Saccard thereupon thought of some other retreat, and was on the point of taking a little house at Passy, a retired13 merchant's bourgeois14 asylum15, when he recollected16 that the first and second floors of the Orviedo mansion, in the Rue17 Saint-Lazare, were still unoccupied, with doors and windows closed. The Princess d'Orviedo, who had withdrawn18 into three rooms on the second floor since her husband's death, had not even put up any notice 'To Let' at the carriage entrance, where the weeds were growing. A low door at the other end of the fa?ade led to the second storey by a servants' staircase. And in the course of his business relations with the Princess, during the visits that he paid her, Saccard had often been astonished at the negligence20 which she showed in the matter of deriving21 some profit from her property. But she shook her[Pg 46] head in reply to his remarks; she had theories of her own as to money matters. However, when he applied22 in his own name, she consented at once, and for the ridiculous rent of ten thousand francs made over to him both the sumptuous23 ground and first floors, decorated in princely fashion, and worth certainly double the money.
The magnificence displayed by Prince d'Orviedo was well remembered. It was in the feverish24 flush of his immense financial fortune, when he had come from Spain to Paris amid a rain of millions, that he had bought and redecorated this mansion, pending25 the erection of the palace of marble and gold with which he dreamed of astonishing the world. The edifice26 dated from the last century; it had been one of those pleasure-houses built in the midst of vast gardens by noble gallants. Partially27 demolished28, however, and re-erected in a severer style, it had of its park of former days merely retained a large court, bordered with stables and coach-houses, which the projected Rue du Cardinal-Fesch would surely sweep away. The Prince acquired the mansion from the heirs of a Mademoiselle Saint-Germain, whose property had formerly30 extended to the Rue des Trois-Frères, as the further end of the Rue Taitbout was once called. The entrance of the mansion was still in the Rue Saint-Lazare, adjoining a large building of the same period, the whilom Folie-Beauvilliers, which the Beauvilliers still occupied, after passing through a period of slow ruin; and they there possessed32 some remnants of an admirable garden, with magnificent trees, likewise condemned33 to disappear in the approaching transformation34 of the district.
In the midst of his disaster, Saccard still dragged about with him a number of servants, the débris of his over-numerous household, a valet, a chef, and his wife who had charge of the linen35, another woman who had remained no one knew why, a coachman and two ostlers; and he filled up the stables and coach-houses, putting two horses and three carriages in them, and arranged a servants' dining-hall on the ground floor of the house. He had not five hundred francs in cash in his coffers, but lived at the rate of two or three hundred[Pg 47] thousand francs a year. And with his own person he managed to fill the vast first-floor apartments, the three drawing- and five bed-rooms, not to mention the immense dining-room, where covers could be laid for fifty persons. Here a door had formerly opened upon an inner staircase, leading to another and smaller dining-room on the second floor, and the Princess, who had recently let this part of the second floor to an engineer, M. Hamelin, a bachelor, living with his sister, had contented37 herself with closing the door by the aid of a couple of stout38 screws. She herself shared the old servants' staircase with the Hamelins, while Saccard had the main stairway at his own entire disposal. He partially furnished a few rooms with some remnants from his Parc Monceau establishment, and left the others empty, succeeding, nevertheless, in restoring some life to that series of bare, gloomy walls, whence an obstinate39 hand seemed to have torn even the smallest shreds40 of hangings on the very morrow of the Prince's death. And here then he was able to indulge afresh his dream of a great fortune.
The Princess d'Orviedo was at that time one of the most curious notabilities of Paris. Fifteen years previously41 she had resignedly married the Prince, whom she did not love, in obedience42 to the formal command of her mother, the Duchess de Combeville. At that period this young girl of twenty had been famous for her beauty and exemplary conduct, being very religious, and perhaps a little too serious, although loving society passionately43. She was ignorant of the singular stories current regarding the Prince, the sources of his regal fortune estimated at three hundred millions of francs—his whole life of frightful45 robberies, perpetrated, not on the skirts of a wood and weapon in hand, after the fashion of the noble adventurers of former days, but according to the system of the correct modern bandit, in the broad sunlight of the Bourse, where amidst death and ruin he had emptied the pockets of poor credulous46 folks. Over there in Spain, and here in France, the Prince for twenty years had appropriated the lion's share in every great legendary47 piece of rascality48. Although suspecting nothing of the mire49 and blood in which he had just picked up[Pg 48] so many millions, his wife at their first meeting had felt a repugnance50 towards him, which even her religious sentiments were powerless to overcome; and to this antipathy52 was soon added a secret, growing rancour at having no child by this marriage, to which she had submitted for obedience' sake. Maternity53 would have sufficed her, for she adored children; and thus she came to hate this man, who, after taking from her all hope of love, had even been unable to satisfy her maternal54 longings55. It was then that the Princess was seen to precipitate57 herself into a life of unheard-of luxury, dazzling Paris with the brilliancy of her fêtes, and displaying in all things such magnificence that even the Tuileries were said to be jealous. Then suddenly, on the day after the Prince died from a stroke of apoplexy, the mansion in the Rue Saint-Lazare fell into absolute silence, complete darkness. Not a light, not a sound; doors and windows alike remained closed; and the rumour58 spread that the Princess, after violently stripping the lower part of the house, had withdrawn, like a recluse59, into three little rooms on the second floor, with old Sophie, her mother's former maid, who had brought her up. When she reappeared in public, she wore a simple black woollen dress, with a lace fichu concealing61 her hair. Short and still plump, with her narrow forehead and her pretty round face with pearly teeth hidden by tightly-set lips, she already had a yellow complexion62, with the silent countenance63 of a woman who has but one desire, one purpose in life, like a nun64 long immured65 in the cloister66. She had just reached thirty, and lived henceforth solely68 for deeds of charity on a colossal69 scale.
The surprise of Paris was very great, and all sorts of extraordinary stories began to circulate. The Princess had inherited her husband's entire fortune, the famous three hundred millions of francs,[10] which the newspapers were always talking about. And the legend which finally sprang up was a romantic one. A man, a mysterious stranger dressed in black, it was said, had suddenly appeared one evening in the Princess's chamber70 just as she was going to[Pg 49] bed, without her ever understanding by what secret door he had gained admission; and what this man had told her no one in the world knew; but he must have revealed to her the abominable72 origin of those three hundred millions, and perhaps have exacted from her an oath to offer reparation for so many iniquities73, if she wished to avoid the most frightful catastrophes74. Then the man had disappeared; and now during the five years that she had been a widow, either in obedience to an order received from the realms beyond, or through a simple revolt of honesty when the record of her fortune had fallen into her hands, she had lived in a burning fever of renunciation and reparation. All the pent-up feelings of this woman, who had not known love, and who had not succeeded in becoming a mother, and especially her unsatisfied affection for children, blossomed forth67 in a veritable passion for the poor, the weak, the disinherited, the suffering, from whom she believed the stolen millions to be withheld75, to whom she swore to restore them royally in a rain of alms. A fixed76 idea took possession of her, a thought she could not get rid of had been driven into her brain; she henceforth simply looked upon herself as a banker with whom the poor had deposited those millions, in order that they might be employed for their benefit in the most advantageous77 way. She herself was but an accountant, a business agent, living in a realm to figures, amidst a population of notaries79, architects, and workmen. She had established a vast office in town, where a score of employees worked. In her three small rooms at home she only received four or five intermediaries, her lieutenants80; and there she passed her days, at a desk, like the director of some great enterprise, cloistered83 far away from the importunate84 among a growing heap of papers spread out all around her. It was a dream to relieve every misery85, from that of the child who suffers from being born, to that of the old man who cannot die without suffering. During those five years, scattering86 gold by the handful, she had founded the St. Mary's Infant Asylum at La Villette—an asylum with white cradles for the very little and blue beds for the bigger ones—a vast, well-lighted establishment, already occupied by three hundred[Pg 50] children; then had come the St. Joseph's Orphan87 Asylum at Saint Mandé, where a hundred boys and a hundred girls received such education and training as are given in bourgeois families; next an asylum for the aged36 at Chatillon, capable of accommodating fifty men and fifty women, and finally a hospital—the St. Marceau Hospital it was called—in one of the suburbs of Paris. Here the wards51, containing a couple of hundred beds, had only just been opened. But her favourite foundation, that which at this moment absorbed her whole heart, was the Institute of Work,[11] a creation of her own, which was to take the place of the House of Correction, and where three hundred children, one hundred and fifty girls and one hundred and fifty boys, rescued from crime and debauchery on the pavements of Paris, were to be regenerated88 by good care and apprenticeship89 at a trade. These various foundations, with large donations to public establishments and a reckless prodigality91 in private charity, had in five years devoured92 almost a hundred millions of francs. At this rate, in a few years more she would be ruined, without having reserved even a small income to buy the bread and milk upon which she now lived. When her old servant Sophie, breaking her accustomed silence, scolded her with a harsh word, prophesying93 that she would die a beggar, she gave a feeble smile, now the only one that ever appeared on her colourless lips, a divine smile of hope.
It was precisely94 in connection with the Institute of Work that Saccard made Princess d'Orviedo's acquaintance. He was one of the owners of the land which she bought for this institution, an old garden planted with beautiful trees reaching to the Park of Neuilly, and skirting the Boulevard Bineau. He had attracted her by his brisk way of doing business; and, certain difficulties arising with her contractors95, she wished to see him again. He himself had become greatly interested in what she was doing—struck, charmed by the grand plan which she had imposed upon the architect: two monumental wings, one for the boys, the other for the girls, connected with each other by a main building containing the chapel96, the[Pg 51] common departments, the offices, and various services; and each wing with its spacious97 yard, its workshops, its outbuildings of all sorts. But what particularly fired his enthusiasm, given his own taste for the grand and the gorgeous, was the luxury displayed, the very vastness of the edifice, the materials employed in building it—materials which would defy the centuries—the marble lavished99 upon all sides, the kitchen walled and floored with fa?ence, and with sufficient accommodation for the roasting of an ox, the gigantic dining-halls with rich oak panellings and ceilings, the dormitories flooded with light and enlivened with bright paintings, the linen room, the bath room, and the infirmary, where all the appointments bespoke100 extreme refinement102; and on all sides there were broad entrances, stairways, corridors, ventilated in summer and heated in winter; and the entire house, bathed in the sunlight, had the gaiety of youth, the complete comfort which only immense wealth can procure103. When the anxious architect, considering all this magnificence useless, spoke101 to the Princess of the expense, she stopped him with a word: she had enjoyed luxury; she wished to give it to the poor, that they might enjoy it in their turn—they who create the luxury of the rich. Her fixed idea centred in this dream; to gratify every desire of the wretched, to provide them with the same beds, the same fare, as the fortunate ones of this world.
There was to be no question of a crust of bread, or a chance pallet by way of alms; but life on a large scale within this palace, where they would be at home, taking their revenge, tasting the enjoyment104 of conquerors105. Only, amidst all this squandering106, all these enormous estimates, she was abominably107 robbed; a swarm108 of contractors lived upon her, to say nothing of the losses due to inadequate109 superintendence; the property of the poor was being wasted. And it was Saccard who opened her eyes to this, begging her to let him set her accounts straight. And he did this in a thoroughly110 disinterested111 way, solely for the pleasure of regulating this mad dance of millions which aroused his enthusiasm. Never before had he shown himself so scrupulously112 honest. In this colossal, complicated affair he proved the most active, most upright of[Pg 52] helpers, giving his time and even his money, taking his reward simply in the delight which he felt at such large sums passing through his hands. Scarcely anyone but himself was known at the Institute of Work, whither the Princess never went, any more than she visited her other establishments, preferring to remain hidden within her three little rooms, like some invisible good fairy, whilst he was adored, blessed, overwhelmed with all the gratitude114 which she did not seem to desire.
It was at this time undoubtedly115 that Saccard began nursing the indefinite project, which, when once he was installed as a tenant81 in the Orviedo mansion, became transformed into a sharp, well-defined desire. Why should he not devote himself entirely116 to the management of the Princess's charitable enterprises? In the period of doubt in which he found himself, vanquished117 on the field of speculation, not knowing how to rebuild his fortune, this course appeared to him like a new incarnation, a sudden deifical ascent118. To become the dispenser of that royal charity, the channel through which would roll that flood of gold that was pouring upon Paris! There were two hundred millions left; what works might still be created, what a city of miracle might be made to spring from the soil! To say nothing of the fact that he would make those millions fruitful, double, triple them, know so well how to employ them that he would make them yield a world. Then, in his passionate44 fever, his ideas broadened; he lived in this one intoxicating120 thought of scattering those millions broadcast in endless alms, of drowning all happy France with them; and he grew sentimental121, for his probity122 was without a reproach—not a sou stuck to his fingers. In his brain—the brain of a visionary—a giant idyl took shape, the idyl of one free from all self-consciousness, an idyl in no wise due to any desire to atone123 for his old financial brigandage124. There was the less cause for any such desire, as at the end there still lay the dream of his entire life, the conquest of Paris. To be the king of charity, the adored God of the multitude of the poor, to become unique and popular, to occupy the attention of the world—it even surpassed his ambition. What prodigies125[Pg 53] could he not realize, should he employ in goodness his business faculties126, his strategy, obstinacy127, and utter freedom from prejudice! And he would have the irresistible128 power which wins battles, money, coffers full of money, which often does so much harm, and which would do so much good as soon as it should be used to satisfy his pride and pleasure.
Then, enlarging his project still further, Saccard came to the point of asking himself why he should not marry the Princess d'Orviedo. That would determine their mutual129 position, and prevent all evil interpretations130. For a month he man?uvred adroitly131, disclosed superb plans, sought to make himself indispensable; and one day, in a tranquil132 voice, again becoming ingenuous133, he made his proposal, developed his great project. It was a veritable partnership134 that he proposed; he offered himself as the liquidator of the sums stolen by the Prince; pledged himself to return them to the poor tenfold. The Princess, in her eternal black dress, with her lace fichu on her head, listened to him attentively135, no emotion whatever animating136 her sallow face. She was very much struck with the advantages that such an association might offer, and quite indifferent to the other considerations. However, having postponed137 her answer till the next day, she finally refused; she had upon reflection doubtless realized that she would no longer be sole mistress of her charities, and these she meant to dispense119 with absolute sovereignty, even if she did so madly. However, she explained that she would be happy to retain him as a counsellor; and showed how precious she considered his collaboration138 by begging him to continue to attend to the Institute of Work, of which he was the real director.
For a whole week Saccard experienced violent chagrin139, as one does at the loss of a cherished idea; not that he felt himself falling back into the abyss of brigandage; but, just as a sentimental song will bring tears to the eyes of the most abject140 drunkard, so this colossal idyl of good accomplished141 by dint142 of millions had moved his corsair soul. Once more he fell, and from a great height: it seemed to him that he was dethroned. From money he had always sought to derive143, in[Pg 54] addition to the satisfaction of his appetites, the magnificence of a princely life, and never had he sufficiently144 achieved it. He grew enraged145 as one by one his tumbles carried away his hopes. And thus, when his project was destroyed by the Princess's quiet, precise refusal, he was thrown back into a furious desire for battle. To fight, to prove the strongest in the stern war of speculation, to eat up others in order to keep them from eating him, was, after his thirst for splendour and enjoyment, the one great motive146 of his passion for business. Though he did not heap up treasure, he had another joy, the delight attending on the struggle between vast amounts of money pitted against one another—fortunes set in battle array, like contending army corps147, the clash of conflicting millions, with defeats and victories that intoxicated148 him. And forthwith there returned his hatred149 of Gundermann, his ungovernable longing56 for revenge. To conquer Gundermann was the chimerical150 desire that haunted him, each time that he found himself prostrate151, vanquished. Though he felt the childish folly152 attaching to such an attempt, might he not at least cut into him, make a place for himself opposite him, force him to share, like those monarchs153 of neighbouring countries and equal power who treat each other as cousins? Then it was that the Bourse again attracted him; his head once more became full of schemes that he might launch; conflicting projects claimed him in all directions, putting him in such a fever that he knew not what to decide until the day came when a supreme154, stupendous idea evolved itself from amidst all the others, and gradually gained entire possession of him.
Since he had been living in the Orviedo mansion, Saccard had occasionally seen the sister of the engineer Hamelin, who lived in the little suite155 of rooms on the second floor, a woman with an admirable figure—Madame Caroline she was familiarly called. What had especially struck him, at their first meeting, was her superb white hair, a royal crown of white hair, which had a most singular effect on the brow of this woman, who was still young, scarcely thirty-six years old. At the age of five and twenty her hair had thus[Pg 55] turned completely white. Her eyebrows156, which had remained black and very thick, imparted an expression of youth, and of extreme oddity, to her ermine-girt countenance. She had never been pretty, for her nose and chin were too pronounced, and her mouth large with thick lips expressive157 of exquisite158 kindliness159. But certainly that white fleece, that wavy160 whiteness of fine silken hair, softened161 her rather stern physiognomy, and added a grandmother's smiling charm to the freshness and vigour162 of a beautiful, passionate woman. She was tall and strongly built, with a free and very noble carriage.
Every time he met her, Saccard, shorter than she was, followed her with his eyes, in an interested way, secretly envying her tall figure, her healthy breadth of shoulders. And gradually, through the servants, he became acquainted with the whole history of the Hamelins, Caroline and George. They were the children of a Montpellier physician, a remarkable163 savant, an enthusiastic Catholic, who had died poor. At the time of their father's death the girl was eighteen and the boy nineteen; and, the latter having just entered the Polytechnic164 School, his sister followed him to Paris, where she secured a place as governess. It was she who slipped five-franc pieces into his hand, and kept him in pocket-money during his two years' course; later, when, having graduated with a low rank, he had to tramp the pavements, it was still she who supported him until he found employment. They adored each other, and it was their dream never to separate. Nevertheless, an unhoped-for marriage offering itself—the good grace and keen intelligence of the young girl having made the conquest of a millionaire brewer165 in the house where she was employed—George wished her to accept; a thing which he cruelly repented166 of, for, after a few years of married life, Caroline was obliged to apply for a separation in order to avoid being killed by her husband, who drank and pursued her with a knife in fits of imbecile jealousy167. She was then twenty-six years old, and again found herself poor, obstinately168 refusing to claim any alimony from the man whom she left. But her brother had at last, after many attempts, put his[Pg 56] hand upon a work that pleased him: he was about to start for Egypt, with the Commission appointed to prosecute169 the first investigations170 connected with the Suez Canal, and he took his sister with him. She bravely established herself at Alexandria, and again began giving lessons, while he travelled about the country. Thus they remained in Egypt until 1859, and saw the first blows of the pick struck upon the shore at Port Said by a meagre gang of barely a hundred and fifty navvies, lost amid the sands, and commanded by a handful of engineers. Then Hamelin, having been sent to Syria to ensure a constant supply of provisions, remained there, in consequence of a quarrel with his chiefs. He made Caroline come to Beyrout, where other pupils awaited her, and launched out into a big enterprise, under the patronage171 of a French company—the laying out of a carriage road from Beyrout to Damascus, the first, the only route opened through the passes of the Lebanon range. And thus they lived there three years longer, until the road was finished; he visiting the mountains, absenting himself for two months to make a trip to Constantinople through the Taurus, she following him as soon as she could escape, and fully172 sharing the revivalist projects which he formed, whilst tramping about this old land, slumbering173 beneath the ashes of dead and vanished civilisations. He had a portfolio175 full of ideas and plans, and felt the imperative176 necessity of returning to France if he was to give shape to all his vast schemes, establish companies, and find the necessary capital. And so, after nine years' residence in the East, they started off, and curiosity prompted them to return by way of Egypt, where the progress made with the works of the Suez Canal filled them with enthusiasm. In four years a city had grown up on the strand177 at Port Said; an entire people was swarming178 there; the human ants were multiplying, changing the face of the earth. In Paris, however, dire82 ill-luck awaited Hamelin. For fifteen months he struggled on with his projects, unable to impart his faith to anyone, too modest as he was, too taciturn, stranded179 on that second floor of the Orviedo mansion, in a little suite of five rooms, for which he paid twelve hundred francs a year, farther[Pg 57] from success than he had even been when roaming over the mountains and plains of Asia. Their savings180 rapidly decreased, and brother and sister came at last to a position of great embarrassment181.
In fact, it was this that interested Saccard—the growing sadness of Madame Caroline, whose hearty182 gaiety was dimmed by the discouragement into which she saw her brother falling. She was to some extent the man of the household; George, who greatly resembled her physically183, though of slighter build, had a rare faculty184 for work, but he became absorbed in his studies, and did not like to be roused from them. Never had he cared to marry, not feeling the need of doing so, his adoration185 of his sister sufficing him. This whilom student of the Polytechnic School, whose conceptions were so vast, whose zeal186 was so ardent187 in everything he undertook, at times evinced such simplicity188 that one would have deemed him rather stupid. Brought up, too, in the narrowest Romanism he had kept the religious faith of a child, careful in his observance of all rites189 and ceremonies like a thorough believer; whereas his sister had regained190 possession of herself by dint of reading and learning during the long hours when he was plunged192 in his technical tasks. She spoke four languages; she had read the economists193 and the philosophers, and had for a time been moved to enthusiasm by socialistic and evolutionary194 theories. Subsequently, however, she had quieted down, acquiring—notably195 by her travels, her long residence among far-off civilisations—a broad spirit of tolerance196 and well-balanced common-sense. Though she herself no longer believed, she retained great respect for her brother's faith. There had been one explanation between them, after which they had never referred to the matter again. She, with her simplicity and good-nature, was a woman of real intelligence; and, facing life with extraordinary courage, with a gay bravery which withstood the cruel blows of fate, she was in the habit of saying that a single sorrow alone remained within her—that of never having had a child.
Saccard was able to render Hamelin a service—some little work which he secured for him from some investors197 who[Pg 58] needed an engineer to report upon the output of a new machine, and thus he forced an intimacy198 with the brother and sister, and frequently went up to spend an hour with them in their salon199, their only large room, which they had transformed into a work room. This room remained virtually bare, for its only furniture consisted of a long designing table, a smaller table covered with papers, and half a dozen chairs. Books were heaped up on the mantel-shelf, whilst on the walls an improvised200 decoration enlivened the blank space—a series of plans, of bright water-colour drawings, each held in place by four tacks201. The plans were those which Hamelin had gathered together in his portfolio of projects; they were the notes he had taken in Syria, the bases on which he hoped to build up all his future fortune; whereas the water-colours were the work of Madame Caroline—Eastern views, types, and costumes which she had noted202 while accompanying her brother about, which she had sketched203 with keen insight into the laws of colour, though in a very unpretending way. Two larger windows overlooking the garden of the Beauvilliers mansion admitted a bright light to illumine these straggling designs, typical of another life, of an ancient society sinking into dust, which the plans, firmly and mathematically outlined, seemed about to put upon its feet again, supported, as it were, by the solid scaffolding of modern science. And Saccard, when he had rendered himself useful, with that display of activity which made him so charming, would often linger before the plans and water-colours, seduced204, and continually asking for fresh explanations. Vast schemes were already germinating205 in his brain.
One morning he found Madame Caroline seated alone at the little table which she used as her desk. She was dreadfully sad, her hands resting among her papers.
'What can you expect?' said she, 'things are turning out very badly. I am brave, but everything seems about to fail us at once; and what distresses206 me is the powerlessness to which misfortune reduces my poor brother, for he is not valiant207, he has no strength except for work. I thought of getting another situation as governess, that I might at least help him.[Pg 59] But I have sought, and found nothing. Yet I cannot go out working as a charwoman.'
Never had Saccard seen her so upset, so dejected. 'The devil! you have not come to that!' he cried.
She shook her head, and evinced great bitterness against life, which she usually accepted so jovially208, even when at its worst. And Hamelin just then coming in with the news of a fresh disappointment, big tears ran slowly down her cheeks. She spoke no further, but sat there, her hands clenched209 on the table, her eyes wandering away into space.
'And to think,' said Hamelin, 'that there are millions awaiting us in the East, if someone would only help me to make them!'
Saccard had planted himself in front of a plan representing a view of a pavilion surrounded by vast store-houses. 'What is that?' he asked.
'Oh! something I did for my amusement,' explained the engineer. 'It's the plan of a dwelling210 at Beyrout for the manager of the Company which I dreamed of, you know, the United Steam Navigation Company.'
He became animated211, and went into fresh particulars. During his stay in the East, he had noticed how defective212 were all the transport services. The various companies established at Marseilles were ruining one another by competition, and were unable to provide vessels213 in sufficient number or of sufficient comfort. One of his first ideas, the very basis indeed of his many enterprises, was to syndicate these services, to unite them in one vast, wealthy company, which should exploit the entire Mediterranean214, and acquire the sovereign control thereof, by establishing lines to all the ports of Africa, Spain, Italy, Greece, Egypt, Asia, and even the remotest parts of the Black Sea. It was a scheme worthy215 at once of a shrewd organiser and a good patriot216; it meant the East conquered, given to France, to say nothing of the close relations which it would establish with Syria, where lay the vast field of his proposed operations.
'Syndicates,' murmured Saccard—'yes, nowadays the future seems to lie in that direction. It is such a powerful form of[Pg 60] association! Three or four little enterprises, which vegetate217 in isolation218, acquire irresistible vitality219 and prosperity as soon as they unite. Yes, to-morrow belongs to the association of capital, to the centralised efforts of immense masses. All industry and commerce will end in a single huge bazaar220, where a man will provide himself with everything.'
He had stopped again, this time before a water-colour which represented a wild locality, an arid221 gorge98, blocked up by a gigantic pile of rocks crowned with brambles. 'Oh! oh!' he resumed, 'here is the end of the world. There can be no danger of being jostled by passers-by in that nook.'
'A Carmel gorge,' answered Hamelin. 'My sister sketched it while I was making my studies in that neighbourhood,' and he added simply: 'See! between the cretaceous limestone222 and the porphyry which raised up that limestone over the entire mountain-side, there is a considerable vein223 of sulphuretted silver—yes, a silver mine, the working of which, according to my calculations, would yield enormous profits.'
'A silver mine?' repeated Saccard eagerly.
Madame Caroline, with her eyes still wandering far away, had overheard them amid her fit of sadness, and, as if a vision had risen before her, she said: 'Carmel, ah! what a desert, what days of solitude224! It is full of myrtle and broom, which make the warm air balmy. And there are eagles continually circling aloft—and to think of all this silver, sleeping in that sepulchre, beside so much misery, where one would like to see happy multitudes, workshops, cities spring up—a whole people regenerated by toil225.'
'A road could easily be opened from Carmel to Saint Jean d'Acre,' continued Hamelin. 'And I firmly believe that iron, too, would be found there, for it abounds226 in all the mountains in the neighbourhood. I have also studied a new system of extraction, by which large savings could be made. All is ready; it is only a matter of finding the capital.'
'The Carmel Silver Mining Company!' murmured Saccard.
But it was now the engineer who, with raised eyes, went from one plan to another, again full of this labour of his life, seized with fever, at thought of the brilliant future which was[Pg 61] sleeping there while want was paralysing him. 'And these are only the small preliminary affairs,' he continued. 'Look at this series of plans; here is the grand stroke, a complete railway system traversing Asia Minor227 from end to end. The lack of convenient and rapid communication, that is the primary cause of the stagnation228 into which this rich country has sunk. You would not find a single carriage road there, travel and transport being invariably effected by means of mules229 or camels. So imagine the revolution if the iron horse could penetrate230 to the confines of the desert! Industry and commerce would be increased tenfold, civilisation174 would be victorious231, Europe would at last open the gates of the East. Oh! if it interests you, we will talk of it in detail. And you shall see, you shall see!'
And such was his excitement that he could not refrain from straightway entering into explanations. It was especially during his journey to Constantinople that he had studied his projected railway system. The great, the only difficulty was presented by the Taurus mountains; but he had explored the different passes, and asserted that a direct and comparatively inexpensive line was possible. However, it was not his intention to make the system complete at one stroke. On obtaining a full grant from the Sultan, it would be prudent at the outset to merely lay down the mother line, from Broussa to Beyrout, by way of Angora and Aleppo. Later on, they might lay down branch lines from Smyrna to Angora, and from Trebizond to Angora, by way of Erzeroum and Sivas. 'And after that, and after that,' he continued; but, instead of finishing, he contented himself with a smile, not daring to tell how far he had carried the audacity232 of his projects.
'Ah! the plains at the foot of Taurus,' said Madame Caroline, in the slow, low voice of an awakened233 sleeper234; 'what a delightful235 paradise! One has only to scratch the earth, and harvests spring up in abundance. The boughs236 of the fruit trees, peach, cherry, fig78, and almond, break under their weight of fruit. And what fields of olive and mulberry—dense as woods! And what a natural, easy existence in that light atmosphere, under that sky for ever blue!'
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Saccard began to laugh, with that shrill237 laugh betokening238 a fine appetite, which was his whenever he scented239 fortune. And, as Hamelin went on talking yet of more projects, notably of the establishment of a bank at Constantinople, with just an allusion240 to the all-powerful relations which he had left behind him, especially with the entourage of the Grand Vizier, he interrupted him to say gaily241: 'Why, it is Tom Tiddler's land, one could sell it!' Then, very familiarly resting both hands on the shoulders of Madame Caroline, who was still sitting at the table, he added: 'Don't despair, madame. I have great sympathy for you; between us, your brother and I, we will do something that will benefit all of us. You'll see; be patient, and wait.'
During the ensuing month Saccard again procured242 some little jobs for the engineer; and though he talked no further of the latter's grand enterprises, he must have steadily243 thought of them, hesitating the while on account of their crushing magnitude.
The bond of intimacy between them was drawn19 tighter, however, by the wholly natural fashion in which Madame Caroline came to occupy herself with his household, the household of a single man, whose resources were diminished by useless expenses, and who was the worse served the more servants he had. He, so shrewd out of doors, famous for the vigour and cunning of his hand when any huge robbery had to be perpetrated, let everything go helter-skelter at home, careless of the frightful waste that tripled his expenses; and the absence of a woman was cruelly felt, even in the smallest matters. When Madame Caroline perceived how he was being pillaged244, she at first gave him advice, and then intervened in person, with the result of effecting a saving in two or three directions, so that one day he laughingly offered her a position as his housekeeper245. Why not? She had sought a place as governess, and might well accept an honourable246 situation, which would permit her to wait. The offer made in jest became a serious one. Would it not give her occupation, and enable her to assist her brother to the extent, at any rate, of the three hundred francs a month that Saccard[Pg 63] was willing to give? And so she accepted. She reformed the household in a week, discharging the chef and his wife, and replacing them by a female cook, who, with the valet and the coachman, would suffice for Saccard's requirements. Further, she retained but one horse and one carriage, assumed authority over everything, and examined the accounts with such scrupulous113 care that at the end of the first fortnight she had reduced expenses by one-half. He was delighted, and jokingly told her that it was he who was now robbing her, and that she ought to have claimed a percentage on all the profits that she realised for him.
Then a very intimate life began. Saccard had the idea of removing the screws that fastened the door which supplied communication between the two suites247 of rooms, and they went up and down freely, from one dining-room to the other, by the inner staircase. While her brother was at work, shut up from morning till night, busy with the task of putting his Eastern designs in order, Madame Caroline, leaving her own household to the care of the one servant in her employ, came down at all hours of the day to give her orders, as though she were at home. It had become Saccard's joy to see this tall, stately woman continually appear and cross the rooms with a firm, superb step, bringing with her the ever-unexpected gaiety of her white hair flying about her young face. Again she was very gay; she had recovered her courage now that she felt she was useful once more, her time occupied, her feet ever on the move. Without any affectation of simplicity, she always wore a black dress, in the pocket of which could be heard the jingling248 of her bunch of keys; and it certainly amused her—she, the woman of learning, the philosopher—to be solely a good housewife, the housekeeper of a prodigal90, whom she was beginning to love as one loves naughty children. He, greatly attracted for a time, calculating that after all there was but a difference of fourteen years between them, had asked himself what would happen should he some day talk to her of love. He knew, however, that a friend of her brother's, a Monsieur Beaudoin, a merchant whom they had left at Beyrout, and whose return to France was near at[Pg 64] hand, had been much in love with her, to the point indeed of offering to wait for the death of her husband, who had just been shut up in an asylum, crazy with alcoholism.
In this connection it suddenly happened that Madame Caroline subsided249 into deep sorrow. One morning she came down dejected, extremely pale, and with heavy eyes. Saccard could learn nothing from her; in fact, he ceased to question her, so obstinately did she declare that there was no trouble, and that she was just as usual. Only on the following day did he understand matters on finding in the rooms upstairs the printed notification of M. Beaudoin's marriage to an English consul's daughter, who was both very young and immensely rich. The blow must have been the harder because of the arrival of the news in this way, without any preparation, without even a farewell. It was a complete collapse250 in the unfortunate woman's existence, the loss of the far-off hope to which she had clung in hours of disaster. And chance also proved abominably cruel, for only two days before she had learnt that her husband was dead; for forty-eight hours she had been able to believe in the approaching realisation of her dream, and then her life had fallen into ruin, leaving her as if annihilated251. That same evening, when, in accordance with her habit, she entered Saccard's rooms to talk of the orders for the next day, he spoke to her of her misfortune so gently that she burst out sobbing252; and then the inevitable253 came to pass, words of comfort were at last followed by words of love, and Madame Caroline fell.
For a fortnight afterwards she remained in a state of frightful sadness. The strength of life, that impulse which makes existence a necessity and a delight, had abandoned her. She attended to her manifold occupations, but like one whose mind was far away, without any illusion as to the ratio and interest of things. She personified the human machine still toiling254 on, but in despair over the annihilation of everything. And, amid this shipwreck255 of her bravery and gaiety, she had but one distraction257, that of passing all her spare time with her brow pressed against the panes258 of one of the windows of the large work-room, her eyes fixed upon the garden of the[Pg 65] neighbouring mansion, that H?tel Beauvilliers where, since the first days of her sojourn259 in the neighbourhood, she had divined the presence of anguish260, of one of those hidden miseries261 which are all the more distressing262 by reason of the effort made to save appearances. There, too, were beings who suffered, and her sorrow was, so to speak, steeped in their tears; at sight of which she was so overcome with melancholy263 as to deem herself insensible, dead, lost in the sorrow of others.
These Beauvilliers—who, to say nothing of their immense estates in Touraine and Anjou, had formerly possessed a magnificent mansion in the Rue de Grenelle—now, in Paris, only owned this old pleasure-house, built at the beginning of the last century outside the city walls, and at present shut in among the gloomy buildings of the Rue Saint-Lazare. The few beautiful trees of the garden lingered there, as at the bottom of a well; and the cracked, crumbling264 entrance-steps were covered with moss265. The place seemed like some corner of Nature put in prison, a meek266, mournful nook where dumb despair reigned267, and where the sun only cast a greenish light, which chilled one's shoulders. And in this still, damp, cellar-like place, at the top of the disjoined steps, the first person noticed by Madame Caroline had been the Countess de Beauvilliers, a tall, thin woman of sixty, with perfectly268 white hair and a very noble old-time air. With her large straight nose, thin lips, and particularly long neck, she looked like a very old swan, meekly269 woeful. Then, almost immediately behind her, had come her daughter, Alice de Beauvilliers, now twenty-five years old, but with such an impoverished270 constitution that one would have taken her for a little girl, had it not been for the spoiled complexion and already drawn features of her face. She was her mother over again, but more puny271 and with less aristocratic nobility, her neck elongated272 to the point of ugliness, having nothing left her, indeed, but the pitiful charm that may cling to the last daughter of a great race. The two women had been living alone since the son, Ferdinand de Beauvilliers, had enlisted273 in the Pontifical274 Zouaves, after the battle of Castelfidardo, lost by Lamoricière.[Pg 66] Every day, when it did not rain, they thus appeared, one behind the other, and, descending275 the steps, made the circuit of the little central grass-plot, without exchanging a word. The path was merely edged with ivy276; flowers would not have grown in such a spot, or perhaps they would have cost too dear. And the slow promenade—undoubtedly a simple constitutional—made by those two pale women, under the centenarian trees which long ago had witnessed so many festivities, and which the neighbouring bourgeois houses were now stifling277, was suggestive of a melancholy grief, as though they had been performing some mourning ceremony for old, dead things.
Her interest aroused, Madame Caroline had watched her neighbours out of tender sympathy, without evil curiosity of any kind; and gradually from her view of the garden she penetrated278 their life, which they hid with jealous care from the street. There was still a horse in the stable, and a carriage in the coach-house, in the care of an old domestic who was at once valet, coachman, and door-porter; just as there was a cook, who also served as a chambermaid; but if the carriage went out at the main gate, with the horse properly harnessed, to take the ladies visiting, and if there was a certain display at table in the winter, at the fortnightly dinners to which a few friends came, how long were the fasts, how sordid279 the economies that were hourly practised in order to secure this false semblance280 of fortune! In a little shed, screened from every eye, there were, in order to reduce the laundry bill, continual washings of wretched garments worn out by frequent soaping, and mended thread by thread; three or four vegetables were picked for the evening meal; bread was allowed to grow stale on a board, in order that less of it might be eaten; all sorts of avaricious281, mean, and touching282 practices were resorted to: the old coachman would sew up the holes in Mademoiselle's boots, the cook would blacken the tips of Madame's faded gloves with ink; and then the mother's dresses were passed over to the daughter after ingenious transformations283; and hats and bonnets284 lasted for years, thanks to changes of flowers and ribbons.
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When they were expecting no one, the reception rooms on the ground floor were kept carefully closed, as well as the large apartments of the first storey; for, of the whole large pile, the two women now occupied but one small room, which they used both as their dining-room and boudoir. When the window was partly open, the Countess could be seen mending her linen, like some needy285 little bourgeoise; while the young girl, between her piano and her box of water-colours, knit stockings and mittens286 for her mother. One very stormy day, both were seen to go down into the garden, and gather up the sand of the pathway, which the violence of the rain was sweeping287 away.
Madame Caroline now knew their history. The Countess de Beauvilliers had suffered much from her husband, a rake of whom she had never complained. One evening they had brought him home to her at Vend288?me, with the death-rattle in his throat and a bullet-hole through his body. There was talk of a hunting accident, some shot fired by a jealous gamekeeper whose wife or daughter he had probably seduced. And the worst of it was that with him vanished that formerly colossal fortune of the Beauvilliers, consisting of immense tracts289 of land, regal domains290, which the Revolution had already found diminished, and which his father and himself had now exhausted291. Of all the vast property, a single farm remained, the Aublets, situated292 at a few leagues from Vend?me and yielding a rental293 of about fifteen thousand francs, the sole resource left for the widow and her two children. The mansion in the Rue de Grenelle had long since been sold; and that in the Rue Saint-Lazare consumed the larger part of the fifteen thousand francs derived294 from the farm, for it was heavily mortgaged, and would in its turn be sold if they did not pay the interest. Thus scarcely six or seven thousand francs were left for the support of four persons, of the household of a noble family still unwilling295 to abdicate296. It was now eight years since the Countess, on becoming a widow with a son of twenty and a daughter of seventeen, had, amid the crumbling of her fortune, and with her aristocratic pride waxing within her, sworn that she would live on bread and[Pg 68] water rather than fall. From that time she had indeed had but one thought—to hold her rank, to marry her daughter to a man of equal nobility, and to make a soldier of her son. At first Ferdinand had caused her mortal anxieties in consequence of some youthful follies297, debts which it became necessary to pay; but, warned of the situation in a solemn interview with his mother, he had not repeated the offence, for he had a tender heart at bottom, albeit298 he was simply an idle cypher in the world, unfitted for any employment, any possible place in contemporary society. And, now that he was a soldier of the Pope, he was still a cause of secret anguish to the Countess, for he lacked health, delicate despite his proud bearing, with impoverished, feeble blood, which rendered the Roman climate dangerous for him. As for Alice's marriage, it was so slow in coming that the sad mother's eyes filled with tears when she looked at her daughter already growing old, withering299 whilst she waited. Despite her air of melancholy insignificance300, the girl was not stupid; she had ardent aspirations301 for life, for a man who would love her, for happiness; but, not wishing to plunge191 the house into yet deeper grief, she pretended to have renounced302 everything; making a jest of marriage, and saying that it was her vocation303 to be an old maid; though at night she would weep on her pillow, almost dying of grief at the thought that she would never be mated. The Countess, however, by prodigies of avarice304, had succeeded in laying aside twenty thousand francs, which constituted Alice's entire dowry. She had likewise saved from the wreck256 a few jewels—a bracelet305, some finger-rings and ear-rings, the whole possibly worth ten thousand francs—a very meagre dowry, a wedding-gift of which she did not dare to speak, since it was scarcely enough to meet the necessary expenditure306, should the awaited husband ever appear. And yet she would not despair, but struggled on in spite of everything, unwilling to abandon a single one of the privileges of her birth, still as haughty307, as observant of the proprieties308 as ever, incapable309 of going out on foot, or of cutting off a single entremets when she was receiving guests, but ever reducing the outlay310 of her hidden life, condemning[Pg 69] herself for weeks to potatoes without butter, in order that she might add another fifty francs to her daughter's ever-insufficient dowry. It was a painful, puerile311 daily heroism312 that she practised, whilst week by week the house was crumbling a little more about their heads.
So far, however, Madame Caroline had not had an opportunity of speaking to the Countess and her daughter. Although she finally came to know the most private details of their life, those which they hid from the entire world, she had as yet only exchanged glances with them, those glances that suddenly turn into a feeling of secret sympathy. The Princess d'Orviedo was destined313 to bring them together. She had the idea of appointing a sort of committee of superintendence for her Institute of Work—a committee composed of ten ladies, who would meet twice a month, visit the Institute in detail, and see that all the departments were properly managed. Having reserved the selection of these ladies for herself, she designated, among the very first, Madame de Beauvilliers, who had been a great friend of hers in former days, but had become simply her neighbour, now that she had retired from the world. And it had come about that the committee of superintendence, having suddenly lost its secretary, Saccard, who retained authority over the management of the establishment, had recommended Madame Caroline as a model secretary, such a one as could not be found elsewhere. The duties of the post were rather arduous314; there was much clerical work, and even some material cares, that were somewhat repugnant to the ladies of the committee. From the start, however, Madame Caroline had shown herself an admirable hospitaller; for her unsatisfied longing for maternity, her hopeless love of children, kindled315 within her an active tenderness for all those poor creatures whom it was sought to save from the Parisian gutter316. In this wise, at the last meeting of the committee, she had met the Countess de Beauvilliers; but the latter had given her rather a cold salute317, striving to conceal60 her secret embarrassment, for she undoubtedly realised that this Madame Caroline was an eye-witness of her poverty. However, they now both bowed[Pg 70] whenever their eyes met, since it would have been gross impoliteness to pretend they did not recognise each other.
One day, in the large workroom, while Hamelin was correcting a plan in accordance with some new calculations he had made, and Saccard, standing71 by, was watching his work, Madame Caroline, at the window as usual, gazed at the Countess and her daughter as they made their tour of the garden. That morning she noticed that they were wearing shoes which a rag-picker would have scorned to touch.
'Ah! the poor women!' she murmured; 'how terrible and distressing it must be, that comedy of luxury which they think themselves obliged to play!'
So saying, she drew back, hiding herself behind the window-curtain, for fear lest the mother should see her and suffer yet more intensely at being thus watched. She herself had grown calmer during the three weeks that she had been lingering every morning at that window; the great sorrow born of her abandonment was quieting down; it seemed as if the sight of the woes318 of others induced a more courageous319 acceptance of her own, that fall which she had deemed the fall of her entire life. Again, indeed, she occasionally caught herself laughing.
For a moment longer, and with an air of profound meditation320, she watched the two women pace the garden, green with moss; then, quickly turning towards Saccard, she exclaimed: 'Tell me why it is that I cannot be sad. No, it never lasts, has never lasted; I cannot be sad, whatever happens to me. Is it egotism? Really, I do not think so. Egotism would be wrong; and, besides, it is in vain that I am gay; my heart seems ready to break at sight of the least sorrow. Reconcile these things; I am gay, and yet I should weep over all the unfortunates who pass if I did not restrain myself—understanding as I do that the smallest scrap321 of bread would serve their purpose better than my vain tears.'
So speaking, she laughed her beautiful brave laugh, like a courageous woman who prefers action to garrulous322 pity.
'And yet,' she continued, 'God knows that I have had occasion to despair of everything! Ah! fortune has not favoured me so far. After my marriage, falling as I did into[Pg 71] a perfect hell, insulted, beaten, I really believed that there was nothing for me to do but to throw myself into the water. I did not throw myself into it, however, and a fortnight later, when I started with my brother for the East, I was quite lively again, full of immense hope. And at the time of our return to Paris, when almost everything else failed us, I passed abominable nights, when I pictured ourselves dying of hunger amid all our fine projects. We did not die, however, and again I began to dream of wonderful things, happy things, that sometimes made me laugh as I sat alone. And lately, when I received that frightful blow, which I still don't dare to speak of, my heart seemed torn away; yes, I positively323 felt it stop beating; I thought that it had ceased to be, I fancied that I myself no longer existed, annihilated as I was. But not at all! Here is existence returning; to-day I laugh, and to-morrow I shall hope; I shall be longing to live on, to live for ever. Is it not extraordinary that I cannot long be sad?'
Saccard, who was laughing also, shrugged324 his shoulders. 'Bah! you are like the rest of the world. Such is life,' he said.
'Do you think so?' she cried, in astonishment325. 'It seems to me there are some people who are so sad that they never know a gay moment, people who render their own life intolerable, in such dark colours do they paint it. Oh! not that I entertain any illusion as to the pleasantness and beauty which it offers. In my case it has been too hard: I have seen it too closely, too freely, under all aspects. It is execrable when it is not ignoble326. But what would you have? I love it all the same. Why? I do not know. In vain does everything crumble327 around me; on the morrow I find myself standing on the ruins, gay and confident. I have often thought that my case is, on a small scale, the case of humanity, which certainly lives in frightful wretchedness, cheered up, however, by the youth of each succeeding generation. After each crisis that throws me down, there comes something like a new youth, a spring time whose promise of sap warms me and inspirits my heart. So true is this that, after some severe affliction, if I go out into the street, into the sunshine, I straightway begin[Pg 72] loving, hoping, feeling happy again. And age has no influence upon me; I am simple enough to grow old without noticing it. You see, I have read a great deal more than a woman should; I no longer know where I myself am going, any more than this vast world knows where it is going, for that matter. Only, in spite of myself, it seems to me that I am going, indeed that we are all going, towards something very good and thoroughly gay.'
Although affected328, she ended by turning the matter into jest, trying to hide the emotion born of her hope; whilst her brother, who had raised his head, looked at her with mingled329 adoration and gratitude.
'Oh! you,' he declared, 'you are made for catastrophes; you personify the love of life, whatever it may be.'
These daily morning conversations gradually became instinct with a kind of fever. If Madame Caroline returned to that natural inherent gaiety of hers, it was due to the courage which Saccard, with his active zeal for great enterprises, imparted. It was, indeed, now almost decided330: they were going to turn the famous portfolio to account; and when the financier's shrill voice rang out everything seemed to acquire life, to assume colossal proportions. They would, in the first place, lay hands on the Mediterranean, conquer it by means of their steamship331 company. And, enumerating332 all the ports where they would establish stations, he mingled dim classical memories with his stock-exchange enthusiasm, chanting the praises of that sea, the only one which the old world had known, that blue sea around which civilisation had blossomed, and whose waves had bathed the ancient cities—Athens, Rome, Tyre, Alexandria, Carthage, Marseilles—all those seats of commerce and empire that have made Europe. Then, when they had ensured themselves possession of that vast waterway to the East, they would make a start in Syria with that little matter of the Carmel Silver Mining Company, just a few millions to gain en passant, but a capital thing to introduce, for the idea of a silver mine, of money found in the bowels333 of the earth and thrown up by the shovelful334, was still attractive to the public, especially when ticketed with a prodigious,[Pg 73] resounding335 name like that of Carmel. There were also coal mines there, coal just beneath the rock, which would be worth gold when the country should be covered with factories; to say nothing of other little ventures, which would serve as interludes—the establishment of banks and industrial syndicates, and the opening up and felling of the vast Lebanon forests, whose huge trees were rotting where they stood for want of roads. Finally, he came to the giant morsel336, the Oriental Railway Company, and then he began to rave31, for that system of railroads cast over Asia Minor from one end to the other, like a net, to him meant speculation, financial life, at one stroke seizing hold of a new prey—that old world still intact, with incalculable wealth concealed337 under the ignorance and grime of ages. He scented the treasure, and neighed like a war-horse at the smell of powder.
Madame Caroline, albeit possessed of sterling338 good sense, and not easily influenced by feverish imaginations, yielded at last to this enthusiasm, no longer detecting its extravagance. In truth, it fanned her affection for the East, her longing to again behold339 that wonderful country, where she had thought herself so happy; and, by a logical counter-effect, without calculation on her part, it was she who, by her glowing descriptions and wealth of information, stimulated341 the fever of Saccard. When she began talking of Beyrout, where she had lived for three years, she could never stop; Beyrout lying at the foot of the Lebanon range, on a tongue of land, between a stretch of red sand and piles of fallen rock; Beyrout with its houses reared in amphitheatral fashion amid vast gardens; a delightful paradise of orange, lemon, and palm trees. Then there were all the cities of the coast: on the north, Antioch, fallen from its whilom splendour; on the south, Saida, the Sidon of long ago, Saint Jean d'Acre, Jaffa, and Tyre, now Sur, which sums them all up: Tyre, whose merchants were kings, whose mariners342 made the circuit of Africa, and which to-day, with its sand-choked harbour, is nothing but a field of ruins, the dust of palaces, where stand only a few fishermen's wretched and scattered343 huts.
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And Madame Caroline had accompanied her brother everywhere; she knew Aleppo, Angora, Broussa, Smyrna, and even Trebizond. She had lived a month at Jerusalem, sleeping amid the traffic of the holy places; then two months more at Damascus, the queen of the East, standing in the midst of a vast plain—a commercial, industrial city, which the Mecca and Bagdad caravans344 fill with swarming life. She was also acquainted with the valleys and mountains, with the villages of the Maronites and the Druses, perched upon table-lands or hidden away in gorges345, and with the cultivated and the sterile346 fields. And from the smallest nooks, from the silent deserts as from the great cities, she had brought back the same admiration347 for inexhaustible, luxuriant nature, the same wrath348 against evil-minded humanity. How much natural wealth was disdained349 or wasted! She spoke of the burdens that crushed both commerce and industry, the imbecile law that prevents the investment of more than a certain amount of capital in agriculture, the routine that leaves the peasant with nothing but the old plough which was in use before the days of Christ, and the ignorance in which millions of men are steeped even to-day, like idiotic350 children stopped in their growth. Once upon a time the coast had proved too small; the cities had touched each other; but now life had gone away towards the West, and only an immense, abandoned cemetery seemed to remain. No schools, no roads, the worst of Governments, justice sold, execrable officials, crushing taxes, absurd laws, idleness, and fanaticism351, to say nothing of the continual shocks of civil war, massacres352 which destroyed entire villages.
And at thought of this she became angry, and asked if it was allowable that men should thus spoil the work of nature, a land so blest, of such exquisite beauty, where all climates were to be found—the glowing plains, the temperate353 mountain-sides, the perpetual snows of the lofty peaks. And her love of life, her ever-buoyant hopefulness, filled her with enthusiasm at the idea of the all-powerful magic wand with which science and speculation could strike this old sleeping soil, and suddenly reawaken it.
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'Look here!' cried Saccard, 'that Carmel gorge which you have sketched, where there are now only stones and mastic-trees, well! as soon as we begin to work the silver mine, there will start up first a village, then a city! And we will clear all those sand-choked harbours, and protect them with strong breakwaters. Large ships will anchor where now mere29 skiffs do not venture to moor354. And you will behold a complete resurrection over all those depopulated plains, those deserted355 passes, which our railway lines will traverse—yes! fields will be cleared, roads and canals built, new cities will spring from the soil, life will return as it returns to a sick body, when we stimulate340 the system by injecting new blood into the exhausted veins356. Yes! money will work these miracles!'
And such was the evoking357 power of his piercing voice that Madame Caroline really saw the predicted civilisation rise up before her. Those bare diagrams, those sketches359 in outline, became animated and peopled; it was the dream that she had sometimes had of an East cleansed360 of its filth361, drawn from its ignorance, enjoying its fertile soil and charming sky, amid all the refinements362 of science. She had already witnessed such a miracle at Port Said, which in so few years had lately sprung up on a barren shore; at first some huts to shelter the few labourers who began the operations, then a city of two thousand souls, followed by one of ten thousand, with houses, huge shops, a gigantic pier358, life and comfort stubbornly created by toiling human ants. And it was just this that she saw rising again—the forward, irresistible march, the social impulse towards the greatest possible sum of happiness, the need of action, of going ahead, without knowing exactly whither, but at all events with more elbow-room and under improved circumstances; and amid it all there was the globe turned upside down by the ant-swarm rebuilding its abode363, its work never ending, fresh sources of enjoyment ever being discovered, man's power increasing tenfold, the earth belonging to him more and more every day. Money, aiding science, yielded progress.
Hamelin, who was listening with a smile, then gave vent[Pg 76] to a prudent remark: 'All this is the poetry of results, and we are not yet at the prose of starting.'
But Saccard's enthusiasm was only increased by the extravagance of Madame Caroline's conceptions, and matters even became worse when, on beginning to read some books about the East, he opened a history of Bonaparte's Egyptian expedition. The memory of the Crusades already haunted him, the memory of that return of the West to its cradle the East, that great movement which had carried extreme Europe back to the original country, still in full flower, and where there was so much to learn. But he was struck still more by the towering figure of Napoleon, going thither364 to wage war, with a grand and mysterious object. Though he had talked of conquering Egypt, of installing a French establishment there, and of thus placing the commerce of the Levant in the hands of France, he had certainly not told all; and in all that was vain and enigmatical about the expedition, Saccard fancied he could detect some mysterious, hugely ambitious project, an immense empire refounded, Napoleon crowned at Constantinople as Emperor of the East and the Indies, thus realising the dream of Alexander, and rising to a greater height than even C?sar and Charlemagne. Had he not said at Saint Helena, in speaking of Sidney Smith, the general who had stopped him before Saint Jean d'Acre: 'That man ruined my fortune'? And it was this gigantic thought of conquering the East, the scheme which the Crusaders had attempted, and which Napoleon had been unable to accomplish, that inflamed365 Saccard; though, in his case, it was to be a rational conquest, effected by the double agency of science and money. Since civilisation had flown from the East to the West, why should it not come back towards the East, returning to the first garden of humanity, to that Eden of the Hindustan peninsula which had fallen asleep beneath the fatigue366 of centuries? He would endow it with fresh youth; he would galvanise the earthly paradise, make it habitable again by means of steam and electricity, replace Asia Minor in the centre of the world, as a point of intersection367 of the great natural highways that bind368 the continents together.[Pg 77] And it was no longer a question of gaining millions, but milliards and milliards.
After that, Hamelin and he engaged in long conversations every morning. Vast as was their hope, the difficulties that presented themselves were numerous and colossal. The engineer, who had been at Beyrout in 1862, at the very time of the horrible butchery of the Maronite Christians369 by the Druses—a butchery which had necessitated370 the intervention371 of France—did not conceal the obstacles which would be encountered among those populations, who were ever battling together, delivered over to the tender mercies of the local authorities. However, he had powerful relations at Constantinople, where he had assured himself the support of the Grand Vizier, Fuad Pasha, a man of great merit, an avowed372 partisan373 of reforms, from whom, he flattered himself, he would obtain all necessary grants. On the other hand, whilst prophesying the inevitable bankruptcy374 of the Ottoman Empire, he saw a rather favourable375 circumstance in its unlimited376 need of money, in the loans which followed one upon another from year to year: for although a needy Government may offer no personal guarantee, it is usually quite ready to come to an understanding with private enterprises, if it can detect the slightest profit in them. And would it not be a practical way of solving the eternal and embarrassing Eastern question to interest the empire in great works of civilisation, and gradually lead it towards progress, that it might no longer constitute a monstrous377 barrier between Europe and Asia? What a fine patriotic378 r?le the French Companies would play in all this!
Then, one morning, Hamelin quietly broached379 the secret programme to which he sometimes alluded380, and which he smilingly called the crowning of his edifice.
'When we have become the masters,' said he, 'we will restore the kingdom of Palestine, and put the Pope there. At first we might content ourselves with Jerusalem, with Jaffa as a seaport381. Then Syria will be declared independent, and can be annexed382. You know that the time is near when it will be impossible for the Papacy to remain at Rome under the[Pg 78] revolting humiliations in store for it. It is for that day that we must have all in readiness.'
Saccard listened open-mouthed whilst Hamelin said these things in a thoroughly unaffected way, actuated solely by his deep Catholic faith. The financier himself did not shrink from extravagant383 dreams, but never would he have gone to such a point as this. This man of science, apparently384 so cold, quite astounded385 him. 'It's madness!' he cried. 'The Porte won't give up Jerusalem.'
'Oh! why not?' quietly rejoined Hamelin. 'It is always in such desperate need of money! Jerusalem is a burden to it; it would be a good riddance. The Porte, you know, often can't tell what course to take between the various sects386 which dispute for possession of the sanctuaries387. Moreover, the Pope would have true supporters among the Syrian Maronites, for you are not unaware388 that he has established a college for their priests at Rome. In fact, I have thought the matter over carefully, have calculated everything, and this will be the new era, the triumphant389 era of Catholicism. It may be said that we should be sending the Pope too far away, that he would find himself isolated390, thrust out of European affairs. But with what brilliancy and authority would he not radiate when once he was enthroned in the holy places, and spoke in the name of Christ from the very land where Christ Himself spoke! That is his patrimony391, there should be his kingdom. And, rest easy, we will build this kingdom up, firm and powerful; we will put it beyond the reach of political disturbances392, by basing its budget—guaranteed by the resources of the country—on a vast bank for the shares of which the Catholics of the entire world will scramble393.'
Saccard, who had begun to smile, already attracted by the magnitude of the project, although not convinced, could not help christening this bank with a joyous394 'Eureka! The Treasury395 of the Holy Sepulchre, eh? Superb! There you have it!'
But just then his eyes met those of Madame Caroline, beaming with common-sense. She was smiling also, but like[Pg 79] one who is sceptical, even a little vexed396. She felt ashamed of his enthusiasm.
'All the same, my dear Hamelin,' said he, 'it will be best for us to keep secret this crowning of the edifice, as you call it. Folks might make fun of us. And, besides, our programme is already a terribly heavy one; it is a good plan to reserve the final result, the glorious ending, for the initiated397 alone.'
'Undoubtedly; such has always been my intention,' declared the engineer. 'That shall be the mystery.'
And thereupon, that very day, they finally decided to turn the portfolio of schemes to account, to launch the whole huge series of projects. They would begin by founding a small financial establishment, to promote the first enterprises; then success aiding, they would, little by little, subjugate398 the market and conquer the world.
The next day, as Saccard went up to take some order from the Princess d'Orviedo respecting the Institute of Work, he remembered the dream that he had for a moment cherished of becoming this queen of charity's prince-consort, the mere dispenser and manager of the fortune of the poor. And he smiled, for he now thought all that a little silly. He was built to make life, not to dress the wounds that life has made. And now he was about to find himself at work again, in the thick of the battle of interests, in the midst of that race for happiness which has brought about the very progress of humanity, from century to century, towards greater joy and greater light.
That same day he found Madame Caroline alone in the work-room among the diagrams. She was standing at one of the windows, detained there by the appearance of the Countess de Beauvilliers and her daughter in the neighbouring garden at an unusual hour. The two women were reading a letter with an air of deep sadness; a letter, no doubt, from the son Ferdinand, whose position at Borne could not be a brilliant one.
'Look,' said Madame Caroline, on recognising Saccard. 'Another sorrow for those unfortunates. The poor women in the streets give me less pain.'
[Pg 80]
'Bah!' he gaily cried, 'you shall ask them to come to see me. We will enrich them also, since we are to make everybody's fortune.'
And, in his happy fever, he sought her lips, to press a kiss upon them. But she abruptly399 drew back, and became grave and pale.
'No, I beg of you,' said she.
'Really, would it pain you?'
'Yes, deeply.'
'But I adore you.'
'No, do not say that—you are going to be so busy. Besides, I assure you that I shall feel true friendship for you if you prove the active man I think, and do all the great things you say. Come, friendship is far better!'
He listened to her, still smiling and irresolute400. 'Then, friends only?' said he.
'Yes, I will be your comrade, I will help you. Friends, great friends!' With these words she offered him her cheeks, and he, conquered, and realizing that she was right, imprinted401 two loud kisses upon them.
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收听单词发音
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1
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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11
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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13
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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14
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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16
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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18
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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19
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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20
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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21
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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22
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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24
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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25
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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26
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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27
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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28
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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29
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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30
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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31
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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32
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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33
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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34
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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35
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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36
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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37
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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40
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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41
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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42
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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43
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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44
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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45
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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46
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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47
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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48
rascality
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| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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49
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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50
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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51
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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52
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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53
maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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54
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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55
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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56
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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57
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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58
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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59
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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60
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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61
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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62
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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63
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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64
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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65
immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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67
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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68
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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69
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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70
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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71
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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72
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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73
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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74
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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75
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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76
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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77
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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78
fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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79
notaries
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| n.公证人，公证员( notary的名词复数 ) | |
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80
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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81
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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82
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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83
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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85
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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86
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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87
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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88
regenerated
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| v.新生，再生( regenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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90
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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91
prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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92
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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93
prophesying
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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94
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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95
contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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96
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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97
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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98
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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99
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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101
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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102
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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103
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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104
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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105
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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106
squandering
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
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107
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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108
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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109
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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110
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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111
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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112
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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113
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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114
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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115
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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116
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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117
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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118
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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119
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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120
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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121
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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122
probity
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| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
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123
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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124
brigandage
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| n.抢劫；盗窃；土匪；强盗 | |
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125
prodigies
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| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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126
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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127
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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128
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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129
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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130
interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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131
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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132
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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133
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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134
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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135
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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136
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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137
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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138
collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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139
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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140
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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141
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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142
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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143
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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144
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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145
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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146
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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147
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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148
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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149
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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150
chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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151
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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152
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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153
monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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154
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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155
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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156
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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157
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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158
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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159
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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160
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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161
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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162
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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163
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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164
polytechnic
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| adj.各种工艺的，综合技术的；n.工艺(专科)学校；理工(专科)学校 | |
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165
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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166
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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168
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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169
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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170
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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171
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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172
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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173
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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174
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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175
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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176
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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177
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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178
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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179
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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180
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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181
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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182
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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183
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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184
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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185
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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186
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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187
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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188
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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189
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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190
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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191
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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192
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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193
economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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194
evolutionary
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| adj.进化的；演化的，演变的；[生]进化论的 | |
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195
notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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196
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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197
investors
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| n.投资者，出资者( investor的名词复数 ) | |
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198
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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199
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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200
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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201
tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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202
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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203
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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204
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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205
germinating
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| n.& adj.发芽（的）v.（使）发芽( germinate的现在分词 ) | |
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206
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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207
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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208
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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209
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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210
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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211
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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212
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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213
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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214
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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215
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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216
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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217
vegetate
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| v.无所事事地过活 | |
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218
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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219
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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220
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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221
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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222
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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223
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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224
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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225
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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226
abounds
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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227
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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228
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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229
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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230
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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231
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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232
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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233
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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234
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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235
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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236
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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237
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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238
betokening
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
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239
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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240
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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241
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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242
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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243
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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244
pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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246
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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247
suites
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| n.套( suite的名词复数 )；一套房间；一套家具；一套公寓 | |
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248
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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249
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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250
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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251
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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252
sobbing
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|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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253
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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254
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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255
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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256
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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257
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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258
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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259
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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260
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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261
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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262
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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263
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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264
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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265
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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266
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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267
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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268
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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269
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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270
impoverished
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|
| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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271
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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272
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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273
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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274
pontifical
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| adj.自以为是的，武断的 | |
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275
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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276
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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277
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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278
penetrated
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|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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279
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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280
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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281
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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282
touching
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|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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283
transformations
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| n.变化( transformation的名词复数 )；转换；转换；变换 | |
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284
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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285
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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286
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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287
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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288
vend
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| v.公开表明观点，出售，贩卖 | |
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289
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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290
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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291
exhausted
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|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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292
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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293
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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294
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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295
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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296
abdicate
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| v.让位，辞职，放弃 | |
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297
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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298
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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299
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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300
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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301
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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302
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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303
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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304
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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305
bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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306
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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307
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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308
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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309
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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310
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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311
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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312
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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313
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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314
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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315
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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316
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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317
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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318
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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319
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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320
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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321
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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322
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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323
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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324
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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325
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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326
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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327
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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328
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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329
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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330
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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331
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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332
enumerating
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的现在分词 ) | |
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333
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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334
shovelful
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| n．一铁铲 | |
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335
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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336
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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337
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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338
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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339
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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340
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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341
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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342
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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343
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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344
caravans
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| （可供居住的）拖车（通常由机动车拖行）( caravan的名词复数 )； 篷车； （穿过沙漠地带的）旅行队（如商队） | |
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345
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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346
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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347
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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348
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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349
disdained
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|
| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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350
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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351
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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352
massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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353
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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354
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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355
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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356
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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357
evoking
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
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358
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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359
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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360
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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361
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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362
refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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363
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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364
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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365
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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366
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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367
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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368
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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369
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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370
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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371
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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372
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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373
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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374
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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375
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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376
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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377
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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378
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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379
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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380
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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381
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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382
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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383
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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384
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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385
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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386
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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387
sanctuaries
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| n.避难所( sanctuary的名词复数 )；庇护；圣所；庇护所 | |
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388
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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389
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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390
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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391
patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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392
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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393
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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394
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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395
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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396
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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397
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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398
subjugate
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| v.征服；抑制 | |
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399
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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400
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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401
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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