculously touchy I was being. If I had met him the previous evening and he had talked to me like this, I would never have written the stupid letter I had sent that morning. I was on the point of going round to Prudence's and sending word to Marguerite that I had to talk to her. But I was afraid that, to get back at me, she would send word that she could not see me, and I returned home after walking by the rue d'Antin. Once again I asked my porter if he had a letter for me. Nothing! 'She'll have wanted to see whether I'd try some new move and retract my letter today, ' I told myself as I got into bed, 'but when she sees I haven't written to her, she'll write to me tomorrow.' That night especially did I regret what I had done. I was alone in my apartment, unable to sleep, fretting with worry and jealousy whereas, by letting things take their true course, I should have been at Marguerite's side hearing her say those sweet words which I had heard on only two occasions, and which now made my ears burn in my loneliness. The most dreadful part of my predicament was that logic put me in the wrong. Indeed, all the indications were that Marguerite loved me. In the first place, there was her scheme for spending a whole summer alone with me in the country. Then there was the plain fact that there was nothing that obliged her to be my mistress, for the money I had was insufficient for her needs or even her whims. So there was nothing more to it, on her part, than the hope of finding sincere affection through me which would be a relief from the mercenary loves which beset her life. And now, on the second day, I was in the process of blighting that hope and repaying with high-handed irony the two nights of love which I had accepted! What I was doing was therefore worse than ridiculous: it was dishonest. Had I simply paid the woman back in order to have the right to pass judgment on her way of life? And did not withdrawing on the second day make me look like some parasite of love who is afraid he is about to be presented with the bill for his dinner? It was extraordinary! I had known Marguerite for thirty-six hours, I had been her lover for twenty-four of them, and was acting like some easily injured party. Far from being only too delighted that she should divide her affections to include me, I wanted to have her all to myself, I wanted to force her, at a stroke, to put an end to the affairs of her past which, of course, represented the income of her future. What cause had I to reproach her? None. She had written to tell me she was unwell when she could easily have said bluntly, with the appalling frankness of some women, that she was expecting a lover; and instead of going along with her letter, instead of taking a walk in any street in Paris except the rue d'Antin, instead of spending the evening with my friends and presenting myself the next day at the time she had indicated, I was behaving like Othello, spying on her, thinking I was punishing her by not seeing her any more. But quite the reverse: she was probably delighted by this separation and must have thought me supremely inane. Her silence was nothing so grand as rancour: it was contempt. At this point, I should have given Marguerite some present or other which would have left her in no doubt about my liberality and also allowed me, because I had treated her like any other kept woman, to believe that I had no further obligations towards her. But I felt that with the least hint of trade, I should degrade, if not the love she had for me, then at least the love I had for her; and since this love of mine was so pure that it refused to be shared with others, it was incapable of offering a present, however fine, as payment in full for the happiness, however brief, I had been given. This is what I kept telling myself over and over that night. I was ready at any moment to go and say it all to Marguerite. When morning came, I was still awake and feverish. I could not think of anything but Marguerite. As you will appreciate, I had to decide one way or the other: to have done either with the woman or my scruples ?always assuming, of course, that she would still agree to go on seeing me. But, as you know, one always puts off taking crucial decisions: as a result, neither able to stay in my rooms nor daring to wait upon Marguerite, I embarked on a course of action that might lead to a reconciliation which, should it succeed, my pride could always blame on chance. It was nine o'clock. I hurried round to Prudence's. She asked me to what she owed this early call. I did not dare say openly what brought me. I replied that I had gone out early to book a seat on the coach for C, where my father lived. 'You are very lucky, ' she said, 'to be able to get out of Paris in such marvellous weather.' I looked hard at Prudence, wondering whether she was laughing at me. But her face was serious. 'Are you going to say goodbye to Marguerite?' she went on, with the same seriousness. 'No.' 'Very wise.' 'You think so?' 'Of course. Since you've finished with her, what's the point of seeing her again?' 'So you know it's all over?' 'She showed me your letter.' 'And what did she say?' 'She said: "My dear Prudence, your protege has no manners. People compose letters like this in their heads, but no one actually writes them down."' 'And how did she say it?' 'She was laughing. And she also said: "He came to supper twice and now won't even make his party call."' So this was all the effect my letter and jealous torments had produced! I was cruelly humiliated in my pride of love. 'And what did she do yesterday evening?' 'She went to the Opera.' 'I know. But afterwards?' 'She had supper at home.' 'Alone?' 'With Count de G, I believe.' So the break I had made had altered nothing in Marguerite's habits. It is because of moments like this that some people will tell you: "You shouldn't have given the woman another moment's thought. She clearly didn't love you." 'Ah well, I'm very pleased to see that Marguerite isn't pining for me, ' I went on, with a forced smile. 'And she's absolutely right. You did what you had to. You've been much more sensible than her, for she really loved you. All she did was talk about you, and she might have ended up doing something silly.' 'If she loves me, why didn't she reply?' 'Because she realized that she was wrong to love you. And besides, women will sometimes allow a man to take advantage of their love but not to injure their pride, and a man always injures a woman's pride when two days after becoming her lover, he leaves her, whatever reason he gives for doing so. I know Marguerite; she'd sooner die than give you an answer.' 'What should I do, then?' 'Nothing. She will forget you, you will forget her and neither of you will have anything to reproach each other for.' 'What if I wrote asking her to forgive me?' 'Don't. She would.' I nearly flung my arms around Prudence. A quarter of an hour later, I was back in my rooms and writing to Marguerite. 'Someone who repents of a letter which he wrote yesterday, someone who will go away tomorrow if you do not forgive him, wishes to know at what time be may call and lay his repentance at your feet. When will be find you alone? For, as you know, confessions should always be made without witnesses.' I folded this kind of madrigal in prose and sent Joseph with it. He handed it to Marguerite herself, and she told him that she would reply later. I went out only for a moment, to dine, and at eleven in the evening still had no reply. I resolved that I should suffer no more and leave the next day. Having made up my mind, knowing that I would not sleep if I went to bed, I began to pack my trunks. 第十四章 一回到家里，我像个孩子似的哭了起来。凡是受过哪怕只有一次欺骗的男人就不会不知道我是多么痛苦。 我一肚子难忍的怒火，暗暗痛下决心：必须立即和这种爱情一刀两断。我迫不及待地等待着天明后去预订车票，回到我父亲和妹妹那儿去，他们两人对我的爱是没有疑问的，也决不会是虚情假意。 但是我又不愿意在玛格丽特还没有弄清楚我离开她的原因之前就走。作为一个男人，只有在跟他的情人恩断义绝的时候才会不告而别。 我反复思考着应该怎样来写这封信。 我的这位姑娘和所有其他的妓女没有什么两样，以前我太抬举她了，她把我当小学生看待。为了欺骗我，她耍了一个简单的手段来侮辱我，这难道还不清楚吗？这时，我的自尊心就占了上风。必须离开这个女人，还不能让她因为知道了这次破裂使我很痛苦而感到高兴。我眼里噙着恼怒和痛苦的泪水，用最端正的字体给她写了下面这封信： 亲爱的玛格丽特： 我希望您昨天的不适对健康没有多大影响。昨天晚上十一点钟，我来打听过您的消息，有人回答说您还没有回来。G先生比我幸运，因为在我之后不久他就到您那儿去了，直到清晨四点钟他还在您那里。 请原谅我使您度过了一些难受的时刻，不过请放心，我永远也忘不了您赐给我的那段幸福时刻。 今天我本应该去打听您的消息，但是我要回到我父亲那里去了。 再见吧，亲爱的玛格丽特，我希望自己能像一个百万富翁似地爱您，但是我力不从心；您希望我能像一个穷光蛋似地爱您，我却又不是那么一无所有。那么让我们大家都忘记了吧，对您来说是忘却一个几乎是无关紧要的名字，对我来说是忘却一个无法实现的美梦。 我奉还您的钥匙，我还未用过它，它对您会有用的，假如您经常像昨天那样不舒服的话。 您看到了，如果不狠狠地嘲笑她一下，我是无法结束这封信的，这证明我心里还是多么爱她啊。 我把这封信反复看了十来遍，想到这封信会使玛格丽特感到痛苦，我心里稍许平静了一些。我竭力使自己保持住信里装出来的感情。当我的仆人在八点钟走进我的房间时，我把信交给他，要他马上送去。 “是不是要等回信？”约瑟夫——我的仆人像所有的仆人一样都叫约瑟夫——问我。 “如果有人问您要不要回信，您就说您什么也不知道，但您要等着。” 我希望她会给我回信。 我们这些人是多么可怜，多么软弱啊！ 在约瑟夫去送信的那段时间内，我心情激动到了顶点。一会儿我想起了玛格丽特是怎样委身于我的，我自问我究竟有什么权利写这样一封唐突无礼的信给她，她可以回答我说不是G先生欺骗了我，而是我欺骗了G先生，一些情人众多的女人都是这样为自己辩解的；一会儿我又想起了这个姑娘的誓言，我要使自己相信我的信写得还是太客气，那里面并没有什么严厉的字句足以惩罚一个玩弄我纯洁的爱情的女人。随后，我又想还是不给她写信，而是在白天到她家里去的好，这样我就会因为看到她掉眼泪而感到痛快。 最后我寻思她将怎样答复我，我已经准备接受她即将给我的解释。 约瑟夫回来了。 “怎么样？”我问他。 “先生，”他回答我说，“夫人在睡觉，还没有醒，但是只要她拉铃叫人，就会有人把信给她，如果有回信，他们会送来的。” 她还睡着哪！ 有多少次我几乎要派人去把这封信取回来，但是我总是这样想： “信可能已经交给她了，如果我派人去取信的话，就显得我在后悔了。” 越是接近应该收到她回信的时刻，我越是后悔不应该写那封信。 十点，十一点，十二点都敲过了。 十二点的时候，我几乎要像什么事也没有发生过似的去赴约会了，最后我左思右想不知如何来挣脱这个使我窒息的束缚。 像有些心中有所期待的人一样，我也有一种迷信的想法，认为只要我出去一会儿，回来时就会看到回信。因为人们焦急地等待着的回信总是在收信人不在家的时候送到的。 我借口吃午饭上街去了。 我平时习惯在街角的富瓦咖啡馆用午餐，今天我却没有去，而宁愿穿过昂坦街，到王宫大街去吃午饭。每逢我远远看到一个妇人，就以为是纳尼娜给我送回信来了。我经过昂坦街，却没有碰到一个送信人。我到了王宫大街，走进了韦利饭店，侍者侍候我吃饭，更可以说他把能想到的菜全给我端来了，因为我没有吃。 我的眼睛不由自主地一直盯着墙上的时钟看。 我回到家里，深信马上就会收到玛格丽特的回信。 看门人什么也没有收到。我还希望信已经交给仆人，但是他在我出门后没有看到有谁来过。 如果玛格丽特给我写回信的话，她早就该给我写了。 于是，我对那封信里的措辞感到后悔了，我本来应该完全保持缄默，这样她可能会感到不安而有所行动；因为她看到我没有去赴上一天讲好的约会就会问我失约的原因，只有在这时候我才能把原因告诉她；这样一来，她除了为自己辩解以外，没有其他的办法。而我所要的也就是她的辩解。我已经觉得，不管她提出什么辩解的理由，我都会相信的，只要能再见到她，我什么都愿意。 我还以为她会亲自登门，但是时间一小时一小时地过去，她并没有来。 玛格丽特的确与别的女人不一样，因为很少女人在收到像我刚才写的那样一封信以后会毫无反应。 五点钟，我奔向香榭丽舍大街。 “如果我遇到她的话，”我心里想，“我要装出一副满不在乎的样子，那么她就会相信我已经不再想她了。” 在王宫大街拐角上，我看见她乘着车子经过，这次相遇是那么突然，我的脸都发白了，我不知道她是否看出我内心的激动；我是那么慌张，只看到了她的车子。 我不再继续在香榭丽舍大街散步，而去浏览剧院的海报： 我还有一个看到她的机会。 在王宫剧院，有一次首场演出，玛格丽特是必去无疑的。 我七点钟到了剧院。 所有的包厢都坐满了，但是玛格丽特没有来。 于是，我离开了王宫剧院，凡是她经常去的剧院我一家一家都跑遍了：歌舞剧院、杂耍剧院、喜剧歌剧院。 到处都找不到她的影踪。 要么我的信使她过于伤心，她连戏都不想看了；要么她怕跟我见面，免得作一次解释。 这些都是我走在大街上时由虚荣心引起的想法。突然我碰到了加斯东，他问我从哪儿来。 “从王宫剧院来。” “我从大歌剧院来，”他对我说，“我还以为您也在那里呢。” “为什么？” “因为玛格丽特在那儿。” “啊！她在那儿吗？” “在那儿。” “一个人吗？” “不是，跟一个女朋友在一起。” “没有别人吗？” “G伯爵到她包厢里待了一会儿，但是她跟公爵一块儿走了。我一直以为您也会去的。我旁边有一个位子今天晚上一直空着，我还以为这个座位是您订下的呢。” “但是为什么玛格丽特到那儿去，我也得跟着去呢？” “因为您是她的情人嘛，不是吗？” “那是谁对您说的？” “普律当丝呀，我是昨天遇到她的。我祝贺您，我亲爱的，这可是一个不太容易到手的漂亮情妇哪，别让她跑了，她会替您争面子的。” 加斯东这个简单的反应，说明我的敏感有多么可笑。 如果我昨天就遇到他，而且他也跟我这样讲的话，我肯定不会写早上那封愚蠢的信。 我几乎马上想到普律当丝家里去，要她去对玛格丽特说我有话对她说，但是我又怕她为了报复而拒绝接待我。于是，我又经过昂坦街回到了家里。 我又问了看门人有没有给我的信。 没有！ 我躺在床上想：“她大概要看看我还会耍什么新花样，看看我是不是想收回我今天早上的信。但是她看到我没有再给她写信，明天她就会写信给我的。” 那天晚上我对自己的所作所为感到后悔莫及，我孤零零地呆在家里，不能入睡，心里烦躁不安，妒火中烧。想当初如果听任事情自然发展的话，我此刻大概正偎依在玛格丽特的身旁，听着她的绵绵情话，这些话我总共才听到过两次，每当我一个人想起这些话时，我都会两耳发热。 那时候我觉得最可怕的就是：理智告诉我是我错了；事实上，无论从哪个角度去想，都应该说玛格丽特是爱我的。第一，她准备跟我两个人单独到乡下去避暑；第二，没有任何原因迫使她做我的情妇。我的财产是不够她日常开销的，甚至还满足不了她一时兴起的零星开支。因此，她唯一有希望在我身上得到的是一种真诚的感情。她的生活充满了商业性的爱情，这种真诚的感情能使她得到休息；我却在第二天就毁了她这种希望，她两夜的恩情换来的是我无情的嘲笑。因此我的行为不但很可笑，而且很粗暴。我又没有付过她一个钱，哪有权利来谴责她的生活？我第二天就溜之大吉，这不就像一个情场上的寄生虫，生怕别人拿帐单要他付饭钱么？怎么！我认识玛格丽特才三十六个小时，做她的情人才二十四个小时，我就在跟她怄气了！她能分身来爱我，我非但不感到幸福，还想一人独占她，强迫她一下子就割断她过去的一切关系，而这些关系是她今后的生活来源。我凭什么可以责备她？一点也没有。她完全可以和某些大胆泼辣的女人一样，直截了当地告诉我说她要接待另外一个情人，但她没有这样做，她写信对我说她不舒服。我没有相信她信里的话，我没有到除了昂坦街以外的巴黎各条街道上去溜达，我没有跟朋友们一起去消磨这个晚上，等到第二天在她指定的时间再去会她，却扮演起奥赛罗①的角色来了，我窥视她的行动，自以为不再去看她是对她的惩罚。实际上恰恰相反，她应该为这种分离感到高兴，她一定觉得我愚蠢到极点，她的沉默甚至还谈不上是怨恨我，而是看不起我。 ①莎士比亚名剧《奥赛罗》中的主角，后比喻所有嫉妒、多疑和凶暴的丈夫。 那么我是不是该像对待一个妓女似的送玛格丽特一件礼物，别让她怀疑我吝啬刻薄，这样我们之间就两讫了；但是我不愿我们的爱情沾上一点点铜臭味，否则的话，即使不是贬低了她对我的爱情，至少也是玷污了我对她的爱情。再说既然这种爱情是那么纯洁，容不得别人染指，那么更不能用一件礼品——不论这件礼品有多么贵重——来偿付它赐予的幸福——无论这个幸福是多么短暂。 这就是我那天晚上翻来覆去所想的，也是我随时准备要去向玛格丽特说的。 一直到天亮我还没有睡着，我发烧了，除了玛格丽特外我什么都不想。 您也懂得，必须做出果断的决定：要么跟这个女人一刀两断；要么从此不再多心猜疑，如果她仍然肯接待我的话。 但是您也知道，在下决心以前总是要踌躇再三的。我在家里呆不住，又不敢到玛格丽特那里去，我就想法子去接近她，一旦成功的话，就可以说是出于偶然，这样我的面子也能保住了。 九点钟到了，我匆匆赶到普律当丝家里，她问我一清早去找她有什么事。 我不敢直率地告诉她我是为什么去的，我只是告诉她我一大早出门是为了在去C城的公共马车上订一个座位：我父亲住在C城。 “能在这样的好天气离开巴黎，”她对我说，“您真是好福气。” 我望望普律当丝，寻思她是不是在讥笑我。 但是她脸上的神态是一本正经的。 “您是去向玛格丽特告别吗？”她又接着说，脸上还是那么严肃。 “不是的。” “这样很好。” “您以为这样好吗？” “当然啦，既然您已经跟她吹了，何必再去看她呢？” “那么您知道我们吹了？” “她把您的信给我看了。” “那么她对您说什么啦？” “她对我说：‘亲爱的普律当丝，您那位宝贝不懂礼貌，这种信只能在心里想想，哪能写出来呢。’” “她是用什么语气对您说的？” “是笑着说的，她还说：‘他在我家里吃过两次夜宵，连上门道谢都还没有来过呢。’” 这就是我的信和我的嫉妒所产生的结果。我在爱情方面的虚荣心受到了残酷的损伤。 “昨天晚上她在干什么？” “她到大歌剧院去了。” “这我知道，后来呢？” “她在家里吃夜宵。” “一个人吗？” “我想，是跟G伯爵一起吧。” 这样说来我和她的决裂丝毫没有改变玛格丽特的习惯。 遇到这样的情况，有些人就会对您说： “决不要再去想这个不爱您的女人了。” 我勉强笑了笑说：“好吧，看到玛格丽特没有为我而感到难过，我很高兴。” “她这样做是很合情理的。您已经做了您应该做的事，您比她更理智些，因为这个姑娘爱着您，她一张口就谈到您，她是什么蠢事都做得出来的。” “既然她爱我，为什么不给我写回信呢？” “因为她已经知道她是不该爱您的。再说女人们有时候能容忍别人在爱情上欺骗她们，但决不允许别人伤害她们的自尊心，尤其是一个人做了她两天情人就离开她，那么不管这次决裂原因何在，总是要伤害一个女人的自尊心的。我了解玛格丽特，她宁死也不会给您写回信的。” “那么我该怎么办呢？” “就此拉倒，她会忘记您，您也会忘记她，你们双方谁也别埋怨谁。” “但是如果我写信求她饶恕呢？” “千万不要这样做，她可能会原谅您的。” 我差一点跳起来搂普律当丝的脖子。 一刻钟以后，我回到家里，接着就给玛格丽特写信。 有一个人对他昨天写的信表示后悔，假使您不宽恕他，他明天就要离开巴黎，他想知道什么时候可以拜倒在您脚下，倾诉他的悔恨。 什么时候您可以单独会见他？因为您知道，做忏悔的时候是不能有旁人在场的。 我把这封用散文写的情诗折了起来，差约瑟夫送去，他把信交给了玛格丽特本人，她回答说她过一会儿就写回信。 我一直没有出门，只是在吃饭的时候才出去了一会儿，一直到晚上十一点我还没有收到她的回信。 我不能再这样痛苦下去了，决定明天就动身。 由于下了这个决心，我深知即便躺在床上，我也是睡不着的，我便动手收拾行李。

Chapter 15 JOSEPH and I had been getting everything ready for my departure for about an hour, when there was a violent ringing at my door. 'Should I answer it?' said Joseph. 'Yes, ' I told him, wondering who could be calling so late, and not daring to hope it was Marguerite. 'Sir, ' said Joseph when he returned, 'there are two ladies? 'It's us, Armand, ' cried a voice which I recognized as belonging to Prudence. I emerged from my bedroom. Prudence was standing and gazing about her at the few curios dotted around my drawing-room; Marguerite was sitting on the sofa, occupied by her thoughts. When I entered, I went to her, knelt before her, took both her hands and, in a voice touched with emotion, I said: 'Forgive me.' She kissed me on the brow and said: 'That's the third time I've forgiven you.' 'I was going to go away tomorrow.' 'How can my visit change your mind? I haven't come here to stop you leaving Paris. I came because I haven't had time all day to reply to your letter, and I didn't want to leave you with the impression that I was cross with you. Even so, Prudence didn't want me to come: she said I might be in your way.' 'You! In my way, Marguerite! But how?' 'Why, you could have had a woman here, ' answered Prudence, 'and it wouldn't have been very funny for her to see another two turning up.' While Prudence was making this remark, Marguerite watched me closely. 'My dear Prudence, ' I replied, 'you're talking nonsense.' 'You've got a very nice apartment, ' answered Prudence. 'Mind if I take a look at the bedroom?' 'Not at all.' Prudence went off into my bedroom, not so much to see inside as to cover up her unfortunate remark and to leave Marguerite and me alone together. 'Why did you bring Prudence with you?' I said. 'Because she was with me at the theatre, and because I wanted to have someone to see me home when I left here.' 'Couldn't I have done it?' 'Yes. But apart from the fact that I didn't want to disturb you, I was quite certain that when you got to my door you would ask if you could come up and, since I couldn't let you, I didn't want you to go away feeling you had any right to blame me for refusing you anything.' 'And why couldn't you let me come up?' 'Because I'm being watched very closely, and because the least hint of suspicion could do me a great deal of harm.' 'Is that the only reason?' 'If there was another, I would tell you what it was; we've got past the stage of having secrets from each other.' 'Listen, Marguerite, I'm not going to make any bones about what I want to say to you. Tell me, do you love me a little?' 'A great deal.' 'Then why did you deceive me?' 'My dear, if I were the Duchess of This or That, if I had two hundred thousand livers a year, if I were your mistress and had another lover besides you, then you'd have every right to ask why I deceive you. But I am Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier, I have debts of forty thousand and not a penny behind me, and I spend a hundred thousand francs a year: your question is out of order and my answer irrelevant.' 'You're quite right, ' I said, letting my head fall on to Marguerite's knees, 'but I do love you, to distraction.' 'Well, my dear, you should have loved me a little less or understood me a little better. Your letter hurt me very deeply. If I'd been free to choose, then in the first place I would never have seen the Count the day before yesterday, or, if I had, I would have come to beg you for the forgiveness which you asked of me a few moments ago and, from that moment on, I would have had no other lover but you. There was a moment when I thought I could indulge myself and be really happy for those six months. You would have none of it; you just had to know how I was going to manage it ?good heavens! it was easy enough to guess. The sacrifice I was going to have to make if it was to be possible, was much greater than you think. I could have told you: "I need twenty thousand francs." You were in love with me, you would have raised it somehow, though there was a risk that one day you'd be sorry you'd done so and blame me. I chose to owe you nothing; you didn't understand my delicacy, for delicacy it is. Girls of my sort, at least those of us who still have some feelings left, take words and things further and deeper than other women. I repeat: coming from Marguerite Gautier, the means with she found of repaying her debts without asking you for the money it took, was an act of great delicacy of which you should now take advantage without another word. If you met me today for the first time, you'd be only too delighted with the promises I'd make you, and you wouldn't ask questions about what I did the day before yesterday. Sometimes, we have no choice but to buy gratifications for the soul at some cost to the body, and it hurts all the more when those gratifications subsequently elude us.' I heard and saw Marguerite with admiration. When I reflected that this marvellous creature, whose feet I once had longed to kiss, should consent to give me a place in her thoughts and a role in her life, and when I thought that I was still not content with what she was giving me, I asked myself whether man's desire has any limits at all if, though satisfied as promptly as mine had been, it can still aspire to something more. 'It's true, ' she went on, 'we creatures of chance have weird desires and unimaginable passions. Sometimes we give ourselves for one thing, sometimes for another. There are men who could ruin themselves and get nowhere with us; there are others who can have us for a bunch of flowers. Our hearts are capricious: it's their only diversion and their only excuse. I gave myself to you more quickly than I ever did to another man, I swear. Why? Because when you saw me coughing blood, you took me by the hand, because you wept, because you are the only human being who ever felt sorry for me. I'm now going to tell you something silly. Once I had a little dog who used to look at me with sad eyes when I coughed: he was the only living creature I have ever loved. 'When he died, I cried more than after my mother's death. Mind you, she did spend twelve years of her life beating me. Well, from the start, I loved you as much as my dog. If men only knew what can be had with just one tear, they would be better loved and we should ruin fewer of them. 'Your letter gave you away: it showed me that you didn't understand the workings of the heart, and it injured you more in the love. I had for you than anything else you could have done. It was jealousy, of course, but a sarcastic, haughty kind of jealousy. I was feeling miserable when I got the letter. I was counting on seeing you at midday, on having lunch with you, hoping the sight of you would chase away a thought I kept having which, before I knew you, never bothered me in the least. 'Then again, 'continued Marguerite, 'you were the only person with whom I'd sensed from the first I could think and speak freely. People who congregate around girls like me can gain a great deal by paying close attention to the slightest words we say, and by drawing conclusions from our most insignificant actions. Naturally, we have no friends, we have egotistical lovers who spend their fortunes not on us, as they claim, but on their vanity. 'For men like these, we have to be cheerful when they are happy, hale and hearty when they decide they want supper, and as cynical as they are. We are not allowed to have feelings, for fear of being jeered at and losing our credibility. 'Our lives are no longer our own. We aren't human beings, but things. We rank first in their pride, and last in their good opinion. We have women friends, but they are friends like Prudence ? yesterday's kept women who still have expensive tastes which their age prevents them from indulging. So they become our friends, or rather associates. Their friendship may verge on the servile, but it is never disinterested. They'll never give you a piece of advice unless there's money in it. They don't care if we've got ten lovers extra as long as they get a few dresses or a bracelet out of them and can drive about every now and then in our carriages and sit in our boxes at the theatre. They end up with the flowers we were given the night before, and they borrow our Indian shawls. They never do us a good turn, however trifling, without making sure they get paid twice what their trouble was worth. You saw as much yourself the evening Prudence brought me the six thousand francs which I'd asked her to go and beg from the Duke; she borrowed five hundred francs which she'll never give back, or else she'll pay it off in hats that will never get taken out of their boxes. 'So we can have, or rather I had, only one hope of happiness: and this was, sad as I sometimes am and ill as I am always, to find a man of sufficiently rare qualities who would never ask me to account for my actions, and be the lover of my wilder fancies more than the lover of my body. I found this man in the Duke, but the Duke is old and old age neither shields nor consoles. I'd thought I could settle for the life he made for me. But it was no use. I was dying of boredom, and I felt that if I was going to be destroyed, then I might as well jump into the flames as choke on the fumes. 'Then I met you. You were young, passionate, happy, and I tried to turn you into the man I had cried out for in my crowded but empty life. What I loved in you was not the man you were but the man you could be. You refuse to accept the part; you reject it as unworthy of you; you are a commonplace lover, just do what the others do: pay me and let's not talk about it any more.' Marguerite, tired by this long confession, settled back into the sofa and, to check a mild fit of coughing, put her handkerchief to her lips and even wiped her eyes. 'Forgive me, forgive me, ' I murmured, 'I knew all this, but I wanted to hear you say it, my darling Marguerite. Let's forget the rest. Let's just remember one thing: we belong to one another, we are young and we are in love. 'Marguerite, do with me what you will. I am your slave, your dog. But, in the name of God, tear up the letter I wrote you and don't let me go away tomorrow. It would kill me.' Marguerite withdrew the letter from the bodice of her dress and, as she handed it back to me, said with a smile of infinite sweetness: 'Here, I was bringing it back to you.' I tore up the letter and, with tears in my eyes, kissed the hand which held it. At this juncture, Prudence reappeared. 'Oh, Prudence, can you guess what he wants me to do?' said Marguerite. 'To forgive him.' 'That's right.' 'And have you?' 'I can't do otherwise. But there's something else he wants.' 'What's that?' 'He wants to come and have supper with us.' 'And are you going to say yes?' 'What do you think?' 'I think you're a couple of children without an ounce of common sense between you. But I also think that I'm ravenous, and the sooner you do say yes, the sooner we'll have supper.' 'Come on, then, ' said Marguerite, 'we can all fit into my carriage. By the way, ' she added, turning to me, 'Nanine will have gone to bed, so you'll have to open the door. Take my key, and try not to lose it again.' I kissed Marguerite until she had no breath left. Thereupon, Joseph came in. 'Sir, ' he said with the air of a man terribly pleased with himself, 'the trunks are packed.' 'All of them?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Well, unpack them. I'm not leaving.' 第十五章 我和约瑟夫为我动身做准备，忙了将近一个小时，突然有人猛拉我家的门铃。 “要不要开门？”约瑟夫问我。 “开吧，”我对他说，心里在嘀咕谁会在这种时候上我家来，因为我不敢相信这会是玛格丽特。 “先生，”约瑟夫回来对我说，“是两位太太。” “是我们，阿尔芒，”一个嗓子嚷道，我听出这是普律当丝的声音。 我走出卧室。 普律当丝站着观赏我会客室里的几件摆设，玛格丽特坐在沙发椅里沉思。 我进去以后径直向她走去，跪下去握住她的双手，激动万分地对她说：“原谅我吧。” 她吻了吻我的前额对我说： “这已经是我第三次原谅您了。” “否则我明天就要走了。” “我的来访凭什么要改变您的决定呢？我不是来阻止您离开巴黎的。我来，是因为我白天没有时间给您写回信，又不愿意让您以为我在生您的气。普律当丝还不让我来呢，她说我也许会打扰您的。” “您，打扰我？您，玛格丽特！怎么会呢？” “当然罗！您家里可能有一个女人，”普律当丝回答说。 “她看到又来了两个可不是好玩的。” 在普律当丝发表她的高论时，玛格丽特注意地打量着我。 “我亲爱的普律当丝，”我回答说，“您简直是在胡扯。” “您这套房间布置得很漂亮，”普律当丝抢着说，“我们可以看看您的卧室吗？” “可以。” 普律当丝走进我的卧室，她倒并非真要参观我的卧室，而是要赎补她刚才的蠢话，这样就留下玛格丽特和我两个人了。 于是我问她：“您为什么要带普律当丝来？” “因为看戏时她陪着我，再说离开这里时也要有人陪我。” “我不是在这儿吗？” “是的，但是一方面我不愿意麻烦您，另一方面我敢肯定您到了我家门口就会要求上楼到我家，而我却不能同意，我不愿意因我的拒绝而使您在离开我时又有了一个埋怨我的权利。” “那么您为什么不能接待我呢？” “因为我受到严密的监视，稍不注意就会铸成大错。” “仅仅是这个原因吗？” “如果有别的原因，我会对您说的，我们之间不再有什么秘密了。” “嗳，玛格丽特，我不想拐弯抹角地跟您说话，老实说吧，您究竟有些爱我吗？” “爱极了。” “那么，您为什么欺骗我？” “我的朋友，倘若我是一位什么公爵夫人，倘若我有二十万利弗尔年金，那么我在做了您的情妇以后又有了另外一个情人的话，您也许就有权利来问我为什么欺骗您；但是我是玛格丽特?戈蒂埃小姐，我有的是四万法郎的债务，没有一个铜子的财产，而且每年还要花掉十万法郎，因此您的问题提得毫无意义，我回答您也是白费精神。” “真是这样，”我的头垂在玛格丽特的膝盖上说，“但是我发疯似地爱着您。” “那么，我的朋友，您就少爱我一些，多了解我一些。您的信使我很伤心，如果我的身子是自由的，首先我前天就不会接待伯爵，即使接待了他，我也会来求您原谅，就像您刚才求我原谅一样，而且以后除了您我也不会再有其他情人了。有一阵子我以为我也许能享受到六个月的清福，您又不愿意，您非要知道用的是什么方法，啊，天哪！用什么方法还用问吗？我采用这些方法时所作的牺牲比您想象的还要大，我本来可以对您说：我需要两万法郎；您眼下正在爱我，兴许会筹划到的，等过后可能就要埋怨我了。我情愿什么都不麻烦您，您不懂得我对您的体贴，因为这是我的一番苦心。我们这些女人，在我们还有一点良心的时候，我们说的话和做的事都有深刻的含义，这是别的女人所不能理解的；因此我再对您说一遍，对玛格丽特?戈蒂埃来说，她所找到的不向您要钱又能还清债务的方法是对您的体贴，您应该默不作声地受用的。如果您今天才认识我，那么您会对我答应您的事感到非常幸福，您也就不会盘问我前天干了些什么事。有时候我们被迫牺牲肉体以换得精神上的满足，但当精神上的满足也失去了以后，我们就更加觉得痛苦不堪了。” 我带着赞赏的心情听着和望着玛格丽特。当我想到这个人间尤物，过去我曾渴望吻她的脚，现在她却让我看到了她的思想深处，并让我成为她生活中的一员，而我现在对此却还不满意，我不禁自问，人类的欲望究竟还有没有个尽头。我这样快地实现了我的梦想，可我又在得寸进尺了。 “这是真的，”她接着说，“我们这些受命运摆布的女人，我们有一些古怪的愿望和不可思议的爱情。我们有时为了某一件事，有时候又为了另一件事而委身于人。有些人为我们倾家荡产，却一无所得，也有些人只用一束鲜花就换得了我们。我们凭一时高兴而随心所欲，这是我们仅有的消遣和唯一的借口。我委身于你①比谁都快，这我可以向你起誓，为什么呢？因为你看到我吐血就握住我的手，还流了眼泪，因为你是唯一真正同情我的人。我要告诉你一个笑话：从前我有一只小狗，当我咳嗽的时候，它总是用悲哀的神气瞅着我，它是我唯一喜爱过的动物。 ①在法语对话中一般用第二人称复数（您）代替第二人称单数（你），表示客气；但对亲密的人仍用第二人称单数（你）。本书中对称时，“您”、“你”有时换用，视当时讲话者的心情和场合而定。 “它死的时候，我哭得比死了亲娘还要伤心，我的的确确挨了我母亲十二年的打骂。就这样，我一下子就爱上了你，就像爱上了我的狗一样。如果男人们都懂得用眼泪可以换到些什么，他们就会更讨人的喜爱，我们也不会这样挥霍他们的钱财了。 “你的来信暴露了你的真相，这封信告诉我你的心里并不明白，从我对你的爱情来说，不管你对我做了什么事，也没有比这封信给我的伤害更大的了，要说这是嫉妒的结果，这也是真的，但是这种嫉妒是很可笑的，也是很粗暴的。当我收到你来信时，我已经够难受的了，本来我打算到中午去看你，和你一起吃午饭，只有在看到你以后，我才能抹掉始终纠缠在我脑海里的一些想法，而在认识你以前，这些事我是根本不当一回事的。 “而且，”玛格丽特继续说，“我相信也只有在你面前，我才可以推诚相见，无所不谈。那些围着像我一样的姑娘转的人都喜欢对她们的一言一语寻根究底，想在她们无意的行动里找出什么含义来。我们当然没有什么朋友，我们有的都是一些自私自利的情人，他们挥霍钱财并非像他们所说的是为了我们，而是为了他们自己的虚荣心。 “对于这些人，当他们开心的时候，我们必须快乐；当他们要吃夜宵的时候，我们必须精力充沛；当他们疑神疑鬼的时候，我们也要疑神疑鬼。我们这些人是不能有什么良心的，否则就要被嘲骂，就要被诋毁。 “我们已经身不由己了，我们不再是人，而是没有生命的东西。他们要满足自尊心时最先想到的是我们，但他们又把我们看得比谁都不如。我们有一些女朋友，但都是像普律当丝那样的女朋友，她们过去也是妓女，挥霍惯了，但现在人老了，不允许她们这样做了，于是，她们成了我们的朋友，更可以说成了我们的食客。她们的友情甚至到了可供驱使的地步，但从来也到不了无私的程度。她们总是给我们出些怎样捞钱的点子。只要她们能借此赚到一些衣衫和首饰，能经常乘着我们的车子出去逛逛，能坐在我们的包厢里看戏，我们即使有十几个情人也不关她们的事。她们拿去了我们前一天用过的花束，借用我们的开司米披肩。即使是一件芝麻绿豆大的小事，她们也要求我们双倍的谢礼，否则她们是不会为我们效劳的。那天晚上你不是亲眼看见了吗？普律当丝给我拿来了六千法郎，这是我请她到公爵那里替我要来的。她向我借去了五百法郎，这笔钱她是永远不会还我的，要么还我几顶用不着她们破费一个子儿的帽子。 “因此我们，或者不如说我，只能够有一种幸福，这就是找一个地位高的男人。像我这样一个多愁善感、日夜受病痛折磨的苦命人，唯一的幸福也就是找到一个因其超脱而不来过问我的生活的男人，他能成为一个重感情轻肉欲的情人。我过去找到过这个人，就是公爵，但公爵年事已高，既不能保护我又不能安慰我。我原以为能够接受他给我安排的生活，但是你叫我怎么办呢？我真厌烦死了。假如一个人注定要受煎熬而死，跳到大火中去烧死和用煤气来毒死不都是一个样吗！ “那时候，我遇到了你，你年轻、热情、快乐，我想使你成为我在表面热闹实际寂寞的生活中寻找的人。我在你身上所爱的，不是现在的人，而是以后应该变成的人。你不接受这个角色，认为这个角色对你不适合而拒不接受，那么你也不过是一个一般的情人；你就像别人一样付钱给我吧，别再谈这些事了。” 说过这段长长的表白后，玛格丽特很疲乏，她靠在沙发椅背上，为了忍住一阵因虚弱而引起的阵咳，她把手绢按在嘴唇上，甚至把眼睛都蒙上了。 “原谅我，原谅我，”我喃喃地说，“一切我自己也已经明白了，但是我愿意听你把这些说出来，我最最亲爱的玛格丽特，我们只要记住一件事，把其余的丢在脑后吧；那就是我们永不分离，我们年纪还很轻，我们相亲相爱。 “玛格丽特，随便你把我怎样都行，我是你的奴隶，你的狗；但是看在上天的份上，把我写给你的信撕掉吧，明天别让我走，否则我要死的。” 玛格丽特把我给她的信从她衣服的胸口里取出来，还给了我，她带着一种难以形容的微笑对我说： “看，我把信给你带来了。” 我撕掉了信，含着眼泪吻着她向我伸过来的手。 这时候普律当丝又来了。 “您说，普律当丝，您知道他要求我什么事？”玛格丽特说。 “他要求您原谅。” “正是这样。” “您原谅了吗？” “当然罗，但是他还有一个要求。” “什么要求？” “他要和我们一起吃夜宵。” “您同意了吗？” “您看呢？” “我看你们两个都是孩子，都很幼稚，但是我现在肚子已经很饿了，你们早一点讲好，我们就可以早一点吃夜宵。” “走吧，”玛格丽特说，“我们三个人一齐坐我的车子去好啦。”“喂！”她转身对我说，“纳尼娜就要睡觉了，您拿了我的钥匙去开门，注意别再把它丢了。” 我紧紧地拥抱着玛格丽特，差一点把她给闷死。 这时候约瑟夫进来了。 “先生，”他自鸣得意地说，“行李捆好了。” “全捆好了吗？” “是的，先生。” “那么，打开吧，我不走了。”

Chapter 16 I could have told you the start of the affair in a few lines (Armand said to me), but I wanted you to see for yourself the events and stages by which we reached the point where I agreed to everything Marguerite wanted, and Marguerite conceded that she could live only with me. It was on the day following the evening when she had come seeking me out that I sent her Manon Lescaut. From that moment on, since I could not alter my mistress's way of life, I altered mine. More than anything, I wanted to leave my mind with no time to dwell on the role I had just accepted, for, despite myself, I should have been very unhappy with it. And thus my life, normally so calm, suddenly took on an air of riot and chaos. You must not imagine that the love of a kept woman, however disinterested, costs nothing. Nothing costs more than the constant capricious requests for flowers, boxes at the theatre, supper parities, outings to the country which can never be denied a mistress. As I have told you, I had no real money of my own. My father was, and still is, the District Collector of Taxes for C. He has a wide reputation for loyal service, thanks to which he was able to raise the money for the surety he had to find before taking up the post. The Collectorship brings in forty thousand francs a year and, during the ten years he has held it, he has paid off his bond and set about putting a dowry for my sister to one side. My father is the most honourable man you could hope to meet. When my mother died, she left an income of six thousand francs which he divided between my sister and myself the day he acquired the appointment for which he had canvassed; then, when I was twenty-one, he added to this small income an annual allowance of five thousand francs, and assured me that I could be very happy in Paris on eight thousand francs if, beside this income, I could establish myself in a position at the bar or in medicine. Accordingly, I came to Paris, read law, was called to the bar and, like any number of young men, put my diploma in my pocket and rather let myself drift along on the carefree life of Paris. My expenses were very modest. However, I regularly got through my year's income in eight months, and spent the four summer months at my father's place, which in all gave me twelve thousand a year and a reputation as a good son. And, moreover, I didn't owe anyone a penny. That was how things stood with me when I met Marguerite. You will appreciate that, in spite of my wishes, my level of expenditure rose. Marguerite's was a most capricious nature, and she was one of those women who never consider that the countless amusements of which their life is made can be a serious financial drain. As a result, since she wanted to spend as much time with me as possible, she would write me a note in the morning to say that she would have dinner with me, not in her apartment, but in some restaurant either in Paris or in the country. I would collect her, we would dine, go on to the theatre, and often have supper together, and I would spend four or five Louis on the evening. Which came to two thousand five hundred or three thousand francs a month. Which shortened my year to three and a half months, and put me in the position of either having to run up debts or to leave Marguerite. Now I was prepared to agree to anything, except the latter possibility. Forgive me for telling you all this in such detail, but, as you shall see, these circumstances were the cause of the events which follow. The story I tell is true and simple, and I have allowed the unvarnished facts to stand and the onward march of events to emerge unobstructed. I realized therefore that, since nothing in the world could weigh heavily enough with me to make me forget my mistress, I should have to find a way of meeting the expense which she forced me to incur. Furthermore, love had run such riot in me that every moment I spent away from Marguerite seemed like a year, and I felt the need to pass those moments through the flame of some passion or other, and to live them so fast so fast that I would not notice that I was living them at all. I set about borrowing five or six thousand francs against my small capital and began to play the tables, for since the gambling houses were shut down, people have been gambling everywhere. Time was, when you went to Frascati, you stood a chance of winning a fortune: you played against a bank and, if you lost, you had the consolation of telling yourself you might have won. Whereas nowadays, except in the gaming clubs where you still find they are pretty strict about paying up, you can be fairly sure that if you win a large sum you won't see a penny of if. You will readily understand the reasons why. Gambling is only for young men who have expensive tastes and not enough money to keep up the kind of lives they lead. So they gamble and, in the natural way of things, this is the result: they may win, and then the losers are expected to foot the bill for these gentlemen's horses and mistresses, which is thoroughly disagreeable. Debts are contracted, and friendships begun around the gaming table end in quarrels from which honour and lives invariably emerge somewhat tattered. And if you are a gentleman, you may find you have been ruined by very gentlemanly young men whose only fault was that they did not have two hundred thousand francs a year. There is no need for me to tell you about the ones who cheat. One day, you learn that they have had to go away and that ?too late ?judgement has been passed on them. I accordingly threw myself into the fast-moving, bustling, volcanic life which once upon a time had frightened me when I thought of it, and which had now come to be in my eyes the inescapable corollary of my love for Marguerite. What else could I have done? During the nights I did not spend in the rue d'Antin, I should not have slept if I had spent them alone in my apartment. Jealousy would have kept me awake and heated my thoughts and blood. On the other hand, gambling temporarily beguiled the fever which would otherwise have overrun my heart which was, thereby, diverted towards a passion fascinating enough to absorb me despite myself until the time came for me to go to my mistress. When that hour struck ?and this was how I became aware of how violent my love was ?then, whether I was winning or losing, I would abandon the table without compunction, feeling pity for those I left there who, unlike me, would not find happiness when they came to take their leave. For most of them, gambling was a necessity; for me, it was a kind of antidote. When I was cured of Marguerite, I would be cured of gambling. And so, in the middle of it all, I was able to keep a fairly cool head. I lost only what I could afford, and won only what I could have afforded to lose. Moreover, luck was on my side. I did not run up debts, and spent three times as much as before I started playing the tables. It was not easy to resist the allurements of a way of life which enabled me to cater for Marguerite's innumerable whims without feeling the pinch. For her part, she still loved me as much, and even more. As I have told you I began at first by being allowed to stay only between midnight and six in the morning. Then I was allowed into her box at various theatres from time to time. Next, she came and dined with me occasionally. One morning, I did not leave until eight, and there was a day when I did not go until noon. Pending her moral transformation, a physical transformation had come over Marguerite. I had undertaken to cure her, and the poor girl, guessing what I was about, did everything I told her as a way of showing her gratitude. Without too much trouble or persuasion, I managed to cut her off almost totally from her old habits. My doctor, whom I had arranged for her to meet, had told me that only rest and quiet could keep her in good health, and consequently, for the supper parties and late nights, I succeeded in substituting a healthy diet and regular sleep. Reluctantly at first, Marguerite took to her new life, the beneficial effects of which she could feel. And soon she began to spend odd evenings at home or, if the weather were fine, she would wrap up well in an Indian shawl, cover her face with a veil, and we would set off on foot, like a couple of children, to roam the evening away along the dusky avenues of the Champs-Elysees. She would return weary, take a light supper and retire to bed after playing a little music or reading a few pages, something which had never happened to her before. The coughing fits, which I had found heartrending whenever I heard her racked by them, had almost completely gone. Within six weeks, there was no further mention of the Count who had been permanently sacrificed. There remained only the Duke to compel me to hide my affair with Marguerite, and even he had often been sent away in my presence on the pretext that Madame was asleep and had left orders that she was not to be disturbed. As a direct result of the habit of seeing me ?or rather the need to see me ?which Marguerite had contracted, I abandoned gambling at the precise moment when an experienced gambler would also have given up. All in all, with what I had won, I found myself in possession of twelve thousand francs which seemed an inexhaustible capital to me. The time of year had come round when I normally went off to join my father and my sister, and still I did not go. As a result, I received frequent letters from both of them asking me to come and stay with them. To all their entreaties, I answered as best I could, repeating that I was well and that I was not short of money, two considerations which, I believed, would go some way to consoling my father for delaying the start of my annual visit. Meantime, it came about one morning that Marguerite, who had been woken up by bright sunshine, leaped out of bed and asked me if I would like to take her out to the country for the day. Prudence was sent for and the three of us set out, after Marguerite had left orders with Nanine to tell the Duke that she had wanted to make the most of the weather and had gone to the country with Madame Duvernoy. Apart from the fact that the presence of la Duvernoy was necessary to set the old Duke's mind at rest, Prudence was the sort of woman who seems expressly cut out for country outings. With her unquenchable high spirits and insatiable appetite, she was quite incapable of allowing anyone she was with to be bored for an instant, and was more than likely to be an old hand at ordering the eggs, cherries, milk, sauted rabbit and all the usual ingredients of the traditional lunch for which the countryside around Paris is known. All that remained was to decide where we should go. Once again, it was Prudence who got us out of this difficulty. 'Is it the real country you want to go to?' she asked. 'Yes.' 'Well, let's go to Bougival, to the Point du Jour. It's run by a widow named Arnould. Armand, go and hire a barouche.' An hour and half later we were in the establishment run by the widow Arnould. Perhaps you know the inn I mean: it is a hotel during the week and pleasure garden on Sundays. From the garden, which is raised and stands as high as an ordinary first floor, you get a magnificent view. On the left, the Marly aqueduct commands the horizon; on the right, the view unfolds across a never-ending succession of hills; the river, which at this point hardly moves at all, stretches away like a wide ribbon of shimmering white silk between the plain of Les Gabillons and the lle de Croissy, and is rocked ceaselessly by the whisper of its tall poplars and the soughing of its willows. Far off, picked out in a wide swathe of sunlight, rise small white houses with red roofs, and factories which, shorn by distance of their grim, commercial character, complete the landscape in the most admirable way. And, far off, Paris shrouded in smoke! As Prudence had told us, it was really the country and, I must say, it was a real lunch we had. It is not of gratitude for the happiness I have to thank the place for that I'm saying all this. Bougival, in spite of its unattractive name, is one of the prettiest spots you could possibly imagine. I have travelled a great deal and seen great sights, but none more charming than this tiny village cheerfully nestling at the foot of the hill which shelters it. Madame Arnould offered to arrange for us to take a boat out on the river, and Marguerite and Prudence accepted with alacrity. The countryside has always been associated with love, and rightly so. Nothing creates a more fitting backdrop to the woman you love than the blue sky, the fragrances, the flowers, the breezes, the solitary splendour of fields and woods. However much you love a woman, however much you trust her, however sure of the future her past life makes you, you are always jealous to some degree. If you have ever been in love, really in love, you must have experienced this need to shut out the world and isolate the person through whom you wished to live your whole life. It is as though the woman you love, however indifferent she may be to her surroundings, loses something of her savour and consistency when she comes into contact with men and things. Now I experienced this more intensely than any other man. Mine was no ordinary love; I was as much in love as mortal creature can be. But I loved Marguerite Gautier, which is to say that in Paris, at every turn, I might stumble across some man who had already been her lover, or would be the next day. Whereas, in the country, surrounded by people we had never seen before who paid no attention to us, surrounded by nature in all her springtime finery, which is her annual gesture of forgiveness, and far from the bustle of the city, I could shelter my love from prying eyes, and love without shame or fear. There, the courtesan faded imperceptibly. At my side, I had a young and beautiful woman whom I loved, by whom I was loved and whose name was Marguerite: the shapes of the past dissolved and the future was free of clouds. The sun shone on my mistress as brightly as it would have shone on the purest fiancee. Together we strolled through delightful glades which seemed as though they were deliberately designed to remind you of lines by Lamartine and make you hum tunes by Scudo. Marguerite was wearing a white dress. She leaned on my arm. Beneath the starry evening sky, she repeated the words she had said to me the previous night, and in the distance the world went on turning without casting its staining shadow over the happy picture of our youth and love. Such was the dream which that day's burning sun brought me through the leafy trees and I, lying full-length in the grass of the island where we had landed, free of all human ties which had hitherto bound me, allowed my mind to run free and gather up all the hopes it met with. Add to this that, from the spot where I lay, I could see, on the bank, a charming little two-storied house which crouched behind a railing in the shape of a semi-circle. Beyond the railing, in front of the house, was a green lawn as smooth as velvet, and, behind the building, a small wood full of mysterious hideaways, where each morning all traces of the previous evening's passage would surely be all mossed over. Climbing flowers hid the steps leading up to the door of this empty house, and hugged it as far up as the first floor. Gazing long and hard at the house, I convinced myself in the end that it belonged to me, so completely did it enshrine the dream I was dreaming. I could picture Marguerite and me there together, by day walking in the wood which clothed the hill and, in the evenings, sitting on the lawn, and I wondered to myself if earthly creatures could ever be as happy as we two should be. 'What a pretty house!' said Marguerite, who had been following the direction of my eyes and perhaps my thoughts. 'Where?' said Prudence. 'Over there.' And Marguerite pointed to the house in question. 'Oh, it's lovely, ' replied Prudence. 'Do you like it?' 'Very much.' 'Well, then, tell the Duke to rent it for you. He'll rent it for you all right, I'm sure of it. You can leave it all to me if you want.' Marguerite looked at me, as though to ask what I thought of the suggestion. My dream had been shattered with these last words of Prudence, and its going had brought me back to reality with such a jolt that I was still dazed by the shock. 'Why, it's an excellent idea, ' I stammered, not knowing what I was saying. 'In that case, I'll arrange it, ' said Marguerite, squeezing my hand and interpreting my words according to her desires. 'Let's go this minute and see if it's to let.' The house was empty, and to let for two thousand francs. 'Will you be happy here?' she said to me. 'Can I be sure of ever being here?' 'Who would I choose to bury myself here for, if not for you?' 'Listen, Marguerite, let me rent the house myself.' 'You must be mad! It's not only unnecessary, it would be dangerous. You know perfectly well that I can only take money from one man. So don't be difficult, silly boy, and don't say another word.' 'This way, when I've got a couple of days free, I can come down and spend them with you, ' said Prudence. We left the house and set off back to Paris talking of this latest decision. I held Marguerite in my arms and, by the time we stepped out of the carriage, I was beginning to view my mistress's scheme with a less scrupulous eye. 第十六章 阿尔芒接下去对我说：“我本来可以把我们结合的起因简单扼要地讲给您听，但是我想让您知道是通过了哪些事件、经历了哪些曲折，我才会对玛格丽特百依百顺，玛格丽特才会把我当作她生活中必不可少的伴侣。” 就在她来找我的那个晚上的第二天，我把《玛侬?莱斯科》送给了她。 从此以后，因为我不能改变我情妇的生活，就改变我自己的生活。首先我不让脑子有时间来考虑我刚才接受的角色，因为一想到这件事，我总是不由自主地感到十分难受。过去我的生活一直是安静清闲的，现在突然变得杂乱无章了。别以为一个不贪图钱财的妓女的爱情，花不了您多少钱。她有千百种嗜好：花束、包厢、夜宵、郊游，这些要求对一个情妇是永远不能拒绝的，而又都是很费钱的。 我对您说过了，我是没有财产的。我父亲过去和现在都是C城的总税务官，他为人正直，名声极好，因此他借到了担任这个职位所必需的保证金。这个职务给他每年带来四万法郎的收入，十年做下来，他已偿还了保证金，并且还替我妹妹攒下了嫁妆。我父亲是一个非常值得尊敬的人。我母亲去世后留下六千法郎的年金，他在谋到他所企求的职务那天就把这笔年金平分给我和我妹妹了。后来在我二十一岁那年，父亲又在我那笔小小的收入上增加了一笔每年五千法郎的津贴费，我就有了八千法郎一年。他对我说，如果在这笔年金收入之外，我还愿意在司法界或者医务界里找一个工作的话，那么我在巴黎的日子就可以过得很舒服。因此我来到了巴黎，攻读法律，得到了律师的资格，就像很多年轻人一样，我把文凭放在口袋里，让自己稍许过几天巴黎那种懒散的生活。我非常省吃俭用，可是全年的收入只够我八个月的花费。夏天四个月我在父亲家里过，这样合起来就等于有一万两千法郎的年金收入，还赢得了一个孝顺儿子的美誉，而且我一个铜子的债也不欠。 这就是我认识玛格丽特时候的景况。 您知道我的日常开销自然而然地增加了，玛格丽特是非常任性的。有些女人把她们的生活寄托在各种各样的娱乐上面，而且根本不把这些娱乐看作是什么了不起的花费。玛格丽特就是这样的女人。结果，为了尽可能跟我在一起多呆些时间，她往往上午就写信约我一起吃晚饭，并不是到她家里，而是到巴黎或者郊外的饭店。我去接她，再一起吃饭，一起看戏，还经常一起吃夜宵，我每天晚上要花上四五个路易，这样我每月就要有二千五百到三千法郎的开销，一年的收入在三个半月内就花光了，我必须借款，要不然就得离开玛格丽特。 可是我什么都可以接受，就是不能接受这后一种可能性。 请原谅我把这么许多琐碎的细节都讲给您听，可是您下面就会看到这些琐事和以后即将发生的事情之间的关系。我讲给您听的是一个真实而简单的故事，我就让这个故事保持它朴实无华的细节和它简单明了的发展过程。 因此我懂得了，由于世界上没有任何东西可以使我忘掉我的情妇，我必须找到一个方法来应付我为她而增加的花费。而且，这个爱情已使我神魂颠倒，只要我离开玛格丽特，我就度日如年，我感到需要投身于某种情欲来消磨这些时间，要让日子过得异常迅速来使我忘却时间的流逝。 我开始在我的小小的本金中挪用了五六千法郎，我开始赌钱了。自从赌场被取缔以后，人们到处都可以赌钱。从前人们一走进弗拉斯卡第赌场，就有发财的机会。大家赌现钱，输家可以自我安慰地说他们也有赢的机会；而现在呢，除了在俱乐部里，输赢还比较认真以外，换了在别的地方，如果赢到一大笔钱，几乎肯定是拿不到的。原因很容易理解。 赌钱的人，总是那些开支浩大又没有足够的钱维持他们所过的生活的年轻人；他们赌钱的结果必然是这样的：如果他们赢了，那么输家就替那些先生的车马和情妇付钱，这是很难堪的。于是债台高筑，赌桌绿台布周围建立起来的友谊在争吵中宣告破裂，荣誉和生命总要受到些损伤；如果您是一个诚实的人，那么您就会被一些更加诚实的年轻人搞得不名一文，这些年轻人没有别的错误，只不过是少了二十万利弗尔的年金收入。 至于那些在赌钱时做手脚的人，我也不必跟您多说了，他们总有一天会混不下去，迟早会得到惩罚。 我投身到这个紧张、混乱和激烈的生活中去了，这种生活我过去连想想都觉得害怕，现在却成了我对玛格丽特爱情的不可缺少的补充，叫我有什么办法呢？ 如果哪天夜晚我不去昂坦街，一个人呆在家里的话，我是睡不着的。我妒火中烧，无法入睡，我的思想和血液如同在燃烧一般，而赌博可以暂时转移我心中燃烧着的激情，把它引向另一种热情，我不由自主地投身到里面去了，一直赌到我应该去会我情妇的时间为止。因此，从这里我就看到了我爱情的强烈，不管是赢是输，我都毫不留恋地离开赌桌，并为那些仍旧留在那里的人感到惋惜，他们是不会像我一样在离开赌桌的时候带着幸福的感觉的。 对大部分人来说，赌博是一种需要，对我来说却是一服药剂。 如果我不爱玛格丽特，我也不会去赌博。 因此，在赌钱的过程中，我能相当冷静，我只输我付得出的钱，我只赢我输得起的钱。 而且，我赌运很好。我没有欠债，但花费却要比我没有赌钱以前多三倍。这样的生活可以让我毫无困难地满足玛格丽特成千种的任性要求，但要维持这种生活却是不容易的。就她来说，她一直跟以前一样地爱我，甚至比以前更爱我了。 我刚才已经跟您说过，开始的时候她只在半夜十二点到第二天早晨六点之间接待我，接着她允许我可以经常进入她的包厢，后来她有时还来跟我一起吃晚饭。有一天早晨我到八点钟才离开她，还有一天我一直到中午才走。 在期待着玛格丽特精神上的转变时，她的肉体已经发生了变化。我曾经设法替她治病，这个可怜的姑娘也猜出了我的意图，为了表示她的感谢就听从了我的劝告。我没有费什么周折就使她几乎完全放弃了她的老习惯。我让她去找的那一位医生对我说，只有休息和安静才能使她恢复健康，于是我对她的夜宵订出了合乎卫生的饮食制度，对她的睡眠规定了一定的时间。玛格丽特不知不觉地习惯了这种新的生活方式，她自己也感到这种生活方式对她的健康有益。有几个晚上她开始在自己家里度过，或者遇到好天气的时候，就裹上一条开司米披肩，罩上面纱，我们像两个孩子似的在香榭丽舍大街昏暗的街道上漫步。她回来的时候有些疲劳，稍许吃一些点心，弹一会儿琴，或者看一会儿书便睡觉了。这样的事她过去是从来未曾有过的。从前我每次听到都使我感到心痛的那种咳嗽几乎完全消失了。 六个星期以后，伯爵已经不成问题，被完全抛在脑后了，只是对公爵我不得不继续隐瞒我跟玛格丽特的关系；然而当我在玛格丽特那里的时候，公爵还是经常被打发走的，借口是夫人在睡觉，不准别人叫醒她。 结果是养成了玛格丽特需要和我待在一起的习惯，这甚至变成了一种需要，因此我能正好在一个精明的赌徒应该滑脚的时候离开赌台。总之，因为总是赢钱，我发现手里已有万把法郎，这笔钱对我来说似乎是一笔取之不尽的财产。 习惯上我每年要去探望父亲和妹妹的时间来到了，但是我没有去，因此我经常收到他们两人要我回家的信。 对这些催我回家的来信，我全都婉转得体地一一答复，我总是说我身体很好，我也不缺钱花。我认为这两点或许能使父亲对我迟迟不回家探亲稍许得到些安慰。 在这期间，一天早上，玛格丽特被强烈的阳光照醒了，她跳下床来问我愿不愿意带她到乡下去玩一天。 我们派人去把普律当丝找来，玛格丽特嘱咐纳尼娜对公爵说，她要趁这阳光明媚的天气跟迪韦尔诺瓦太太一起到乡下去玩。随后我们三人就一起走了。 有迪韦尔诺瓦在场，可以使老公爵放心，除此之外，普律当丝好像生来就是一个专门参加郊游的女人。她整天兴致勃勃，加上她永远满足不了的胃口，有她作伴决不会有片刻烦闷，而且她还精通怎样去订购鸡蛋、樱桃、牛奶、炸兔肉以及所有那些巴黎郊游野餐必不可少的传统食物。 我们只要知道上哪儿去就行了。 这个使我们踌躇不决的问题又是普律当丝替我们解决了。 “你们是不是想到一个名副其实的乡下去呀？”她问。 “是的。” “那好，我们一起去布吉瓦尔①，到阿尔努寡妇的曙光饭店去。阿尔芒，去租一辆四轮马车。” ①布吉瓦尔：巴黎西部的一个小村镇。 一个半小时以后，我们到了阿尔努寡妇的饭店。 您也许知道这个饭店，它一个星期有六天是旅馆，星期天是咖啡馆。它有一个花园，有一般二层楼那么高，在那里远眺，风景非常优美。左边是一望无际的马尔利引水渠，右边是连绵不断的小山岗；在加皮荣平原和克罗瓦西岛之间，有一条银白色的小河，它在这一带几乎是停滞的，像一条宽大的白色波纹缎带似的向两面伸展开去。两岸高大的杨树在随风摇曳，柳树在喃喃细语，不停地哄着小河入睡。 远处矗立着一片红瓦白墙的小房子，还有些工厂，它们在灿烂的阳光照耀下，更增添了一层迷人的色彩。至于这些工厂枯燥无味的商业化特点，由于距离较远就无法看清了。 极目远眺，是云雾笼罩下的巴黎。 就像普律当丝对我们讲的那样，这是一个真正的乡村，而且，我还应该这样说，这是一顿真正的午餐。 倒不是因为我感谢从那里得到了幸福才这样说的。可是布吉瓦尔，尽管它的名字难听，还是一个理想的风景区。我旅行过不少地方，看见过很多壮丽的景色，但是没有看到过比这个恬静地坐落在山脚下的小乡村更优美的地方了。 阿尔努夫人建议我们去泛舟游河，玛格丽特和普律当丝高兴地接受了。 人们总是把乡村和爱情联系起来，这是很有道理的。没有比这明亮的田野或者寂静的树林里的蓝天、芳草、鲜花和微风更能和您心爱的女人相配了。不论您多么爱一个女人，不论您多么信任她，不论她过去的行为可以保证她将来的忠实，您多少总会有些妒意的。如果您曾经恋爱过，认认真真地恋爱过，您一定会感到必须把您想完全独占的人与世界隔绝。不管您心爱的女人对周围的人是如何冷若冰霜，只要她跟别的男人和事物一接触，似乎就会失去她的香味和完整。这是我比别人体会更深的。我的爱情不是一种普通的爱情，我像一个普通人恋爱时所能做的那样恋爱着，但是我爱的是玛格丽特?戈蒂埃，这就是说在巴黎，我每走一步都可能碰到一个曾经做过她情人的人，或者是即将成为她情人的人。至于在乡下，我们完全置身于那些我们从来没有遇到过、也不关心我们的人中间，在这一年一度春意盎然的大自然怀抱中，在远离城市的喧闹声的地方，我可以倾心相爱，而用不到带着羞耻、怀着恐惧地去爱。 妓女的形象在这里渐渐消失了。我身旁是一个叫做玛格丽特的年轻美貌的女人，我爱她，她也爱我，过去的一切已经没有痕迹，未来是一片光明。太阳就像照耀着一个最纯洁的未婚妻那样照耀着我的情妇。我们双双在这富有诗意的地方散步，这些地方仿佛造得故意让人回忆起拉马丁①的诗句和斯居杜②的歌曲。玛格丽特穿一件白色的长裙，斜依在我的胳臂上。晚上，在繁星点点的苍穹下，她向我反复絮叨着她前一天对我说的话。远处，城市仍在继续它喧闹的生活，我们的青春和爱情的欢乐景象丝毫不受它的沾染。 ①拉马丁（１７９０—１８６９）：法国十九世纪浪漫主义诗人。 ②斯居杜（１８０６—１８６４）：法国十九世纪作曲家、音乐理论家。 这就是那天灼热的阳光穿过树叶的空隙给我带来的梦境。我们的游船停在一个孤岛上，我们躺在小岛的草地上，割断了过去的一切人间关系，我听任自己思潮起伏，憧憬着未来。 从我所在的地方，我还看到岸边有一座玲珑可爱的三层楼房屋，外面有一个半圆形的铁栅栏，穿过这个栅栏，在房屋前面有一块像天鹅绒一样平整的翠绿色的草地，在房子后面有一座神秘莫测的幽静的小树林。这块草地上，头天被踏出的小径，第二天就被新长出来的苔藓淹没了。 一些蔓生植物的花朵铺满了这座空房子的台阶，一直延伸到二楼。 我凝望着这座房子，最后我竟以为这座房子是属于我的了，因为它是多么符合我的梦想啊。我在这座房子里看到了玛格丽特和我两人，白天在这座山岗上的树林之中，晚上一起坐在绿草地上，我心里在想，这个世界上难道还有什么人能像我们这样幸福的吗？ “多么漂亮的房子！”玛格丽特对我说，她已经随着我的视线看到了这座房子，可能还有着和我同样的想法。 “在哪里？”普律当丝问。 “那边。”玛格丽特指着那所房子。 “啊！真美，”普律当丝接着说，“您喜欢它吗？” “非常喜欢。” “那么，对公爵说要他把房子给您租下来，我肯定他会同意的，这件事我负责。如果您愿意的话，让我来办。” 玛格丽特望着我，似乎在征求我对这个意见的看法。 我的梦想已经随着普律当丝最后几句话破灭了，我突然一下子掉落在现实之中，被摔得头晕眼花。 “是啊，这个主意真妙，”我结结巴巴地说，也不知道自己在说些什么。 “那么，一切由我来安排，”玛格丽特握着我的手说，她是依着自己的愿望来理解我的话的，“快去看看这座房子是不是出租。” 房子空着，租金是两千法郎。 “您高兴到这里来吗？”她问我说。 “我肯定能到这儿来吗？” “如果不是为了您，那么我躲到这儿来又是为了谁呢？” “好吧，玛格丽特，让我自己来租这座房子吧。” “您疯了吗？这不但没有好处，而且还有危险，您明知道我只能接受一个人的安排，让我来办吧，傻小子，别多说了。” “这样的话，如果我一连有两天空闲，我就来和你们一起住。”普律当丝说。 我们离开这座房子，踏上了去巴黎的道路，一面还在谈着这个新的计划。我把玛格丽特搂在怀里，以致在我下车的时候，已经能稍许平心静气地来考虑我情妇的计划了。