The Inspector-General of State Hospitals (whose maintenance is a charge upon the Gould Concession10), Official Adviser11 on Sanitation12 to the Municipality, Chief Medical Officer of the San Tome Consolidated13 Mines (whose territory, containing gold, silver, copper14, lead, cobalt, extends for miles along the foot-hills of the Cordillera), had felt poverty-stricken, miserable15, and starved during the prolonged, second visit the Goulds paid to Europe and the United States of America. Intimate of the casa, proved friend, a bachelor without ties and without establishment (except of the professional sort), he had been asked to take up his quarters in the Gould house. In the eleven months of their absence the familiar rooms, recalling at every glance the woman to whom he had given all his loyalty16, had grown intolerable. As the day approached for the arrival of the mail boat Hermes (the latest addition to the O. S. N. Co.‘s splendid fleet), the doctor hobbled about more vivaciously17, snapped more sardonically19 at simple and gentle out of sheer nervousness.
He packed up his modest trunk with speed, with fury, with enthusiasm, and saw it carried out past the old porter at the gate of the Casa Gould with delight, with intoxication20; then, as the hour approached, sitting alone in the great landau behind the white mules21, a little sideways, his drawn-in face positively22 venomous with the effort of self-control, and holding a pair of new gloves in his left hand, he drove to the harbour.
His heart dilated23 within him so, when he saw the Goulds on the deck of the Hermes, that his greetings were reduced to a casual mutter. Driving back to town, all three were silent. And in the patio24 the doctor, in a more natural manner, said —
“I’ll leave you now to yourselves. I’ll call to-morrow if I may?”
“Come to lunch, dear Dr. Monygham, and come early,” said Mrs. Gould, in her travelling dress and her veil down, turning to look at him at the foot of the stairs; while at the top of the flight the Madonna, in blue robes and the Child on her arm, seemed to welcome her with an aspect of pitying tenderness.
“Don’t expect to find me at home,” Charles Gould warned him. “I’ll be off early to the mine.”
After lunch, Dona Emilia and the senor doctor came slowly through the inner gateway25 of the patio. The large gardens of the Casa Gould, surrounded by high walls, and the red-tile slopes of neighbouring roofs, lay open before them, with masses of shade under the trees and level surfaces of sunlight upon the lawns. A triple row of old orange trees surrounded the whole. Barefooted, brown gardeners, in snowy white shirts and wide calzoneras, dotted the grounds, squatting27 over flowerbeds, passing between the trees, dragging slender India-rubber tubes across the gravel28 of the paths; and the fine jets of water crossed each other in graceful29 curves, sparkling in the sunshine with a slight pattering noise upon the bushes, and an effect of showered diamonds upon the grass.
Dona Emilia, holding up the train of a clear dress, walked by the side of Dr. Monygham, in a longish black coat and severe black bow on an immaculate shirtfront. Under a shady clump30 of trees, where stood scattered31 little tables and wicker easy-chairs, Mrs. Gould sat down in a low and ample seat.
“Don’t go yet,” she said to Dr. Monygham, who was unable to tear himself away from the spot. His chin nestling within the points of his collar, he devoured32 her stealthily with his eyes, which, luckily, were round and hard like clouded marbles, and incapable33 of disclosing his sentiments. His pitying emotion at the marks of time upon the face of that woman, the air of frailty34 and weary fatigue35 that had settled upon the eyes and temples of the “Never-tired Senora” (as Don Pepe years ago used to call her with admiration36), touched him almost to tears. “Don’t go yet. To-day is all my own,” Mrs. Gould urged, gently. “We are not back yet officially. No one will come. It’s only to-morrow that the windows of the Casa Gould are to be lit up for a reception.”
The doctor dropped into a chair.
“Giving a tertulia?” he said, with a detached air.
“A simple greeting for all the kind friends who care to come.”
“And only to-morrow?”
“Yes. Charles would be tired out after a day at the mine, and so I—— It would be good to have him to myself for one evening on our return to this house I love. It has seen all my life.”
“Ah, yes!” snarled37 the doctor, suddenly. “Women count time from the marriage feast. Didn’t you live a little before?”
“Yes; but what is there to remember? There were no cares.”
Mrs. Gould sighed. And as two friends, after a long separation, will revert38 to the most agitated39 period of their lives, they began to talk of the Sulaco Revolution. It seemed strange to Mrs. Gould that people who had taken part in it seemed to forget its memory and its lesson.
“And yet,” struck in the doctor, “we who played our part in it had our reward. Don Pepe, though superannuated40, still can sit a horse. Barrios is drinking himself to death in jovial41 company away somewhere on his fundacion beyond the Bolson de Tonoro. And the heroic Father Roman — I imagine the old padre blowing up systematically42 the San Tome mine, uttering a pious43 exclamation44 at every bang, and taking handfuls of snuff between the explosions — the heroic Padre Roman says that he is not afraid of the harm Holroyd’s missionaries45 can do to his flock, as long as he is alive.”
Mrs. Gould shuddered46 a little at the allusion47 to the destruction that had come so near to the San Tome mine.
“Ah, but you, dear friend?”
“I did the work I was fit for.”
“You faced the most cruel dangers of all. Something more than death.”
“No, Mrs. Gould! Only death — by hanging. And I am rewarded beyond my deserts.”
Noticing Mrs. Gould’s gaze fixed48 upon him, he dropped his eyes.
“I’ve made my career — as you see,” said the Inspector-General of State Hospitals, taking up lightly the lapels of his superfine black coat. The doctor’s self-respect marked inwardly by the almost complete disappearance49 from his dreams of Father Beron appeared visibly in what, by contrast with former carelessness, seemed an immoderate cult50 of personal appearance. Carried out within severe limits of form and colour, and in perpetual freshness, this change of apparel gave to Dr. Monygham an air at the same time professional and festive51; while his gait and the unchanged crabbed52 character of his face acquired from it a startling force of incongruity53.
“Yes,” he went on. “We all had our rewards — the engineer-in-chief, Captain Mitchell ——”
“We saw him,” interrupted Mrs. Gould, in her charming voice. “The poor dear man came up from the country on purpose to call on us in our hotel in London. He comported54 himself with great dignity, but I fancy he regrets Sulaco. He rambled55 feebly about ‘historical events’ till I felt I could have a cry.”
“H’m,” grunted56 the doctor; “getting old, I suppose. Even Nostromo is getting older — though he is not changed. And, speaking of that fellow, I wanted to tell you something ——”
For some time the house had been full of murmurs57, of agitation58. Suddenly the two gardeners, busy with rose trees at the side of the garden arch, fell upon their knees with bowed heads on the passage of Antonia Avellanos, who appeared walking beside her uncle.
Invested with the red hat after a short visit to Rome, where he had been invited by the Propaganda, Father Corbelan, missionary59 to the wild Indians, conspirator60, friend and patron of Hernandez the robber, advanced with big, slow strides, gaunt and leaning forward, with his powerful hands clasped behind his back. The first Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco had preserved his fanatical and morose61 air; the aspect of a chaplain of bandits. It was believed that his unexpected elevation62 to the purple was a counter-move to the Protestant invasion of Sulaco organized by the Holroyd Missionary Fund. Antonia, the beauty of her face as if a little blurred63, her figure slightly fuller, advanced with her light walk and her high serenity64, smiling from a distance at Mrs. Gould. She had brought her uncle over to see dear Emilia, without ceremony, just for a moment before the siesta65.
When all were seated again, Dr. Monygham, who had come to dislike heartily66 everybody who approached Mrs. Gould with any intimacy67, kept aside, pretending to be lost in profound meditation68. A louder phrase of Antonia made him lift his head.
“How can we abandon, groaning69 under oppression, those who have been our countrymen only a few years ago, who are our countrymen now?” Miss Avellanos was saying. “How can we remain blind, and deaf without pity to the cruel wrongs suffered by our brothers? There is a remedy.”
“Annex the rest of Costaguana to the order and prosperity of Sulaco,” snapped the doctor. “There is no other remedy.”
“I am convinced, senor doctor,” Antonia said, with the earnest calm of invincible70 resolution, “that this was from the first poor Martin’s intention.”
“Yes, but the material interests will not let you jeopardize71 their development for a mere72 idea of pity and justice,” the doctor muttered grumpily. “And it is just as well perhaps.”
The Cardinal-Archbishop straightened up his gaunt, bony frame.
“We have worked for them; we have made them, these material interests of the foreigners,” the last of the Corbelans uttered in a deep, denunciatory tone.
“And without them you are nothing,” cried the doctor from the distance. “They will not let you.”
“Let them beware, then, lest the people, prevented from their aspirations73, should rise and claim their share of the wealth and their share of the power,” the popular Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco declared, significantly, menacingly.
A silence ensued, during which his Eminence74 stared, frowning at the ground, and Antonia, graceful and rigid75 in her chair, breathed calmly in the strength of her convictions. Then the conversation took a social turn, touching76 on the visit of the Goulds to Europe. The Cardinal-Archbishop, when in Rome, had suffered from neuralgia in the head all the time. It was the climate — the bad air.
When uncle and niece had gone away, with the servants again falling on their knees, and the old porter, who had known Henry Gould, almost totally blind and impotent now, creeping up to kiss his Eminence’s extended hand, Dr. Monygham, looking after them, pronounced the one word —
“Incorrigible77!”
Mrs. Gould, with a look upwards78, dropped wearily on her lap her white hands flashing with the gold and stones of many rings.
“Conspiring79. Yes!” said the doctor. “The last of the Avellanos and the last of the Corbelans are conspiring with the refugees from Sta. Marta that flock here after every revolution. The Cafe Lambroso at the corner of the Plaza80 is full of them; you can hear their chatter81 across the street like the noise of a parrothouse. They are conspiring for the invasion of Costaguana. And do you know where they go for strength, for the necessary force? To the secret societies amongst immigrants and natives, where Nostromo — I should say Captain Fidanza — is the great man. What gives him that position? Who can say? Genius? He has genius. He is greater with the populace than ever he was before. It is as if he had some secret power; some mysterious means to keep up his influence. He holds conferences with the Archbishop, as in those old days which you and I remember. Barrios is useless. But for a military head they have the pious Hernandez. And they may raise the country with the new cry of the wealth for the people.”
“Will there be never any peace? Will there be no rest?” Mrs. Gould whispered. “I thought that we ——”
“No!” interrupted the doctor. “There is no peace and no rest in the development of material interests. They have their law, and their justice. But it is founded on expediency82, and is inhuman83; it is without rectitude, without the continuity and the force that can be found only in a moral principle. Mrs. Gould, the time approaches when all that the Gould Concession stands for shall weigh as heavily upon the people as the barbarism, cruelty, and misrule of a few years back.”
“How can you say that, Dr. Monygham?” she cried out, as if hurt in the most sensitive place of her soul.
“I can say what is true,” the doctor insisted, obstinately84. “It’ll weigh as heavily, and provoke resentment85, bloodshed, and vengeance86, because the men have grown different. Do you think that now the mine would march upon the town to save their Senor Administrador? Do you think that?”
She pressed the backs of her entwined hands on her eyes and murmured hopelessly —
“Is it this we have worked for, then?”
The doctor lowered his head. He could follow her silent thought. Was it for this that her life had been robbed of all the intimate felicities of daily affection which her tenderness needed as the human body needs air to breathe? And the doctor, indignant with Charles Gould’s blindness, hastened to change the conversation.
“It is about Nostromo that I wanted to talk to you. Ah! that fellow has some continuity and force. Nothing will put an end to him. But never mind that. There’s something inexplicable87 going on — or perhaps only too easy to explain. You know, Linda is practically the lighthouse keeper of the Great Isabel light. The Garibaldino is too old now. His part is to clean the lamps and to cook in the house; but he can’t get up the stairs any longer. The black-eyed Linda sleeps all day and watches the light all night. Not all day, though. She is up towards five in the afternoon, when our Nostromo, whenever he is in harbour with his schooner88, comes out on his courting visit, pulling in a small boat.”
“Aren’t they married yet?” Mrs. Gould asked. “The mother wished it, as far as I can understand, while Linda was yet quite a child. When I had the girls with me for a year or so during the War of Separation, that extraordinary Linda used to declare quite simply that she was going to be Gian’ Battista’s wife.”
“They are not married yet,” said the doctor, curtly89. “I have looked after them a little.”
“Thank you, dear Dr. Monygham,” said Mrs. Gould; and under the shade of the big trees her little, even teeth gleamed in a youthful smile of gentle malice90. “People don’t know how really good you are. You will not let them know, as if on purpose to annoy me, who have put my faith in your good heart long ago.”
The doctor, with a lifting up of his upper lip, as though he were longing91 to bite, bowed stiffly in his chair. With the utter absorption of a man to whom love comes late, not as the most splendid of illusions, but like an enlightening and priceless misfortune, the sight of that woman (of whom he had been deprived for nearly a year) suggested ideas of adoration92, of kissing the hem26 of her robe. And this excess of feeling translated itself naturally into an augmented93 grimness of speech.
“I am afraid of being overwhelmed by too much gratitude94. However, these people interest me. I went out several times to the Great Isabel light to look after old Giorgio.”
He did not tell Mrs. Gould that it was because he found there, in her absence, the relief of an atmosphere of congenial sentiment in old Giorgio’s austere95 admiration for the “English signora — the benefactress”; in black-eyed Linda’s voluble, torrential, passionate96 affection for “our Dona Emilia — that angel”; in the white-throated, fair Giselle’s adoring upward turn of the eyes, which then glided97 towards him with a sidelong, half-arch, half-candid glance, which made the doctor exclaim to himself mentally, “If I weren’t what I am, old and ugly, I would think the minx is making eyes at me. And perhaps she is. I dare say she would make eyes at anybody.” Dr. Monygham said nothing of this to Mrs. Gould, the providence98 of the Viola family, but reverted99 to what he called “our great Nostromo.”
“What I wanted to tell you is this: Our great Nostromo did not take much notice of the old man and the children for some years. It’s true, too, that he was away on his coasting voyages certainly ten months out of the twelve. He was making his fortune, as he told Captain Mitchell once. He seems to have done uncommonly100 well. It was only to be expected. He is a man full of resource, full of confidence in himself, ready to take chances and risks of every sort. I remember being in Mitchell’s office one day, when he came in with that calm, grave air he always carries everywhere. He had been away trading in the Gulf101 of California, he said, looking straight past us at the wall, as his manner is, and was glad to see on his return that a lighthouse was being built on the cliff of the Great Isabel. Very glad, he repeated. Mitchell explained that it was the O. S. N. Co. who was building it, for the convenience of the mail service, on his own advice. Captain Fidanza was good enough to say that it was excellent advice. I remember him twisting up his moustaches and looking all round the cornice of the room before he proposed that old Giorgio should be made the keeper of that light.”
“I heard of this. I was consulted at the time,” Mrs. Gould said. “I doubted whether it would be good for these girls to be shut up on that island as if in a prison.”
“The proposal fell in with the old Garibaldino’s humour. As to Linda, any place was lovely and delightful102 enough for her as long as it was Nostromo’s suggestion. She could wait for her Gian’ Battista’s good pleasure there as well as anywhere else. My opinion is that she was always in love with that incorruptible Capataz. Moreover, both father and sister were anxious to get Giselle away from the attentions of a certain Ramirez.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Gould, interested. “Ramirez? What sort of man is that?”
“Just a mozo of the town. His father was a Cargador. As a lanky103 boy he ran about the wharf104 in rags, till Nostromo took him up and made a man of him. When he got a little older, he put him into a lighter105 and very soon gave him charge of the No. 3 boat — the boat which took the silver away, Mrs. Gould. Nostromo selected that lighter for the work because she was the best sailing and the strongest boat of all the Company’s fleet. Young Ramirez was one of the five Cargadores entrusted106 with the removal of the treasure from the Custom House on that famous night. As the boat he had charge of was sunk, Nostromo, on leaving the Company’s service, recommended him to Captain Mitchell for his successor. He had trained him in the routine of work perfectly107, and thus Mr. Ramirez, from a starving waif, becomes a man and the Capataz of the Sulaco Cargadores.”
“Thanks to Nostromo,” said Mrs. Gould, with warm approval.
“Thanks to Nostromo,” repeated Dr. Monygham. “Upon my word, the fellow’s power frightens me when I think of it. That our poor old Mitchell was only too glad to appoint somebody trained to the work, who saved him trouble, is not surprising. What is wonderful is the fact that the Sulaco Cargadores accepted Ramirez for their chief, simply because such was Nostromo’s good pleasure. Of course, he is not a second Nostromo, as he fondly imagined he would be; but still, the position was brilliant enough. It emboldened108 him to make up to Giselle Viola, who, you know, is the recognized beauty of the town. The old Garibaldino, however, took a violent dislike to him. I don’t know why. Perhaps because he was not a model of perfection like his Gian’ Battista, the incarnation of the courage, the fidelity109, the honour of ‘the people.’ Signor Viola does not think much of Sulaco natives. Both of them, the old Spartan110 and that white-faced Linda, with her red mouth and coal-black eyes, were looking rather fiercely after the fair one. Ramirez was warned off. Father Viola, I am told, threatened him with his gun once.”
“But what of Giselle herself?” asked Mrs. Gould.
“She’s a bit of a flirt111, I believe,” said the doctor. “I don’t think she cared much one way or another. Of course she likes men’s attentions. Ramirez was not the only one, let me tell you, Mrs. Gould. There was one engineer, at least, on the railway staff who got warned off with a gun, too. Old Viola does not allow any trifling112 with his honour. He has grown uneasy and suspicious since his wife died. He was very pleased to remove his youngest girl away from the town. But look what happens, Mrs. Gould. Ramirez, the honest, lovelorn swain, is forbidden the island. Very well. He respects the prohibition113, but naturally turns his eyes frequently towards the Great Isabel. It seems as though he had been in the habit of gazing late at night upon the light. And during these sentimental114 vigils he discovers that Nostromo, Captain Fidanza that is, returns very late from his visits to the Violas. As late as midnight at times.”
The doctor paused and stared meaningly at Mrs. Gould.
“Yes. But I don’t understand,” she began, looking puzzled.
“Now comes the strange part,” went on Dr. Monygham. “Viola, who is king on his island, will allow no visitor on it after dark. Even Captain Fidanza has got to leave after sunset, when Linda has gone up to tend the light. And Nostromo goes away obediently. But what happens afterwards? What does he do in the gulf between half-past six and midnight? He has been seen more than once at that late hour pulling quietly into the harbour. Ramirez is devoured by jealousy115. He dared not approach old Viola; but he plucked up courage to rail at Linda about it on Sunday morning as she came on the mainland to hear mass and visit her mother’s grave. There was a scene on the wharf, which, as a matter of fact, I witnessed. It was early morning. He must have been waiting for her on purpose. I was there by the merest chance, having been called to an urgent consultation116 by the doctor of the German gunboat in the harbour. She poured wrath117, scorn, and flame upon Ramirez, who seemed out of his mind. It was a strange sight, Mrs. Gould: the long jetty, with this raving118 Cargador in his crimson119 sash and the girl all in black, at the end; the early Sunday morning quiet of the harbour in the shade of the mountains; nothing but a canoe or two moving between the ships at anchor, and the German gunboat’s gig coming to take me off. Linda passed me within a foot. I noticed her wild eyes. I called out to her. She never heard me. She never saw me. But I looked at her face. It was awful in its anger and wretchedness.”
Mrs. Gould sat up, opening her eyes very wide.
“What do you mean, Dr. Monygham? Do you mean to say that you suspect the younger sister?”
“Quien sabe! Who can tell?” said the doctor, shrugging his shoulders like a born Costaguanero. “Ramirez came up to me on the wharf. He reeled — he looked insane. He took his head into his hands. He had to talk to someone — simply had to. Of course for all his mad state he recognized me. People know me well here. I have lived too long amongst them to be anything else but the evil-eyed doctor, who can cure all the ills of the flesh, and bring bad luck by a glance. He came up to me. He tried to be calm. He tried to make it out that he wanted merely to warn me against Nostromo. It seems that Captain Fidanza at some secret meeting or other had mentioned me as the worst despiser of all the poor — of the people. It’s very possible. He honours me with his undying dislike. And a word from the great Fidanza may be quite enough to send some fool’s knife into my back. The Sanitary120 Commission I preside over is not in favour with the populace. ‘Beware of him, senor doctor. Destroy him, senor doctor,’ Ramirez hissed121 right into my face. And then he broke out. ‘That man,’ he spluttered, ‘has cast a spell upon both these girls.’ As to himself, he had said too much. He must run away now — run away and hide somewhere. He moaned tenderly about Giselle, and then called her names that cannot be repeated. If he thought she could be made to love him by any means, he would carry her off from the island. Off into the woods. But it was no good. . . . He strode away, flourishing his arms above his head. Then I noticed an old negro, who had been sitting behind a pile of cases, fishing from the wharf. He wound up his lines and slunk away at once. But he must have heard something, and must have talked, too, because some of the old Garibaldino’s railway friends, I suppose, warned him against Ramirez. At any rate, the father has been warned. But Ramirez has disappeared from the town.”
“I feel I have a duty towards these girls,” said Mrs. Gould, uneasily. “Is Nostromo in Sulaco now?”
“He is, since last Sunday.”
“He ought to be spoken to — at once.”
“Who will dare speak to him? Even the love-mad Ramirez runs away from the mere shadow of Captain Fidanza.”
“I can. I will,” Mrs. Gould declared. “A word will be enough for a man like Nostromo.”
The doctor smiled sourly.
“He must end this situation which lends itself to —— I can’t believe it of that child,” pursued Mrs. Gould.
“He’s very attractive,” muttered the doctor, gloomily.
“He’ll see it, I am sure. He must put an end to all this by marrying Linda at once,” pronounced the first lady of Sulaco with immense decision.
Through the garden gate emerged Basilio, grown fat and sleek122, with an elderly hairless face, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his jet-black, coarse hair plastered down smoothly123. Stooping carefully behind an ornamental124 clump of bushes, he put down with precaution a small child he had been carrying on his shoulder — his own and Leonarda’s last born. The pouting125, spoiled Camerista and the head mozo of the Casa Gould had been married for some years now.
He remained squatting on his heels for a time, gazing fondly at his offspring, which returned his stare with imperturbable126 gravity; then, solemn and respectable, walked down the path.
“What is it, Basilio?” asked Mrs. Gould.
“A telephone came through from the office of the mine. The master remains127 to sleep at the mountain to-night.”
Dr. Monygham had got up and stood looking away. A profound silence reigned128 for a time under the shade of the biggest trees in the lovely gardens of the Casa Gould.
“Very well, Basilio,” said Mrs. Gould. She watched him walk away along the path, step aside behind the flowering bush, and reappear with the child seated on his shoulder. He passed through the gateway between the garden and the patio with measured steps, careful of his light burden.
The doctor, with his back to Mrs. Gould, contemplated129 a flower-bed away in the sunshine. People believed him scornful and soured. The truth of his nature consisted in his capacity for passion and in the sensitiveness of his temperament130. What he lacked was the polished callousness131 of men of the world, the callousness from which springs an easy tolerance132 for oneself and others; the tolerance wide as poles asunder133 from true sympathy and human compassion134. This want of callousness accounted for his sardonic18 turn of mind and his biting speeches.
In profound silence, and glaring viciously at the brilliant flower-bed, Dr. Monygham poured mental imprecations on Charles Gould’s head. Behind him the immobility of Mrs. Gould added to the grace of her seated figure the charm of art, of an attitude caught and interpreted for ever. Turning abruptly135, the doctor took his leave.
Mrs. Gould leaned back in the shade of the big trees planted in a circle. She leaned back with her eyes closed and her white hands lying idle on the arms of her seat. The half-light under the thick mass of leaves brought out the youthful prettiness of her face; made the clear, light fabrics136 and white lace of her dress appear luminous137. Small and dainty, as if radiating a light of her own in the deep shade of the interlaced boughs138, she resembled a good fairy, weary with a long career of well-doing, touched by the withering139 suspicion of the uselessness of her labours, the powerlessness of her magic.
Had anybody asked her of what she was thinking, alone in the garden of the Casa, with her husband at the mine and the house closed to the street like an empty dwelling140, her frankness would have had to evade141 the question. It had come into her mind that for life to be large and full, it must contain the care of the past and of the future in every passing moment of the present. Our daily work must be done to the glory of the dead, and for the good of those who come after. She thought that, and sighed without opening her eyes — without moving at all. Mrs. Gould’s face became set and rigid for a second, as if to receive, without flinching142, a great wave of loneliness that swept over her head. And it came into her mind, too, that no one would ever ask her with solicitude143 what she was thinking of. No one. No one, but perhaps the man who had just gone away. No; no one who could be answered with careless sincerity144 in the ideal perfection of confidence.
The word “incorrigible”— a word lately pronounced by Dr. Monygham — floated into her still and sad immobility. Incorrigible in his devotion to the great silver mine was the Senor Administrador! Incorrigible in his hard, determined145 service of the material interests to which he had pinned his faith in the triumph of order and justice. Poor boy! She had a clear vision of the grey hairs on his temples. He was perfect — perfect. What more could she have expected? It was a colossal146 and lasting147 success; and love was only a short moment of forgetfulness, a short intoxication, whose delight one remembered with a sense of sadness, as if it had been a deep grief lived through. There was something inherent in the necessities of successful action which carried with it the moral degradation148 of the idea. She saw the San Tome mountain hanging over the Campo, over the whole land, feared, hated, wealthy; more soulless than any tyrant149, more pitiless and autocratic than the worst Government; ready to crush innumerable lives in the expansion of its greatness. He did not see it. He could not see it. It was not his fault. He was perfect, perfect; but she would never have him to herself. Never; not for one short hour altogether to herself in this old Spanish house she loved so well! Incorrigible, the last of the Corbelans, the last of the Avellanos, the doctor had said; but she saw clearly the San Tome mine possessing, consuming, burning up the life of the last of the Costaguana Goulds; mastering the energetic spirit of the son as it had mastered the lamentable150 weakness of the father. A terrible success for the last of the Goulds. The last! She had hoped for a long, long time, that perhaps —— But no! There were to be no more. An immense desolation, the dread151 of her own continued life, descended152 upon the first lady of Sulaco. With a prophetic vision she saw herself surviving alone the degradation of her young ideal of life, of love, of work — all alone in the Treasure House of the World. The profound, blind, suffering expression of a painful dream settled on her face with its closed eyes. In the indistinct voice of an unlucky sleeper153. lying passive in the grip of a merciless nightmare, she stammered154 out aimlessly the words —
“Material interest.”
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1
outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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3
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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5
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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8
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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9
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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10
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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11
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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12
sanitation
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| n.公共卫生，环境卫生，卫生设备 | |
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13
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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14
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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15
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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16
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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17
vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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18
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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19
sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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20
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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21
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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22
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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23
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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25
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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26
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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27
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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28
gravel
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|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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29
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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30
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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31
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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32
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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33
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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34
frailty
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| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
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35
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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36
admiration
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|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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37
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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38
revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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39
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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40
superannuated
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|
| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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41
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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42
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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43
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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44
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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45
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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46
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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47
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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48
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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49
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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50
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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51
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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52
crabbed
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|
| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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54
comported
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| v.表现( comport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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56
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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57
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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58
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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59
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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60
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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61
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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62
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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63
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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64
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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65
siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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66
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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67
intimacy
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|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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68
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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69
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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70
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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71
jeopardize
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| vt.危及，损害 | |
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72
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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73
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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74
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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75
rigid
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|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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76
touching
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|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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77
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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78
upwards
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|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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79
conspiring
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|
| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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80
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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81
chatter
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|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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82
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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83
inhuman
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|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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84
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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85
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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86
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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87
inexplicable
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|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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88
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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89
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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90
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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91
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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92
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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93
Augmented
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|
| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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94
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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95
austere
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|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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96
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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97
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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98
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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99
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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100
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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101
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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102
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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103
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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104
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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105
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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106
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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108
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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110
spartan
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| adj.简朴的，刻苦的；n.斯巴达；斯巴达式的人 | |
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111
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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112
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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113
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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114
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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115
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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116
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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117
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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118
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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119
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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120
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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121
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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122
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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123
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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124
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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125
pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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126
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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127
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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128
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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129
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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130
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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131
callousness
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132
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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133
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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134
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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135
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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136
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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138
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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139
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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140
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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141
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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142
flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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143
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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144
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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145
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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146
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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147
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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148
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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149
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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150
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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151
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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152
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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153
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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154
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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