camille-第1部分

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Camille　（La　Dame　aux　Camilias）

by　Alexandre　Dumas；　fils





Chapter　I

In　my　opinion；　it　is　impossible　to　create　characters　until　one　has　spent　a　long　time　in　studying　men；　as　it　is　impossible　to　speak　a　language　until　it　has　been　seriously　acquired。　Not　being　old　enough　to　invent；　I　content　myself　with　narrating；　and　I　beg　the　reader　to　assure　himself　of　the　truth　of　a　story　in　which　all　the　characters；　with　the　exception　of　the　heroine；　are　still　alive。　Eye…witnesses　of　the　greater　part　of　the　facts　which　I　have　collected　are　to　be　found　in　Paris；　and　I　might　call　upon　them　to　confirm　me　if　my　testimony　is　not　enough。　And；　thanks　to　a　particular　circumstance；　I　alone　can　write　these　things；　for　I　alone　am　able　to　give　the　final　details；　without　which　it　would　have　been　impossible　to　make　the　story　at　once　interesting　and　complete。

This　is　how　these　details　came　to　my　knowledge。　On　the　12th　of　March；　1847；　I　saw　in　the　Rue　Lafitte　a　great　yellow　placard　announcing　a　sale　of　furniture　and　curiosities。　The　sale　was　to　take　place　on　account　of　the　death　of　the　owner。　The　owner's　name　was　not　mentioned；　but　the　sale　was　to　be　held　at　9；　Rue　d'Antin；　on　the　16th；　from　12　to　5。　The　placard　further　announced　that　the　rooms　and　furniture　could　be　seen　on　the　13th　and　14th。

I　have　always　been　very　fond　of　curiosities；　and　I　made　up　my　mind　not　to　miss　the　occasion；　if　not　of　buying　some；　at　all　events　of　seeing　them。　Next　day　I　called　at　9；　Rue　d'Antin。

It　was　early　in　the　day；　and　yet　there　were　already　a　number　of　visitors；　both　men　and　women；　and　the　women；　though　they　were　dressed　in　cashmere　and　velvet；　and　had　their　carriages　waiting　for　them　at　the　door；　gazed　with　astonishment　and　admiration　at　the　luxury　which　they　saw　before　them。

I　was　not　long　in　discovering　the　reason　of　this　astonishment　and　admiration；　for；　having　begun　to　examine　things　a　little　carefully；　I　discovered　without　difficulty　that　I　was　in　the　house　of　a　kept　woman。　Now；　if　there　is　one　thing　which　women　in　society　would　like　to　see　（and　there　were　society　women　there）；　it　is　the　home　of　those　women　whose　carriages　splash　their　own　carriages　day　by　day；　who；　like　them；　side　by　side　with　them；　have　their　boxes　at　the　Opera　and　at　the　Italiens；　and　who　parade　in　Paris　the　opulent　insolence　of　their　beauty；　their　diamonds；　and　their　scandal。

This　one　was　dead；　so　the　most　virtuous　of　women　could　enter　even　her　bedroom。　Death　had　purified　the　air　of　this　abode　of　splendid　foulness；　and　if　more　excuse　were　needed；　they　had　the　excuse　that　they　had　merely　come　to　a　sale；　they　knew　not　whose。　They　had　read　the　placards；　they　wished　to　see　what　the　placards　had　announced；　and　to　make　their　choice　beforehand。　What　could　be　more　natural？　Yet；　all　the　same；　in　the　midst　of　all　these　beautiful　things；　they　could　not　help　looking　about　for　some　traces　of　this　courtesan's　life；　of　which　they　had　heard；　no　doubt；　strange　enough　stories。

Unfortunately　the　mystery　had　vanished　with　the　goddess；　and；　for　all　their　endeavours；　they　discovered　only　what　was　on　sale　since　the　owner's　decease；　and　nothing　of　what　had　been　on　sale　during　her　lifetime。　For　the　rest；　there　were　plenty　of　things　worth　buying。　The　furniture　was　superb；　there　were　rosewood　and　buhl　cabinets　and　tables；　Sevres　and　Chinese　vases；　Saxe　statuettes；　satin；　velvet；　lace；　there　was　nothing　lacking。

I　sauntered　through　the　rooms；　following　the　inquisitive　ladies　of　distinction。　They　entered　a　room　with　Persian　hangings；　and　I　was　just　going　to　enter　in　turn；　when　they　came　out　again　almost　immediately；　smiling；　and　as　if　ashamed　of　their　own　curiosity。　I　was　all　the　more　eager　to　see　the　room。　It　was　the　dressing…room；　laid　out　with　all　the　articles　of　toilet；　in　which　the　dead　woman's　extravagance　seemed　to　be　seen　at　its　height。

On　a　large　table　against　the　wall；　a　table　three　feet　in　width　and　six　in　length；　glittered　all　the　treasures　of　Aucoc　and　Odiot。　It　was　a　magnificent　collection；　and　there　was　not　one　of　those　thousand　little　things　so　necessary　to　the　toilet　of　a　woman　of　the　kind　which　was　not　in　gold　or　silver。　Such　a　collection　could　only　have　been　got　together　little　by　little；　and　the　same　lover　had　certainly　not　begun　and　ended　it。

Not　being　shocked　at　the　sight　of　a　kept　woman's　dressing…room；　I　amused　myself　with　examining　every　detail；　and　I　discovered　that　these　magnificently　chiselled　objects　bore　different　initials　and　different　coronets。　I　looked　at　one　after　another；　each　recalling　a　separate　shame；　and　I　said　that　God　had　been　merciful　to　the　poor　child；　in　not　having　left　her　to　pay　the　ordinary　penalty；　but　rather　to　die　in　the　midst　of　her　beauty　and　luxury；　before　the　coming　of　old　age；　the　courtesan's　first　death。

Is　there　anything　sadder　in　the　world　than　the　old　age　of　vice；　especially　in　woman？　She　preserves　no　dignity；　she　inspires　no　interest。　The　everlasting　repentance；　not　of　the　evil　ways　followed；　but　of　the　plans　that　have　miscarried；　the　money　that　has　been　spent　in　vain；　is　as　saddening　a　thing　as　one　can　well　meet　with。　I　knew　an　aged　woman　who　had　once　been　〃gay；〃　whose　only　link　with　the　past　was　a　daughter　almost　as　beautiful　as　she　herself　had　been。　This　poor　creature　to　whom　her　mother　had　never　said；　〃You　are　my　child；〃　except　to　bid　her　nourish　her　old　age　as　she　herself　had　nourished　her　youth；　was　called　Louise；　and；　being　obedient　to　her　mother；　she　abandoned　herself　without　volition；　without　passion；　without　pleasure；　as　she　would　have　worked　at　any　other　profession　that　might　have　been　taught　her。

The　constant　sight　of　dissipation；　precocious　dissipation；　in　addition　to　her　constant　sickly　state；　had　extinguished　in　her　mind　all　the　knowledge　of　good　and　evil　that　God　had　perhaps　given　her；　but　that　no　one　had　ever　thought　of　developing。　I　shall　always　remember　her；　as　she　passed　along　the　boulevards　almost　every　day　at　the　same　hour；　accompanied　by　her　mother　as　assiduously　as　a　real　mother　might　have　accompanied　her　daughter。　I　was　very　young　then；　and　ready　to　accept　for　myself　the　easy　morality　of　the　age。　I　remember；　however；　the　contempt　and　disgust　which　awoke　in　me　at　the　sight　of　this　scandalous　chaperoning。　Her　face；　too；　was　inexpressibly　virginal　in　its　expression　of　innocence　and　of　melancholy　suffering。　She　was　like　a　figure　of　Resignation。

One　day　the　girl's　face　was　transfigured。　In　the　midst　of　all　the　debauches　mapped　out　by　her　mother；　it　seemed　to　her　as　if　God　had　left　over　for　her　one　happiness。　And　why　indeed　should　God；　who　had　made　her　without　strength；　have　left　her　without　consolation；　under　the　sorrowful　burden　of　her　life？　One　day；　then；　she　realized　that　she　was　to　have　a　child；　and　all　that　remained　to　her　of　chastity　leaped　for　joy。　The　soul　has　strange　refuges。　Louise　ran　to　tell　the　good　news　to　her　mother。　It　is　a　shameful　thing　to　speak　of；　but　we　are　not　telling　tales　of　pleasant　sins；　we　are　telling　of　true　facts；　which　it　would　be　better；　no　doubt；　to　pass　over　in　silence；　if　we　did　not　believe　that　it　is　needful　from　time　to　time　to　reveal　the　martyrdom　of　those　who　are　condemned　without　bearing；　scorned　without　judging；　shameful　it　is；　but　this　mother　answered　the　daughter　that　they　had　already　scarce　enough　for　two；　and　would　certainly　not　have　enough　for　three；　that　such　children　are　useless；　and　a　lying…in　is　so　much　time　lost。

Next　day　a　midwife；　of　whom　all　we　will　say　is　that　she　was　a　friend　of　the　mother；　visited　Louise；　who　remained　in　bed　for　a　few　days；　and　then　got　up　paler　and　feebler　than　before。

Three　months　afterward　a　man　took　pity　on　her　and　tried　to　heal　her；　morally　and　physically；　but　the　last　shock　had　been　too　violent；　and　Louise　died　of　it。　The　mother　still　lives；　how？　God　knows。

This　story　returned　to　my　mind　while　I　looked　at　the　silver　toilet　things；　and　a　certain　space　of　time　must　have　elapsed　during　these　reflections；　for　no　one　was　left　in　the　room　but　myself　and　an　attendant；　who；　standing　near　the　door；　was　carefully　watching　me　to　see　that　I　did　not　pocket　anything。

I　went　up　to　the　man；　to　whom　I　was　causing　so　much　anxiety。　〃Sir；〃　I　said；　〃can　you　tell　me　the　name　of　the　person　who　formerly　lived　here？〃

〃Mademoiselle　Marguerite　Gautier。〃

I　knew　her　by　name　and　by　sight。

〃What！〃　I　said　to　the　attendant；　〃Marguerite　Gautier　is　dead？〃

〃Yes；　sir。〃

〃When　did　she　die？〃

〃Three　weeks　ago；　I　believe。〃

〃And　why　are　the　rooms　on　view？〃

〃The　creditors　believe　that　it　will　send　up　the　prices。　People　can　see　beforehand　the　effect　of　the　things；　you　see　that　induces　them　to　buy。〃

〃She　was　in　debt；　then？〃

〃To　any　extent；　sir。〃

〃But　the　sale　will　cover　it？〃

〃And　more　too。〃

〃Who　will　get　what　remains　over？〃

〃Her　family。〃

〃She　had　a　family？〃

〃It　seems　so。〃

〃Thanks。〃

The　attendant；　reassured　as　to　my　intentions；　touched　his　hat；　and　I　went　out。

〃Poor　girl！〃　I　said　to　myself　as　I　returned　home；　〃she　must　have　had　a　sad　death；　for；　in　her　world；　one　has　friends　only　when　one　is　perfectly　well。〃　And　in　spite　of　myself　I　began　to　feel　melancholy　over　the　fate　of　Marguerite　Gautier。

It　will　seem　absurd　to　many　people；　but　I　have　an　unbounded　sympathy　for　women　of　this　kind；　and　I　do　not　think　it　necessary　to　apologize　for　such　sympathy。

One　day；　as　I　was　going　to　the　Prefecture　for　a　passport；　I　saw　in　one　of　the　neighbouring　streets　a　poor　girl　who　was　being　marched　along　by　two　policemen。　I　do　not　know　what　was　the　matter。　All　I　know　is　that　she　was　weeping　bitterly　as　she　kissed　an　infant　only　a　few　months　old；　from　whom　her　arrest　was　to　separate　her。　Since　that　day　I　have　never　dared　to　despise　a　woman　at　first　sight。



Chapter　2

The　sale　was　to　take　place　on　the　16th。　A　day's　interval　had　been　left　between　the　visiting　days　and　the　sale；　in　order　to　give　time　for　taking　down　the　hangings；　curtains；　etc。　I　had　just　returned　from　abroad。　It　was　natural　that　I　had　not　heard　of　Marguerite's　death　among　the　pieces　of　news　which　one's　friends　always　tell　on　returning　after　an　absence。　Marguerite　was　a　pretty　woman；　but　though　the　life　of　such　women　makes　sensation　enough；　their　death　makes　very　little。　They　are　suns　which　set　as　they　rose；　unobserved。　Their　death；　when　they　die　young