茶花女第二十七章 Chapter 27

“您看完了吗？”当我看完这些手稿以后阿尔芒问我。

“如果我所读到的全是真的话，我的朋友，我明白您经受的是些什么样的痛苦！”

“我父亲的一封来信也向我证实了这一切。”

我们又谈论了一会儿这个刚刚结束的悲惨命运，然后我回到家里休息了一会儿。

阿尔芒一直很伤心，但是在讲了这个故事以后，他心情稍许轻松了一些，并很快恢复了健康，我们一起去拜访了普律当丝和朱利·迪普拉。

普律当丝刚刚破了产，她对我们说是玛格丽特害得她破产的，说玛格丽特在生病期间向她借了很多钱，因此她开出了很多她无力偿付的期票，玛格丽特没有还她钱就死了，又没有给她收据，因此她也算不上是债权人。

迪韦尔诺瓦太太到处散布这个无稽之谈，作为她经济困难的原因，她向阿尔芒要了一张一千法郎的钞票，阿尔芒不相信她说的是真话，但是他宁愿装作信以为真的样子，他对一切和他情妇有过关系的人和事都怀有敬意。

随后我们到了朱利·迪普拉家里，她向我们讲述了她亲眼目睹的惨事，在想起她朋友的时候流下了真诚的眼泪。

最后我们到玛格丽特的坟地上去，四月里太阳的初辉已经催开了绿叶的嫩芽。

阿尔芒还有最后一件必须要办的事情，就是到他父亲那儿去。他还希望我能陪他去。

我们一起抵达了C城，在那里我见到了迪瓦尔先生，他就像他儿子对我描述的一样：身材高大，神态威严，性情和蔼。

他含着幸福的眼泪欢迎阿尔芒，亲切地和我握手。我很快就发现了在这个税务官身上，父爱高于一切。

他女儿名叫布朗什，她眼睛明亮，目光明澈，安详的嘴唇表明她灵魂里全是圣洁的思想，嘴里讲的全是虔诚的话语。看见她哥哥回来她满脸微笑，这个纯洁的少女一点也不知道，仅仅为了维护她的姓氏，一个在远处的妓女就牺牲了自己的幸福。

我在这个幸福的家庭里住了几天，全家都为这个给他们带来一颗治愈了的心的人忙碌着。

我回到巴黎，依照我听到的那样写下了这篇故事。这篇故事唯一可取之处就是它的真实性，不过也许会引起争论。

我并没有从这个故事中得出这样的结论：所有像玛格丽特那样的姑娘都能像她一样地为人；远非如此，但是我知道她们之中有一位姑娘，在她的一生中曾产生过一种严肃的爱情，她为了这个爱情遭受痛苦，直至死去。我把我听到的事讲给读者听，这是一种责任。

我并不是在宣扬淫乱邪恶，但是不论在什么地方听到有这种高贵的受苦人在祈求，我都要为他作宣传。

我再重复一遍，玛格丽特的故事是罕见的，但是如果它带有普遍性的话，似乎也就不必把它写出来了。

'HAVE you finished it?' Armand asked me when I reached the end of the manuscript.

'I understand what you must have been through, my friend, if all that I've read is true!'

'My father vouches for it in a letter he wrote me.'

We talked for some while longer of the unhappy destiny which had just been played out, then I went home to get a little rest.

Armand, unhappy still, but a little easier now that his story was told, recovered quickly, and together we went to call on Prudence and Julie Duprat.

Prudence had just been declared bankrupt. She said that it was Marguerite's fault: during her final illness, she had loaned Marguerite considerable sums of money for which she, Prudence, had signed promissory notes. She had not been able to repay these notes because Marguerite had died without reimbursing her, nor had she signed any receipts which would have allowed Prudence to join the other creditors.

With the help of this unlikely tale, which Madame Duvernoy put about generally as an excuse for the mishandling of her own affairs, she succeeded in getting a thousand francs out of Armand who did not believe a word of it but wanted to appear as though he did, such was his respect for anyone and anything that had once been close to his mistress.

Next, we called on Julie Duprat, who went over the unhappy course of events which she had witnessed and wept sincerely as she remembered her dead friend.

Finally, we went to see Margrerite's grave over which the early rays of the April sun were uncurling the first leaves.

There remained one final call of duty for Armand to answer, which was to rejoin his father. Once more, he asked me to accompany him.

We arrived at C where I met Monsieur Duval, who looked exactly as I had pictured him from the description his son had given me: a tall, dignified, kindly man.

He welcomed Armand with tears of happiness, and shook my hand affectionately. I quickly realized that among the Collector's sentiments, fatherly feeling was by far the strongest.

His daughter, whose name was Blanche, had the cleareyed gaze and serene mouth which point to a soul that conceives only saintly thoughts and lips that speak only pious words. She greeted her brother's return with smiles, unaware, chaste young woman that she was, that in a far country a courtesan had sacrificed her own happiness to the mere mention of her name.

I stayed for some time with this happy family which directed every waking thought to the son who had brought them a convalescent heart.

I returned to Paris where I wrote this story exactly as it had been told to me. It has just one quality to commend it, which may be contested: it is true.

From this tale, I do not draw the conclusion that all women of Marguerite's sort are capable of behaving as she did. Far from it. But I have learned that one such woman, once in her life, experienced deep love, that she suffered for it and that she died of it. I have told the reader what I learned. It was a duty.

I am not an advocate of vice, but I shall always be a sounding board for any noble heart in adversity wherever I hear its voice raised in prayer.

Marguerite's history is an exception, I say again. Had it been a commonplace, it would not have been worth writing down.