TO tell you of our new life in any detail would be no easy matter. It was made up of a series of frivolous diversions which, though delightful to us, would be quite meaningless to anyone who heard me recount them. You know what it is to love a woman. You know how short the days seem and how loving the ease with which you let yourself drift towards the morrow. You are acquainted with that general neglect of things which is bred of violent, trusting, requited love. Any mortal being who is not the woman you love seems superfluous to creation. You regret having tossed pieces of your heart to other women, and you cannot imagine the prospect of ever holding a hand which is not the hand that you now hold clasped in yours. Your brain will entertain neither work nor memories, nor anything which might divert it from the one thought with which it is endlessly regaled. Each day you discover some new attraction in your mistress, some unknown sensual delight.
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人生只不过是为了满足不断的欲望,灵魂只不过是维持爱情圣火的守灶女神。①
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Life is no more than the repeated fulfilling of a permanent desire. The soul is merely the vestalhandmaid whose task is to keep the sacred flame of love burning.
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①罗马灶神庙中拿着圣火日夜守伺的童贞女。
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Often, after dark, we would go and sit in the little wood which overlooked the house. There we listened to the happy song of evening as we both thought of the approaching moment which would leave us in each other’s arms till morning. At other times, we would stay in bed all day and not let even the sun into our bedroom. The curtains would be tightly drawn, and for us the world outside momentarily stopped turning. Nanine alone was authorized to open our door, but only to bring us our meals? and even so we ate them without getting up, and interrupted them constantly with laughter and all kinds of foolishness. And then would follow a few moments of sleep, for, retreating completely into our love, we were like two persistent divers who return to the surface only to take breath.
However, I would catch Marguerite looking sad, and sometimes there were tears in her eyes. I would ask what was the reason for her sudden dejection and she would answer:
’This love of ours, my dearest Armand, is no ordinary love. You love me as though I’d never belonged to anyone else, and I tremble for fear that with time, regretting that you ever loved me and turning my past into a crime to hold against me, you might force me to resume the life from which you took me. Remember this: now that I’ve tasted a new kind of life, I should die if I had to take up the old one. So tell me you’ll never leave me.’
At this, she would stare at me, as though she could read in my eyes whether my oath was sincere. Then she would throw herself into my arms and, burying her head in my chest, say:
’It’s just that you have no idea how much I love you!’
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“你真不知道我是多么爱你啊!”
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One evening, we were leaning over the balcony outside our window. We gazed at the moon struggling to rise from its bed of clouds. We listened to the noise of the wind as it shook the trees. We held hands, and had not spoken for a good quarter of an hour when Marguerite said:
’I’m afraid of winter. And I’m even more afraid of our going back to Paris.’
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“我怕冬天,我更怕回到巴黎去。”
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’Why?’
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“为什么呢?”
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’Lots of reasons.’
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“原因很多。”
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And she went on quickly, without explaining the reasons for her fears:
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她没有告诉我她惧怕的原因,却突然接下去说:
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’Do you want to leave this place? I’ll sell everything I have. We’ll go and live far away. There’ll be nothing left of the person I used to be. No one will know who I am. Would you like that?’
’We’ll go, if that’s what you want, Let’s travel, ’I said, ’but why the need to sell things you’ll be glad to have when we get back? I haven’t got enough money to accept a sacrifice like that, but I do have enough for us to travel in style for five or six months, if you fancy the idea at all. ’
’If that’s the way of it, no, ’ she continued, leaving the window and moving to the sofa in the dark shadow of the bedroom. ’What’s the point of going all that way to spend money? I cost you enough here as it is.’
’That sounds like a reproach, Marguerite. You’re being ungracious.’
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“你是在埋怨我,玛格丽特,这可不公道啊!”
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’Forgive me, my dear, ’ she said, holding out her hand to me, ’this stormy weather makes me irritable. I’m not saying what I mean. ’
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“请原谅,朋友,”她伸手给我说,“这种暴风雨天气使我精神不愉快;我讲的并不是我心里想的话。”
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And, after kissing me, she sat for a long time, lost in thought.
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说着她吻了我一下,随后又陷入沉思。
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Scenes like this occurred on several occasions and, though I remained ignorant as to their cause, I nevertheless sensed in Marguerite a feeling of anxiety for the future. It was not that she could have any doubts about my love for her, for it grew deeper with each passing day. And yet I often saw that she was sad, though she never explained why she was sad other than by alleging some physical reason.
Fearing that she would weary of too monotonous a life, I suggested that we might return to Paris, but she invariably rejected the suggestion, and assured me that she could not be as happy anywhere as she was in the country.
Prudence made only rare visits now. On the other hand, she wrote a number of letters which I never asked to see, although each one left Marguerite deeply preoccupied. I did not know what to make of it.
One day, Marguerite remained in her room. I entered. She was writing.
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一天,玛格丽特在她房间里,我走了进去,她正在写信。
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’Who are you writing to?’ I asked her.
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“你写信给谁?”我问她。
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’Prudence. Do you want me to read out what I’ve written?’
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“写给普律当丝,要不要我把信念给你听听?”
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I had a profound distaste for anything that could seem like suspiciousness. So I answered Marguerite saying that there was no need for me to know what she was writing. And yet, I was sure of it, that letter would have acquainted me with the real reason for her fits of sadness.
The next day, the weather was superb. Marguerite suggested that we might take a boat out on the river and visit the lle de Croissy. She seemed in the best of spirits. It was five o’clock by the time we got back.
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第二天,天气非常好,玛格丽特提出要乘船去克罗瓦西岛玩,她似乎非常高兴。我们回家时已经五点钟了。
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’Madame Duvernoy came, ’ said Nanine as soon as she saw us come in.
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“迪韦尔诺瓦太太来过了,”纳尼娜看见我们进门就说。
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’Did she go away again?’ asked Marguerite.
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“她走了吗?”玛格丽特问道。
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’Yes, in Madame’s carriage. She said it was all right to take it.’
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“走了,坐夫人的车子走的,她说这是讲好了的。”
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’Very good, ’ said Marguerite quickly. ’Let dinner be served at once.’
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“很好,”玛格丽特急切地说,“吩咐下去给我们开饭。”
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Two days later, there was a letter from Prudence, and for the next fortnight Marguerite seemed to have done with her mysterious sad moods, for which she never stopped asking me to forgive her now that they had ceased.
’How is it that Prudence hasn’t returned your brougham?’ I asked one day.
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“普律当丝怎么不把你的马车送回来?”有一天我问。
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’One of the horses is sick, and the carriage needs some repairs. It’s better for all that to be done while we are still here where we don’t need a carriage, than to wait until we get back to Paris.’
Prudence came down to see us a few days after this and confirmed what Marguerite had told me.
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几天以后,普律当丝来看望我们,她向我证实了玛格丽特对我讲的话。
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两个女人在花园里散步,当我向她们走去的时候,她们就把话题扯开去了。
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晚上普律当丝告辞的时候,抱怨天气太冷,要求玛格丽特把开司米披肩借给她。
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一个月就这样过去了,在这一个月里玛格丽特比过去任何时候都要快乐,也更加爱我了。
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However, the carriage had not come back, and the Indian shawl had not been returned. All this puzzled me in spite of myself and, since I knew in which drawer Marguerite kept Prudence’s letters, I took advantage of a moment when she was at the bottom of the garden, hurried to the drawer and tried to open it. But it was no use: it was double-locked.
I then searched through the drawers where her trinkets and diamonds were normally kept. They opened without difficulty, but the jewel-cases had disappeared ?along with their contents, naturally.