By dint5 of jostling with men, travelling through many lands, and studying a variety of conflicting customs, his ideas had been modified and had become sceptical. He ceased to have fixed6 principles of right and wrong, for he saw what was called a crime in one country lauded7 as a virtue8 in another. In the perpetual struggle of selfish interests his heart grew cold, then contracted, and then dried up. The blood of the Grandets did not fail of its destiny; Charles became hard, and eager for prey9. He sold Chinamen, Negroes, birds’ nests, children, artists; he practised usury10 on a large scale; the habit of defrauding11 custom-houses soon made him less scrupulous12 about the rights of his fellow men. He went to the Island of St. Thomas and bought, for a mere13 song, merchandise that had been captured by pirates, and took it to ports where he could sell it at a good price. If the pure and noble face of Eugenie went with him on his first voyage, like that image of the Virgin14 which Spanish mariners15 fastened to their masts, if he attributed his first success to the magic influence of the prayers and intercessions of his gentle love, later on women of other kinds,—blacks, mulattoes, whites, and Indian dancing-girls,—orgies and adventures in many lands, completely effaced16 all recollection of his cousin, of Saumur, of the house, the bench, the kiss snatched in the dark passage. He remembered only the little garden shut in with crumbling17 walls, for it was there he learned the fate that had overtaken him; but he rejected all connection with his family. His uncle was an old dog who had filched18 his jewels; Eugenie had no place in his heart nor in his thoughts, though she did have a place in his accounts as a creditor19 for the sum of six thousand francs.
Such conduct and such ideas explain Charles Grandet’s silence. In the Indies, at St. Thomas, on the coast of Africa, at Lisbon, and in the United States the adventurer had taken the pseudonym20 of Shepherd, that he might not compromise his own name. Charles Shepherd could safely be indefatigable21, bold, grasping, and greedy of gain, like a man who resolves to snatch his fortune quibus cumque viis, and makes haste to have done with villany, that he may spend the rest of his life as an honest man.
With such methods, prosperity was rapid and brilliant; and in 1827 Charles Grandet returned to Bordeaux on the “Marie Caroline,” a fine brig belonging to a royalist house of business. He brought with him nineteen hundred thousand francs worth of gold-dust, from which he expected to derive22 seven or eight per cent more at the Paris mint. On the brig he met a gentleman-in-ordinary to His Majesty23 Charles X., Monsieur d’Aubrion, a worthy24 old man who had committed the folly25 of marrying a woman of fashion with a fortune derived26 from the West India Islands. To meet the costs of Madame d’Aubrion’s extravagance, he had gone out to the Indies to sell the property, and was now returning with his family to France.
Monsieur and Madame d’Aubrion, of the house of d’Aubrion de Buch, a family of southern France, whose last captal, or chief, died before 1789, were now reduced to an income of about twenty thousand francs, and they possessed27 an ugly daughter whom the mother was resolved to marry without a dot,—the family fortune being scarcely sufficient for the demands of her own life in Paris. This was an enterprise whose success might have seemed problematical to most men of the world, in spite of the cleverness with which such men credit a fashionable woman; in fact, Madame d’Aubrion herself, when she looked at her daughter, almost despaired of getting rid of her to any one, even to a man craving28 connection with nobility. Mademoiselle d’Aubrion was a long, spare, spindling demoiselle, like her namesake the insect; her mouth was disdainful; over it hung a nose that was too long, thick at the end, sallow in its normal condition, but very red after a meal,—a sort of vegetable phenomenon which is particularly disagreeable when it appears in the middle of a pale, dull, and uninteresting face. In one sense she was all that a worldly mother, thirty-eight years of age and still a beauty with claims to admiration29, could have wished. However, to counterbalance her personal defects, the marquise gave her daughter a distinguished30 air, subjected her to hygienic treatment which provisionally kept her nose at a reasonable flesh-tint, taught her the art of dressing31 well, endowed her with charming manners, showed her the trick of melancholy32 glances which interest a man and make him believe that he has found a long-sought angel, taught her the manoeuvre33 of the foot,—letting it peep beneath the petticoat, to show its tiny size, at the moment when the nose became aggressively red; in short, Madame d’Aubrion had cleverly made the very best of her offspring. By means of full sleeves, deceptive34 pads, puffed35 dresses amply trimmed, and high-pressure corsets, she had obtained such curious feminine developments that she ought, for the instruction of mothers, to have exhibited them in a museum.
Charles became very intimate with Madame d’Aubrion precisely36 because she was desirous of becoming intimate with him. Persons who were on board the brig declared that the handsome Madame d’Aubrion neglected no means of capturing so rich a son-in-law. On landing at Bordeaux in June, 1827, Monsieur, Madame, Mademoiselle d’Aubrion, and Charles lodged37 at the same hotel and started together for Paris. The hotel d’Aubrion was hampered38 with mortgages; Charles was destined39 to free it. The mother told him how delighted she would be to give up the ground-floor to a son-in-law. Not sharing Monsieur d’Aubrion’s prejudices on the score of nobility, she promised Charles Grandet to obtain a royal ordinance40 from Charles X. which would authorize41 him, Grandet, to take the name and arms of d’Aubrion and to succeed, by purchasing the entailed42 estate for thirty-six thousand francs a year, to the titles of Captal de Buch and Marquis d’Aubrion. By thus uniting their fortunes, living on good terms, and profiting by sinecures43, the two families might occupy the hotel d’Aubrion with an income of over a hundred thousand francs.
“And when a man has a hundred thousand francs a year, a name, a family, and a position at court,—for I will get you appointed as gentleman-of-the-bedchamber,—he can do what he likes,” she said to Charles. “You can then become anything you choose,—master of the rolls in the council of State, prefect, secretary to an embassy, the ambassador himself, if you like. Charles X. is fond of d’Aubrion; they have known each other from childhood.”
Intoxicated46 with ambition, Charles toyed with the hopes thus cleverly presented to him in the guise47 of confidences poured from heart to heart. Believing his father’s affairs to have been settled by his uncle, he imagined himself suddenly anchored in the Faubourg Saint-Germain,—that social object of all desire, where, under shelter of Mademoiselle Mathilde’s purple nose, he was to reappear as the Comte d’Aubrion, very much as the Dreux reappeared in Breze. Dazzled by the prosperity of the Restoration, which was tottering48 when he left France, fascinated by the splendor49 of aristocratic ideas, his intoxication50, which began on the brig, increased after he reached Paris, and he finally determined51 to take the course and reach the high position which the selfish hopes of his would-be mother-in-law pointed44 out to him. His cousin counted for no more than a speck52 in this brilliant perspective; but he went to see Annette. True woman of the world, Annette advised her old friend to make the marriage, and promised him her support in all his ambitious projects. In her heart she was enchanted54 to fasten an ugly and uninteresting girl on Charles, whose life in the West Indies had rendered him very attractive. His complexion55 had bronzed, his manners had grown decided56 and bold, like those of a man accustomed to make sharp decisions, to rule, and to succeed. Charles breathed more at his ease in Paris, conscious that he now had a part to play.
Des Grassins, hearing of his return, of his approaching marriage and his large fortune, came to see him, and inquired about the three hundred thousand francs still required to settle his father’s debts. He found Grandet in conference with a goldsmith, from whom he had ordered jewels for Mademoiselle d’Aubrion’s corbeille, and who was then submitting the designs. Charles had brought back magnificent diamonds, and the value of their setting, together with the plate and jewelry57 of the new establishment, amounted to more than two hundred thousand francs. He received des Grassins, whom he did not recognize, with the impertinence of a young man of fashion conscious of having killed four men in as many duels58 in the Indies. Monsieur des Grassins had already called several times. Charles listened to him coldly, and then replied, without fully59 understanding what had been said to him,—
“My father’s affairs are not mine. I am much obliged, monsieur, for the trouble you have been good enough to take,—by which, however, I really cannot profit. I have not earned two millions by the sweat of my brow to fling them at the head of my father’s creditors60.”
“But suppose that your father’s estate were within a few days to be declared bankrupt?”
“Monsieur, in a few days I shall be called the Comte d’Aubrion; you will understand, therefore, that what you threaten is of no consequence to me. Besides, you know as well as I do that when a man has an income of a hundred thousand francs his father has never failed.” So saying, he politely edged Monsieur des Grassins to the door.
At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous61 summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes62 which had followed it. The sun had just reached the angle of the ruined wall, so full of chinks, which no one, through a caprice of the mistress, was allowed to touch, though Cornoiller often remarked to his wife that “it would fall and crush somebody one of these days.” At this moment the postman knocked, and gave a letter to Madame Cornoiller, who ran into the garden, crying out:
“Mademoiselle, a letter!” She gave it to her mistress, adding, “Is it the one you expected?”
The words rang as loudly in the heart of Eugenie as they echoed in sound from wall to wall of the court and garden.
“Paris—from him—he has returned!”
Eugenie turned pale and held the letter for a moment. She trembled so violently that she could not break the seal. La Grande Nanon stood before her, both hands on her hips63, her joy puffing64 as it were like smoke through the cracks of her brown face.
“Read it, mademoiselle!”
“Ah, Nanon, why did he return to Paris? He went from Saumur.”
“Read it, and you’ll find out.”
Eugenie opened the letter with trembling fingers. A cheque on the house of “Madame des Grassins and Coret, of Saumur,” fluttered down. Nanon picked it up.
My dear Cousin,—
You—
“He once said ‘thou.’” She folded her arms and dared not read another word; great tears gathered in her eyes.
“Is he dead?” asked Nanon.
“If he were, he could not write,” said Eugenie.
She then read the whole letter, which was as follows:
My dear Cousin,—You will, I am sure, hear with pleasure of the
success of my enterprise. You brought me luck; I have come back
rich, and I have followed the advice of my uncle, whose death,
together with that of my aunt, I have just learned from Monsieur
des Grassins. The death of parents is in the course of nature, and
we must succeed them. I trust you are by this time consoled.
Nothing can resist time, as I am well aware. Yes, my dear cousin,
the day of illusions is, unfortunately, gone for me. How could it
be otherwise? Travelling through many lands, I have reflected upon
life. I was a child when I went away,—I have come back a man.
To-day, I think of many I did not dream of then. You are free, my
dear cousin, and I am free still. Nothing apparently66 hinders the
realization67 of our early hopes; but my nature is too loyal to hide
from you the situation in which I find myself. I have not
forgotten our relations; I have always remembered, throughout my
long wanderings, the little wooden seat—
Eugenie rose as if she were sitting on live coals, and went away and sat down on the stone steps of the court.
night when, by your delicate kindness, you made my future easier
to me. Yes, these recollections sustained my courage; I said in my
heart that you were thinking of me at the hour we had agreed upon.
Have you always looked at the clouds at nine o’clock? Yes, I am
sure of it. I cannot betray so true a friendship,—no, I must not
deceive you. An alliance has been proposed to me which satisfies
present experience warns me that in marrying we are bound to obey
all social laws and meet the conventional demands of the world.
Now, between you and me there are differences which might affect
your future, my dear cousin, even more than they would mine. I
will not here speak of your customs and inclinations71, your
education, nor yet of your habits, none of which are in keeping
with Parisian life, or with the future which I have marked out for
myself. My intention is to keep my household on a stately footing,
to receive much company,—in short, to live in the world; and I
be frank, and make you the judge of my situation; you have the
right to understand it and to judge it.
I possess at the present moment an income of eighty thousand
francs. This fortune enables me to marry into the family of
Aubrion, whose heiress, a young girl nineteen years of age, brings
me a title, a place of gentleman-of-the-bed-chamber to His
Majesty, and a very brilliant position. I will admit to you, my
dear cousin, that I do not love Mademoiselle d’Aubrion; but in
marrying her I secure to my children a social rank whose
advantages will one day be incalculable: monarchical73 principles
are daily coming more and more into favor. Thus in course of time
my son, when he becomes Marquis d’Aubrion, having, as he then will
year, can obtain any position in the State which he may think
proper to select. We owe ourselves to our children.
You see, my cousin, with what good faith I lay the state of my
heart, my hopes, and my fortune before you. Possibly, after seven
years’ separation, you have yourself forgotten our youthful loves;
but I have never forgotten either your kindness or my own words. I
remember all, even words that were lightly uttered,—words by
which a man less conscientious75 than I, with a heart less youthful
and less upright, would scarcely feel himself bound. In telling
convenience, that I still remember our childish love, am I not
ambitions, I shall willingly content myself with the pure and
simple happiness of which you have shown me so sweet an image?
“Tan, ta, ta—tan, ta, ti,” sang Charles Grandet to the air of Non piu andrai, as he signed himself,—
“Thunder! that’s doing it handsomely!” he said, as he looked about him for the cheque; having found it, he added the words:—
P.S.—I enclose a cheque on the des Grassins bank for eight
capital and interest of the sum you were kind enough to lend me. I
am expecting a case from Bordeaux which contains a few things
which you must allow me to offer you as a mark of my unceasing
“By the diligence!” said Eugenie. “A thing for which I would have laid down my life!”
Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank82, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive83 of the crime is a great passion, which awes84 even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting85, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish86 and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating87 eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance.
“My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!”
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收听单词发音
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1
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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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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7
lauded
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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defrauding
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的现在分词 ) | |
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12
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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14
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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15
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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16
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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18
filched
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creditor
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| n.债仅人，债主，贷方 | |
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20
pseudonym
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| n.假名，笔名 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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22
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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23
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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24
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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26
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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27
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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28
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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29
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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30
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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31
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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32
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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33
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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34
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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35
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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36
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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37
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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38
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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40
ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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41
authorize
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| v.授权，委任；批准，认可 | |
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42
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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43
sinecures
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| n.工作清闲但报酬优厚的职位，挂名的好差事( sinecure的名词复数 ) | |
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44
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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46
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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47
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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48
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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49
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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50
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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51
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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52
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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53
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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54
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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56
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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57
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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58
duels
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| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
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59
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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60
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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61
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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62
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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63
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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64
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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65
quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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67
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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68
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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71
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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72
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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73
monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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74
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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75
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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76
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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77
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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78
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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79
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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80
payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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81
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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82
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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83
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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84
awes
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| n.敬畏，惊惧( awe的名词复数 )v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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86
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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87
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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