Sybil - 14
Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5146
Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 1396
53.3 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
71.9 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
80.5 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
“At least we have nothing left,” said Sybil, “but our old faith; and that we have clung to through good report and evil report.”
“And now,” said Gerard, “I rise with the lark, good neighbour Franklin; but before you go, Sybil will sing to us a requiem that I love: it stills the spirit before we sink into the slumber which may this night be death, and which one day must be.”
Book 3 Chapter 6
A bloom was spread over the morning sky. A soft golden light bathed with its fresh beam the bosom of the valley, except where a delicate haze, rather than a mist, still partially lingered over the river, which yet occasionally gleamed and sparkled in the sunshine. A sort of shadowy lustre suffused the landscape, which, though distinct, was mitigated in all its features—the distant woods, the clumps of tall trees that rose about the old grey bridge, the cottage chimneys that sent their smoke into the blue still air, amid their clustering orchards and garden of flowers and herbs.
Ah! what is there so fresh and joyous as a summer morn! That spring time of the day, when the brain is bright, and the heart is brave; the season of daring and of hope; the renovating hour!
Came forth from his cottage room the brother of Lord Marney, to feel the vigorous bliss of life amid sunshiny gardens and the voices of bees and birds.
“Ah! this is delicious!” he felt. “This is existence! Thank God I am here; that I have quitted for ever that formal and heartless Marney. Were it not for my mother, I would remain Mr Franklin for ever. Would I were indeed a journalist; provided I always had a mission to the vale of Mowbray. Or anything, so that I were ever here. As companions, independent of everything else, they are superior to any that I have been used to. Why do these persons interest me? They feel and they think: two habits that have quite gone out of fashion, if ever they existed, among my friends. And that polish of manners, that studied and factitious refinement, which is to compensate for the heartlessness or the stupidity we are doomed to—is my host of last night deficient in that refinement? If he do want our conventional discipline, he has a native breeding which far excels it. I observe no word or action which is not prompted by that fine feeling which is the sure source of good taste. This Gerard appears to me a real genuine man; full of knowledge worked out by his own head; with large yet wholesome sympathies; and a deuced deal better educated than Lord de Mowbray or my brother—and they do occasionally turn over a book, which is not the habit of our set.
“And his daughter—ay, his daughter! There is something almost sublime about that young girl, yet strangely sweet withal; a tone so lofty combined with such simplicity is very rare. For there is no affectation of enthusiasm about her; nothing exaggerated, nothing rhapsodical. Her dark eyes and lustrous face, and the solemn sweetness of her thrilling voice—they haunt me; they have haunted me from the first moment I encountered her like a spirit amid the ruins of our abbey. And I am one of ‘the family of sacrilege.’ If she knew that! And I am one of the conquering class she denounces. If also she knew that! Ah! there is much to know! Above all—the future. Away! the tree of knowledge is the tree of death. I will have no thought that is not as bright and lovely as this morn.”
He went forth from his little garden, and strolled along the road in the direction of the cottage of Gerard, which was about three quarters of a mile distant. You might see almost as far; the sunshiny road a little winding and rising a very slight ascent. The cottage itself was hid by its trees. While Egremont was still musing of one who lived under that roof, he beheld in the distance Sybil.
She was springing along with a quick and airy step. Her black dress displayed her undulating and elastic figure. Her little foot bounded from the earth with a merry air. A long rosary hung at her side; and her head was partly covered with a hood which descended just over her shoulders. She seemed gay, for Harold kept running before her with a frolicsome air, and then returning to his mistress, danced about her, and almost overpowered her with his gambols.
“I salute thee, holy sister,” said Egremont.
“Oh! is not this a merry morn!” she exclaimed with a bright and happy face.
“I feel it as you. And whither do you go?”
“I go to the convent; I pay my first visit to our Superior since I left them.”
“Not very long ago,” said Egremont, with a smile, and turning with her.
“It seems so,” said Sybil.
They walked on together; Sybil glad as the hour; noticing a thousand cheerful sights, speaking to her dog in her ringing voice, as he gambolled before them, or seized her garments in his mouth, and ever and anon bounded away and then returned, looking up in his mistress’ face to inquire whether he had been wanted in his absence.
“What a pity it is that your father’s way each morning lies up the valley,” said Egremont; “he would be your companion to Mowbray.”
“Ah! but I am so happy that he has not to work in a town,” said Sybil. “He is not made to be cooped up in a hot factory in a smoky street. At least he labours among the woods and waters. And the Traffords are such good people! So kind to him and to all.”
“You love your father very much.”
She looked at him a little surprised; and then her sweet serious face broke into a smile and she said, “And is that strange?”
“I think not,” said Egremont; “I am inclined to love him myself.”
“Ah! you win my heart,” said Sybil, “when you praise him. I think that is the real reason why I like Stephen; for otherwise he is always saying something with which I cannot agree, which I disapprove; and yet he is so good to my father!”
“You speak of Mr Morley—”
“Oh! we don’t call him ‘Mr’,” said Sybil slightly laughing.
“I mean Stephen Morley,” said Egremont recalling his position, “whom I met in Marney Abbey. He is very clever, is he not?”
“He is a great writer and a great student; and what he is he has made himself. I hear too that you follow the same pursuit,” said Sybil.
“But I am not a great writer or a great student,” said Egremont.
“Whatever you be, I trust,” said Sybil, in a more serious tone, “that you will never employ the talents that God has given you against the People.”
“I have come here to learn something of their condition,” said Egremont. “That is not to be done in a great city like London. We all of us live too much in a circle. You will assist me, I am sure,” added Egremont; “your spirit will animate me. You told me last night that there was no other subject, except one, which ever occupied your thoughts.”
“Yes,” said Sybil, “I have lived under two roofs, only two roofs; and each has given me a great idea; the Convent and the Cottage. One has taught me the degradation of my faith, the other of my race. You should not wonder, therefore, that my heart is concentrated on the Church and the People.”
“But there are other ideas,” said Egremont, “that might equally be entitled to your thought.”
“I feel these are enough,” said Sybil; “too great, as it is, for my brain.”
Book 3 Chapter 7
At the end of a court in Wodgate, of rather larger dimensions than usual in that town, was a high and many-windowed house, of several stories in height, which had been added to it at intervals. It was in a most dilapidated state; the principal part occupied as a nail-workshop, where a great number of heavy iron machines were working in every room on each floor; the building itself in so shattered a condition that every part of it creaked and vibrated with their motion. The flooring was so broken that in many places one could look down through the gaping and rotten planks, while the upper floors from time to time had been shored up with props.
This was the Palace of the Bishop of Wodgate, and here with his arms bare and black, he worked at those locks, which defied any skeleton key that was not made by himself. He was a short, thickset man, powerfully made, with brawny arms disproportionately short even for his height, and with a countenance, as far as one could judge of a face so disfigured by his grimy toil, rather brutal than savage. His choice apprentices, full of admiration and terror, worked about him; lank and haggard youths, who never for an instant dared to raise their dingy faces and lack-lustre eyes from their ceaseless labour. On each side of their master, seated on a stool higher than the rest, was an urchin of not more than four or five years of age, serious and demure, and as if proud of his eminent position, or working incessantly at his little file;—these were two sons of the bishop.
“Now boys,” said the bishop, in a hoarse, harsh voice, “steady, there; steady. There’s a file what don’t sing; can’t deceive my ear; I know all their voices. Don’t let me find that un out, or I won’t walk into him, won’t I? Ayn’t you lucky boys, to have reg’lar work like this, and the best of prog! It worn’t my lot, I can tell you that. Give me that shut, you there, Scrubbynose, can’t you move? Look sharp, or I won’t move you, won’t I? Steady, steady! All right! That’s music. Where will you hear music like twenty files all working at once! You ought to be happy boys, oughtn’t you? Won’t there be a treat of fish after this, that’s all! Hulloa, there, you red-haired varmint, what are you looking after? Three boys looking about them; what’s all this? Won’t I be among you?” and he sprang forward and seized the luckless ears of the first apprentice he could get hold off, and wrung them till the blood spouted forth.
“Please, bishop,” sang out the boy, “it worn’t my fault. Here’s a man what wants you.”
“Who wants me?” said the bishop, looking round, and he caught the figure of Morley who had just entered the shop.
“Well, what’s your will? Locks or nails?”
“Neither,” said Morley; “I wish to see a man named Hatton.”
“Well, you see a man named Hatton,” said the bishop; “and now what do want of him?”
“I should like to say a word to you alone,” said Morley.
“Hem! I should like to know who is to finish this lock, and to look after my boys! If it’s an order, let us have it at once.”
“It is not an order,” said Morley.
“Then I don’t want to hear nothing about it,” said the bishop.
“It’s about family matters,” said Morley.
“Ah!” said Hatton, eagerly, “what, do you come from him?”
“It may be,” said Morley.
Upon this the bishop, looking up to the ceiling of the room in which there were several large chinks, began calling out lustily to some unseen person above, and immediately was replied to in a shrill voice of objurgation, demanding in peremptory words, interlarded with many oaths, what he wanted. His reply called down his unseen correspondent, who soon entered his workshop. It was the awful presence of Mrs Hatton; a tall, bearded virago, with a file in her hand, for that seemed the distinctive arm of the house, and eyes flashing with unbridled power.
“Look after the boys,” said Hatton, “for I have business.”
“Won’t I?” said Mrs Hatton; and a thrill of terror pervaded the assembly. All the files moved in regular melody; no one dared to raise his face; even her two young children looked still more serious and demure. Not that any being present flattered himself for an instant that the most sedulous attention on his part could prevent an outbreak; all that each aspired to, and wildly hoped, was that he might not be the victim singled out to have his head cut open, or his eye knocked out, or his ears half pulled off by the being who was the terror not only of the workshop, but of Wodgate itself,—their bishop’s gentle wife.
In the meantime, that worthy, taking Morley into a room where there were no machines at work except those made of iron, said, “Well, what have you brought me?”
“In the first place,” said Morley, “I would speak to you of your brother.”
“I concluded that,” said Hatton, “when you spoke of family matters bringing you here; he is the only relation I have in this world, and therefore it must be of him.”
“It is of him,” said Morley.
“Has he sent anything?”
“Hem!” said Morley, who was by nature a diplomatist, and instantly comprehended his position, being himself pumped when he came to pump; but he resolved not to precipitate the affair. “How late is it since you heard from him?” he asked.
“Why, I suppose you know,” said Hatton, “I heard as usual.”
“From his usual place?” inquired Morley.
“I wish you would tell me where that is,” said Hatton, eagerly.
“Why, he writes to you?”
“Blank letters; never had a line except once, and that is more than twelve year ago. He sends me a twenty-pound note every Christmas; and that is all I know about him.”
“Then he is rich, and well to do in the world? said Morley.”
“Why, don’t you know?” said Hatton; “I thought you came from him!”
“I came about him. I wished to know whether he were alive, and that you have been able to inform me: and where he was; and that you have not been able to inform me.”
“Why, you’re a regular muff!” said the bishop.
Book 3 Chapter 8
A few days after his morning walk with Sybil, it was agreed that Egremont should visit Mr Trafford’s factory, which he had expressed a great desire to inspect. Gerard always left his cottage at break of dawn, and as Sybil had not yet paid her accustomed visit to her friend and patron, who was the employer of her father, it was arranged that Egremont should accompany her at a later and more convenient hour in the morning, and then that they should all return together.
The factory was about a mile distant from their cottage, which belonged indeed to Mr Trafford, and had been built by him. He was the younger son of a family that had for centuries been planted in the land, but who, not satisfied with the factitious consideration with which society compensates the junior members of a territorial house for their entailed poverty, had availed himself of some opportunities that offered themselves, and had devoted his energies to those new sources of wealth that were unknown to his ancestors. His operations at first had been extremely limited, like his fortunes; but with a small capital, though his profits were not considerable, he at least gained experience. With gentle blood in his veins, and old English feelings, he imbibed, at an early period of his career, a correct conception of the relations which should subsist between the employer and the employed. He felt that between them there should be other ties than the payment and the receipt of wages.
A distant and childless relative, who made him a visit, pleased with his energy and enterprise, and touched by the development of his social views, left him a considerable sum, at a moment too when a great opening was offered to manufacturing capital and skill. Trafford, schooled in rigid fortunes, and formed by struggle, if not by adversity, was ripe for the occasion, and equal to it. He became very opulent, and he lost no time in carrying into life and being the plans which he had brooded over in the years when his good thoughts were limited to dreams. On the banks of his native Mowe he had built a factory which was now one of the marvels of the district; one might almost say, of the country: a single room, spreading over nearly two acres, and holding more than two thousand work-people. The roof of groined arches, lighted by ventilating domes at the height of eighteen feet, was supported by hollow cast-iron columns, through which the drainage of the roof was effected. The height of the ordinary rooms in which the work-people in manufactories are engaged is not more than from nine to eleven feet; and these are built in stories, the heat and effluvia of the lower rooms communicated to those above, and the difficulty of ventilation insurmountable. At Mr Trafford’s, by an ingenious process, not unlike that which is practised in the House of Commons, the ventilation was also carried on from below, so that the whole building was kept at a steady temperature, and little susceptible to atmospheric influence. The physical advantages of thus carrying on the whole work in one chamber are great: in the improved health of the people, the security against dangerous accidents for women and youth, and the reduced fatigue resulting from not having to ascend and descend and carry materials to the higher rooms. But the moral advantages resulting from superior inspection and general observation are not less important: the child works under the eye of the parent, the parent under that of the superior workman; the inspector or employer at a glance can behold all.
When the workpeople of Mr Trafford left his factory they were not forgotten. Deeply had he pondered on the influence of the employer on the health and content of his workpeople. He knew well that the domestic virtues are dependent on the existence of a home, and one of his first efforts had been to build a village where every family might be well lodged. Though he was the principal proprietor, and proud of that character, he nevertheless encouraged his workmen to purchase the fee: there were some who had saved sufficient money to effect this: proud of their house and their little garden, and of the horticultural society, where its produce permitted them to be annual competitors. In every street there was a well: behind the factory were the public baths; the schools were under the direction of the perpetual curate of the church, which Mr Trafford, though a Roman Catholic, had raised and endowed. In the midst of this village, surrounded by beautiful gardens, which gave an impulse to the horticulture of the community, was the house of Trafford himself, who comprehended his position too well to withdraw himself with vulgar exclusiveness from his real dependents, but recognized the baronial principle reviving in a new form, and adapted to the softer manners and more ingenious circumstances of the times.
And what was the influence of such an employer and such a system of employment on the morals and manners of the employed? Great: infinitely beneficial. The connexion of a labourer with his place of work, whether agricultural or manufacturing, is itself a vast advantage. Proximity to the employer brings cleanliness and order, because it brings observation and encouragement. In the settlement of Trafford crime was positively unknown: and offences were very slight. There was not a single person in the village of a reprobate character. The men were well clad; the women had a blooming cheek; drunkenness was unknown; while the moral condition of the softer sex was proportionately elevated.
The vast form of the spreading factory, the roofs and gardens of the village, the Tudor chimneys of the house of Trafford, the spire of the gothic church, with the sparkling river and the sylvan hack-ground, came rather suddenly on the sight of Egremont. They were indeed in the pretty village-street before he was aware he was about to enter it. Some beautiful children rushed out of a cottage and flew to Sybil, crying out, “the queen, the queen;” one clinging to her dress, another seizing her arm, and a third, too small to struggle, pouting out its lips to be embraced.
“My subjects,” said Sybil laughing, as she greeted them all; and then they ran away to announce to others that their queen had arrived.
Others came: beautiful and young. As Sybil and Egremont walked along, the race too tender for labour, seemed to spring out of every cottage to greet “their queen.” Her visits had been very rare of late, but they were never forgotten; they formed epochs in the village annals of the children, some of whom knew only by tradition the golden age when Sybil Gerard lived at the great house, and daily glanced like a spirit among their homes, smiling and met with smiles, blessing and ever blessed.
“And here,” she said to Egremont, “I must bid you good bye; and this little boy,” touching gently on his head a very serious urchin who had never left her side for a moment, proud of his position, and holding tight her hand with all his strength, “this little boy shall be your guide. It is not a hundred yards. Now, Pierce, you must take Mr Franklin to the factory, and ask for Mr Gerard.” And she went her way.
They had not separated five minutes when the sound of whirling wheels caught the ear of Egremont, and, looking round, he saw a cavalcade of great pretension rapidly approaching; dames and cavaliers on horseback; a brilliant equipage, postilions and four horses; a crowd of grooms. Egremont stood aside. The horsemen and horsewomen caracoled gaily by him; proudly swept on the sparkling barouche; the saucy grooms pranced in his face. Their masters and mistresses were not strangers to him: he recognized with some dismay the liveries, and then the arms of Lord de Mowbray, and caught the cold, proud countenance of Lady Joan, and the flexible visage of Lady Maud, both on horseback, and surrounded by admiring cavaliers.
Egremont flattered himself that he had not been recognised, and dismissing his little guide, instead of proceeding to the factory he sauntered away in an opposite direction, and made a visit to the church.
The wife of Trafford embraced Sybil, and then embraced her again. She seemed as happy as the children of the village, that the joy of her roof, as of so many others, had returned to them, though only for a few hours. Her husband she said had just quitted the house; he was obliged to go to the factory to receive a great and distinguished party who were expected this morning, having written to him several days before for permission to view the works. “We expect them to lunch here afterwards,” said Mrs Trafford, a very refined woman, but unused to society, and who rather trembled at the ceremony; “Oh! do stay with me, Sybil, to receive them.”
This intimation so much alarmed Sybil that she rose as soon as was practicable; and saying that she had some visits to make in the village, she promised to return when Mrs Trafford was less engaged.
An hour elapsed; there was a loud ring at the hall-door, the great and distinguished party had arrived. Mrs Trafford prepared for the interview, and tried to look very composed as the doors opened, and her husband ushered in and presented to her Lord and Lady de Mowbray, their daughters, Lady Firebrace, Mr Jermyn, who still lingered at the castle, and Mr Alfred Mountchesney and Lord Milford, who were mere passing guests, on their way to Scotland, but reconnoitering the heiresses in their course.
Lord de Mowbray was profuse of praise and compliments. His lordship was apt to be too civil. The breed would come out sometimes. To-day he was quite the coffee-house waiter. He praised everything: the machinery, the workmen, the cotton manufactured and the cotton raw, even the smoke. But Mrs Trafford would not have the smoke defended, and his lordship gave the smoke up, but only to please her. As for Lady de Mowbray, she was as usual courteous and condescending, with a kind of smouldering smile on her fair aquiline face, that seemed half pleasure and half surprise at the strange people she was among. Lady Joan was haughty and scientific, approved of much, but principally of the system of ventilation, of which she asked several questions which greatly perplexed Mrs Trafford, who slightly blushed, and looked at her husband for relief, but he was engaged with Lady Maud, who was full of enthusiasm, entered into everything with the zest of sympathy, identified herself with the factory system almost as much as she had done with the crusades, and longed to teach in singing schools, found public gardens, and bid fountains flow and sparkle for the people.
“I think the works were very wonderful,” said Lord Milford, as he was cutting a pasty; “and indeed, Mrs Trafford, everything here is quite charming; but what I have most admired at your place is a young girl we met—the most beautiful I think I ever saw.”
“With the most beautiful dog,” said Mr Mountchesney.
“Oh! that must have been Sybil!” exclaimed Mrs Trafford.
“And who is Sybil?” asked Lady Maud. “That is one of our family names. We all thought her quite beautiful.”
“She is a child of the house,” said Mrs Trafford, “or rather was, for I am sorry to say she has long quitted us.”
“Is she a nun?” asked Lord Milford, “for her vestments had a conventual air.”
“She has just left your convent at Mowbray,” said Mr Trafford, addressing his answer to Lady Maud, “and rather against her will. She clings to the dress she was accustomed to there.”
“And now she resides with you?”
“No; I should be very happy if she did. I might almost say she was brought up under this roof. She lives now with her father.”
“And who is so fortunate as to be her father?” enquired Mr Mountchesney.
“Her father is the inspector of my works; the person who accompanied us over them this morning.”
“What! that handsome man I so much admired,” said Lady Maud, “so very aristocratic-looking. Papa,” she said, addressing herself to Lord de Mowbray, “the inspector of Mr Trafford’s works we are speaking of, that aristocratic-looking person that I observed to you, he is the father of the beautiful girl.”
“He seemed a very intelligent person,” said Lord de Mowbray with many smiles.
“Yes,” said Mr Trafford; “he has great talents and great integrity. I would trust him with anything and to any amount. All I wish,” he added, with a smile and in a lower tone to Lady de Mowbray, “all I wish is, that he was not quite so fond of politics.”
“Is he very violent?” enquired her ladyship in a sugary tone.
“Too violent,” said Mr Trafford, “and wild in his ideas.”
“And yet I suppose,” said Lord Milford, “he must be very well off?”
“Why I must say for him it is not selfishness that makes him a malcontent,” said Mr Trafford; “he bemoans the condition of the people.”
“If we are to judge of the condition of the people by what we see here,” said Lord de Mowbray, “there is little to lament in it. But I fear these are instances not so common as we could wish. You must have been at a great outlay, Mr Trafford?”
“Why,” said Mr Trafford, “for my part. I have always considered that there was nothing so expensive as a vicious population. I hope I had other objects in view in what I have done than a pecuniary compensation. They say we all have our hobbies; and it was ever mine to improve the condition of my workpeople, to see what good tenements and good schools and just wages paid in a fair manner, and the encouragement of civilizing pursuits, would do to elevate their character. I should find an ample reward in the moral tone and material happiness of this community; but really viewing it in a pecuniary point of view, the investment of capital has been one of the most profitable I ever made; and I would not, I assure you, for double its amount, exchange my workpeople for the promiscuous assemblage engaged in other factories.”
“The influence of the atmosphere on the condition of the labourer is a subject which deserves investigation,” said Lady Joan to Mr Jermyn, who stared and bowed.
“And you do not feel alarmed at having a person of such violent opinions as your inspector at the head of your establishment,” said Lady Firebrace to Mr Trafford, who smiled a negative.
“What is the name of the intelligent individual who accompanied us?” enquired Lord de Mowbray.
“His name is Gerard,” said Mr Trafford.
“I believe a common name in these parts,” said Lord de Mowbray looking a little confused.
“Not very,” said Mr Trafford; “‘tis an old name and the stock has spread; but all Gerards claim a common lineage I believe, and my inspector has gentle blood, they say, in his veins.”
“He looks as if he had,” said Lady Maud.
“All persons with good names affect good blood,” said Lord de Mowbray; and then turning to Mrs Trafford he overwhelmed her with elaborate courtesies of phrase; praised everything again; first generally and then in detail; the factory, which he seemed to prefer to his castle—the house, which he seemed to prefer even to the factory—the gardens, from which he anticipated even greater gratification than from the house. And this led to an expression of a hope that he would visit them. And so in due time the luncheon was achieved. Mrs Trafford looked at her guests, there was a rustling and a stir, and everybody was to go and see the gardens that Lord de Mowbray had so much praised.
“I am all for looking after the beautiful Nun,” said Mr Mountchesney to Lord Milford.
“I think I shall ask the respectable manufacturer to introduce me to her,” replied his lordship.
In the meantime Egremont had joined Gerard at the factory.
“You should have come sooner,” said Gerard, “and then you might have gone round with the fine folks. We have had a grand party here from the castle.”
“So I perceived,” said Egremont, “and withdrew.”
“And now,” said Gerard, “I rise with the lark, good neighbour Franklin; but before you go, Sybil will sing to us a requiem that I love: it stills the spirit before we sink into the slumber which may this night be death, and which one day must be.”
Book 3 Chapter 6
A bloom was spread over the morning sky. A soft golden light bathed with its fresh beam the bosom of the valley, except where a delicate haze, rather than a mist, still partially lingered over the river, which yet occasionally gleamed and sparkled in the sunshine. A sort of shadowy lustre suffused the landscape, which, though distinct, was mitigated in all its features—the distant woods, the clumps of tall trees that rose about the old grey bridge, the cottage chimneys that sent their smoke into the blue still air, amid their clustering orchards and garden of flowers and herbs.
Ah! what is there so fresh and joyous as a summer morn! That spring time of the day, when the brain is bright, and the heart is brave; the season of daring and of hope; the renovating hour!
Came forth from his cottage room the brother of Lord Marney, to feel the vigorous bliss of life amid sunshiny gardens and the voices of bees and birds.
“Ah! this is delicious!” he felt. “This is existence! Thank God I am here; that I have quitted for ever that formal and heartless Marney. Were it not for my mother, I would remain Mr Franklin for ever. Would I were indeed a journalist; provided I always had a mission to the vale of Mowbray. Or anything, so that I were ever here. As companions, independent of everything else, they are superior to any that I have been used to. Why do these persons interest me? They feel and they think: two habits that have quite gone out of fashion, if ever they existed, among my friends. And that polish of manners, that studied and factitious refinement, which is to compensate for the heartlessness or the stupidity we are doomed to—is my host of last night deficient in that refinement? If he do want our conventional discipline, he has a native breeding which far excels it. I observe no word or action which is not prompted by that fine feeling which is the sure source of good taste. This Gerard appears to me a real genuine man; full of knowledge worked out by his own head; with large yet wholesome sympathies; and a deuced deal better educated than Lord de Mowbray or my brother—and they do occasionally turn over a book, which is not the habit of our set.
“And his daughter—ay, his daughter! There is something almost sublime about that young girl, yet strangely sweet withal; a tone so lofty combined with such simplicity is very rare. For there is no affectation of enthusiasm about her; nothing exaggerated, nothing rhapsodical. Her dark eyes and lustrous face, and the solemn sweetness of her thrilling voice—they haunt me; they have haunted me from the first moment I encountered her like a spirit amid the ruins of our abbey. And I am one of ‘the family of sacrilege.’ If she knew that! And I am one of the conquering class she denounces. If also she knew that! Ah! there is much to know! Above all—the future. Away! the tree of knowledge is the tree of death. I will have no thought that is not as bright and lovely as this morn.”
He went forth from his little garden, and strolled along the road in the direction of the cottage of Gerard, which was about three quarters of a mile distant. You might see almost as far; the sunshiny road a little winding and rising a very slight ascent. The cottage itself was hid by its trees. While Egremont was still musing of one who lived under that roof, he beheld in the distance Sybil.
She was springing along with a quick and airy step. Her black dress displayed her undulating and elastic figure. Her little foot bounded from the earth with a merry air. A long rosary hung at her side; and her head was partly covered with a hood which descended just over her shoulders. She seemed gay, for Harold kept running before her with a frolicsome air, and then returning to his mistress, danced about her, and almost overpowered her with his gambols.
“I salute thee, holy sister,” said Egremont.
“Oh! is not this a merry morn!” she exclaimed with a bright and happy face.
“I feel it as you. And whither do you go?”
“I go to the convent; I pay my first visit to our Superior since I left them.”
“Not very long ago,” said Egremont, with a smile, and turning with her.
“It seems so,” said Sybil.
They walked on together; Sybil glad as the hour; noticing a thousand cheerful sights, speaking to her dog in her ringing voice, as he gambolled before them, or seized her garments in his mouth, and ever and anon bounded away and then returned, looking up in his mistress’ face to inquire whether he had been wanted in his absence.
“What a pity it is that your father’s way each morning lies up the valley,” said Egremont; “he would be your companion to Mowbray.”
“Ah! but I am so happy that he has not to work in a town,” said Sybil. “He is not made to be cooped up in a hot factory in a smoky street. At least he labours among the woods and waters. And the Traffords are such good people! So kind to him and to all.”
“You love your father very much.”
She looked at him a little surprised; and then her sweet serious face broke into a smile and she said, “And is that strange?”
“I think not,” said Egremont; “I am inclined to love him myself.”
“Ah! you win my heart,” said Sybil, “when you praise him. I think that is the real reason why I like Stephen; for otherwise he is always saying something with which I cannot agree, which I disapprove; and yet he is so good to my father!”
“You speak of Mr Morley—”
“Oh! we don’t call him ‘Mr’,” said Sybil slightly laughing.
“I mean Stephen Morley,” said Egremont recalling his position, “whom I met in Marney Abbey. He is very clever, is he not?”
“He is a great writer and a great student; and what he is he has made himself. I hear too that you follow the same pursuit,” said Sybil.
“But I am not a great writer or a great student,” said Egremont.
“Whatever you be, I trust,” said Sybil, in a more serious tone, “that you will never employ the talents that God has given you against the People.”
“I have come here to learn something of their condition,” said Egremont. “That is not to be done in a great city like London. We all of us live too much in a circle. You will assist me, I am sure,” added Egremont; “your spirit will animate me. You told me last night that there was no other subject, except one, which ever occupied your thoughts.”
“Yes,” said Sybil, “I have lived under two roofs, only two roofs; and each has given me a great idea; the Convent and the Cottage. One has taught me the degradation of my faith, the other of my race. You should not wonder, therefore, that my heart is concentrated on the Church and the People.”
“But there are other ideas,” said Egremont, “that might equally be entitled to your thought.”
“I feel these are enough,” said Sybil; “too great, as it is, for my brain.”
Book 3 Chapter 7
At the end of a court in Wodgate, of rather larger dimensions than usual in that town, was a high and many-windowed house, of several stories in height, which had been added to it at intervals. It was in a most dilapidated state; the principal part occupied as a nail-workshop, where a great number of heavy iron machines were working in every room on each floor; the building itself in so shattered a condition that every part of it creaked and vibrated with their motion. The flooring was so broken that in many places one could look down through the gaping and rotten planks, while the upper floors from time to time had been shored up with props.
This was the Palace of the Bishop of Wodgate, and here with his arms bare and black, he worked at those locks, which defied any skeleton key that was not made by himself. He was a short, thickset man, powerfully made, with brawny arms disproportionately short even for his height, and with a countenance, as far as one could judge of a face so disfigured by his grimy toil, rather brutal than savage. His choice apprentices, full of admiration and terror, worked about him; lank and haggard youths, who never for an instant dared to raise their dingy faces and lack-lustre eyes from their ceaseless labour. On each side of their master, seated on a stool higher than the rest, was an urchin of not more than four or five years of age, serious and demure, and as if proud of his eminent position, or working incessantly at his little file;—these were two sons of the bishop.
“Now boys,” said the bishop, in a hoarse, harsh voice, “steady, there; steady. There’s a file what don’t sing; can’t deceive my ear; I know all their voices. Don’t let me find that un out, or I won’t walk into him, won’t I? Ayn’t you lucky boys, to have reg’lar work like this, and the best of prog! It worn’t my lot, I can tell you that. Give me that shut, you there, Scrubbynose, can’t you move? Look sharp, or I won’t move you, won’t I? Steady, steady! All right! That’s music. Where will you hear music like twenty files all working at once! You ought to be happy boys, oughtn’t you? Won’t there be a treat of fish after this, that’s all! Hulloa, there, you red-haired varmint, what are you looking after? Three boys looking about them; what’s all this? Won’t I be among you?” and he sprang forward and seized the luckless ears of the first apprentice he could get hold off, and wrung them till the blood spouted forth.
“Please, bishop,” sang out the boy, “it worn’t my fault. Here’s a man what wants you.”
“Who wants me?” said the bishop, looking round, and he caught the figure of Morley who had just entered the shop.
“Well, what’s your will? Locks or nails?”
“Neither,” said Morley; “I wish to see a man named Hatton.”
“Well, you see a man named Hatton,” said the bishop; “and now what do want of him?”
“I should like to say a word to you alone,” said Morley.
“Hem! I should like to know who is to finish this lock, and to look after my boys! If it’s an order, let us have it at once.”
“It is not an order,” said Morley.
“Then I don’t want to hear nothing about it,” said the bishop.
“It’s about family matters,” said Morley.
“Ah!” said Hatton, eagerly, “what, do you come from him?”
“It may be,” said Morley.
Upon this the bishop, looking up to the ceiling of the room in which there were several large chinks, began calling out lustily to some unseen person above, and immediately was replied to in a shrill voice of objurgation, demanding in peremptory words, interlarded with many oaths, what he wanted. His reply called down his unseen correspondent, who soon entered his workshop. It was the awful presence of Mrs Hatton; a tall, bearded virago, with a file in her hand, for that seemed the distinctive arm of the house, and eyes flashing with unbridled power.
“Look after the boys,” said Hatton, “for I have business.”
“Won’t I?” said Mrs Hatton; and a thrill of terror pervaded the assembly. All the files moved in regular melody; no one dared to raise his face; even her two young children looked still more serious and demure. Not that any being present flattered himself for an instant that the most sedulous attention on his part could prevent an outbreak; all that each aspired to, and wildly hoped, was that he might not be the victim singled out to have his head cut open, or his eye knocked out, or his ears half pulled off by the being who was the terror not only of the workshop, but of Wodgate itself,—their bishop’s gentle wife.
In the meantime, that worthy, taking Morley into a room where there were no machines at work except those made of iron, said, “Well, what have you brought me?”
“In the first place,” said Morley, “I would speak to you of your brother.”
“I concluded that,” said Hatton, “when you spoke of family matters bringing you here; he is the only relation I have in this world, and therefore it must be of him.”
“It is of him,” said Morley.
“Has he sent anything?”
“Hem!” said Morley, who was by nature a diplomatist, and instantly comprehended his position, being himself pumped when he came to pump; but he resolved not to precipitate the affair. “How late is it since you heard from him?” he asked.
“Why, I suppose you know,” said Hatton, “I heard as usual.”
“From his usual place?” inquired Morley.
“I wish you would tell me where that is,” said Hatton, eagerly.
“Why, he writes to you?”
“Blank letters; never had a line except once, and that is more than twelve year ago. He sends me a twenty-pound note every Christmas; and that is all I know about him.”
“Then he is rich, and well to do in the world? said Morley.”
“Why, don’t you know?” said Hatton; “I thought you came from him!”
“I came about him. I wished to know whether he were alive, and that you have been able to inform me: and where he was; and that you have not been able to inform me.”
“Why, you’re a regular muff!” said the bishop.
Book 3 Chapter 8
A few days after his morning walk with Sybil, it was agreed that Egremont should visit Mr Trafford’s factory, which he had expressed a great desire to inspect. Gerard always left his cottage at break of dawn, and as Sybil had not yet paid her accustomed visit to her friend and patron, who was the employer of her father, it was arranged that Egremont should accompany her at a later and more convenient hour in the morning, and then that they should all return together.
The factory was about a mile distant from their cottage, which belonged indeed to Mr Trafford, and had been built by him. He was the younger son of a family that had for centuries been planted in the land, but who, not satisfied with the factitious consideration with which society compensates the junior members of a territorial house for their entailed poverty, had availed himself of some opportunities that offered themselves, and had devoted his energies to those new sources of wealth that were unknown to his ancestors. His operations at first had been extremely limited, like his fortunes; but with a small capital, though his profits were not considerable, he at least gained experience. With gentle blood in his veins, and old English feelings, he imbibed, at an early period of his career, a correct conception of the relations which should subsist between the employer and the employed. He felt that between them there should be other ties than the payment and the receipt of wages.
A distant and childless relative, who made him a visit, pleased with his energy and enterprise, and touched by the development of his social views, left him a considerable sum, at a moment too when a great opening was offered to manufacturing capital and skill. Trafford, schooled in rigid fortunes, and formed by struggle, if not by adversity, was ripe for the occasion, and equal to it. He became very opulent, and he lost no time in carrying into life and being the plans which he had brooded over in the years when his good thoughts were limited to dreams. On the banks of his native Mowe he had built a factory which was now one of the marvels of the district; one might almost say, of the country: a single room, spreading over nearly two acres, and holding more than two thousand work-people. The roof of groined arches, lighted by ventilating domes at the height of eighteen feet, was supported by hollow cast-iron columns, through which the drainage of the roof was effected. The height of the ordinary rooms in which the work-people in manufactories are engaged is not more than from nine to eleven feet; and these are built in stories, the heat and effluvia of the lower rooms communicated to those above, and the difficulty of ventilation insurmountable. At Mr Trafford’s, by an ingenious process, not unlike that which is practised in the House of Commons, the ventilation was also carried on from below, so that the whole building was kept at a steady temperature, and little susceptible to atmospheric influence. The physical advantages of thus carrying on the whole work in one chamber are great: in the improved health of the people, the security against dangerous accidents for women and youth, and the reduced fatigue resulting from not having to ascend and descend and carry materials to the higher rooms. But the moral advantages resulting from superior inspection and general observation are not less important: the child works under the eye of the parent, the parent under that of the superior workman; the inspector or employer at a glance can behold all.
When the workpeople of Mr Trafford left his factory they were not forgotten. Deeply had he pondered on the influence of the employer on the health and content of his workpeople. He knew well that the domestic virtues are dependent on the existence of a home, and one of his first efforts had been to build a village where every family might be well lodged. Though he was the principal proprietor, and proud of that character, he nevertheless encouraged his workmen to purchase the fee: there were some who had saved sufficient money to effect this: proud of their house and their little garden, and of the horticultural society, where its produce permitted them to be annual competitors. In every street there was a well: behind the factory were the public baths; the schools were under the direction of the perpetual curate of the church, which Mr Trafford, though a Roman Catholic, had raised and endowed. In the midst of this village, surrounded by beautiful gardens, which gave an impulse to the horticulture of the community, was the house of Trafford himself, who comprehended his position too well to withdraw himself with vulgar exclusiveness from his real dependents, but recognized the baronial principle reviving in a new form, and adapted to the softer manners and more ingenious circumstances of the times.
And what was the influence of such an employer and such a system of employment on the morals and manners of the employed? Great: infinitely beneficial. The connexion of a labourer with his place of work, whether agricultural or manufacturing, is itself a vast advantage. Proximity to the employer brings cleanliness and order, because it brings observation and encouragement. In the settlement of Trafford crime was positively unknown: and offences were very slight. There was not a single person in the village of a reprobate character. The men were well clad; the women had a blooming cheek; drunkenness was unknown; while the moral condition of the softer sex was proportionately elevated.
The vast form of the spreading factory, the roofs and gardens of the village, the Tudor chimneys of the house of Trafford, the spire of the gothic church, with the sparkling river and the sylvan hack-ground, came rather suddenly on the sight of Egremont. They were indeed in the pretty village-street before he was aware he was about to enter it. Some beautiful children rushed out of a cottage and flew to Sybil, crying out, “the queen, the queen;” one clinging to her dress, another seizing her arm, and a third, too small to struggle, pouting out its lips to be embraced.
“My subjects,” said Sybil laughing, as she greeted them all; and then they ran away to announce to others that their queen had arrived.
Others came: beautiful and young. As Sybil and Egremont walked along, the race too tender for labour, seemed to spring out of every cottage to greet “their queen.” Her visits had been very rare of late, but they were never forgotten; they formed epochs in the village annals of the children, some of whom knew only by tradition the golden age when Sybil Gerard lived at the great house, and daily glanced like a spirit among their homes, smiling and met with smiles, blessing and ever blessed.
“And here,” she said to Egremont, “I must bid you good bye; and this little boy,” touching gently on his head a very serious urchin who had never left her side for a moment, proud of his position, and holding tight her hand with all his strength, “this little boy shall be your guide. It is not a hundred yards. Now, Pierce, you must take Mr Franklin to the factory, and ask for Mr Gerard.” And she went her way.
They had not separated five minutes when the sound of whirling wheels caught the ear of Egremont, and, looking round, he saw a cavalcade of great pretension rapidly approaching; dames and cavaliers on horseback; a brilliant equipage, postilions and four horses; a crowd of grooms. Egremont stood aside. The horsemen and horsewomen caracoled gaily by him; proudly swept on the sparkling barouche; the saucy grooms pranced in his face. Their masters and mistresses were not strangers to him: he recognized with some dismay the liveries, and then the arms of Lord de Mowbray, and caught the cold, proud countenance of Lady Joan, and the flexible visage of Lady Maud, both on horseback, and surrounded by admiring cavaliers.
Egremont flattered himself that he had not been recognised, and dismissing his little guide, instead of proceeding to the factory he sauntered away in an opposite direction, and made a visit to the church.
The wife of Trafford embraced Sybil, and then embraced her again. She seemed as happy as the children of the village, that the joy of her roof, as of so many others, had returned to them, though only for a few hours. Her husband she said had just quitted the house; he was obliged to go to the factory to receive a great and distinguished party who were expected this morning, having written to him several days before for permission to view the works. “We expect them to lunch here afterwards,” said Mrs Trafford, a very refined woman, but unused to society, and who rather trembled at the ceremony; “Oh! do stay with me, Sybil, to receive them.”
This intimation so much alarmed Sybil that she rose as soon as was practicable; and saying that she had some visits to make in the village, she promised to return when Mrs Trafford was less engaged.
An hour elapsed; there was a loud ring at the hall-door, the great and distinguished party had arrived. Mrs Trafford prepared for the interview, and tried to look very composed as the doors opened, and her husband ushered in and presented to her Lord and Lady de Mowbray, their daughters, Lady Firebrace, Mr Jermyn, who still lingered at the castle, and Mr Alfred Mountchesney and Lord Milford, who were mere passing guests, on their way to Scotland, but reconnoitering the heiresses in their course.
Lord de Mowbray was profuse of praise and compliments. His lordship was apt to be too civil. The breed would come out sometimes. To-day he was quite the coffee-house waiter. He praised everything: the machinery, the workmen, the cotton manufactured and the cotton raw, even the smoke. But Mrs Trafford would not have the smoke defended, and his lordship gave the smoke up, but only to please her. As for Lady de Mowbray, she was as usual courteous and condescending, with a kind of smouldering smile on her fair aquiline face, that seemed half pleasure and half surprise at the strange people she was among. Lady Joan was haughty and scientific, approved of much, but principally of the system of ventilation, of which she asked several questions which greatly perplexed Mrs Trafford, who slightly blushed, and looked at her husband for relief, but he was engaged with Lady Maud, who was full of enthusiasm, entered into everything with the zest of sympathy, identified herself with the factory system almost as much as she had done with the crusades, and longed to teach in singing schools, found public gardens, and bid fountains flow and sparkle for the people.
“I think the works were very wonderful,” said Lord Milford, as he was cutting a pasty; “and indeed, Mrs Trafford, everything here is quite charming; but what I have most admired at your place is a young girl we met—the most beautiful I think I ever saw.”
“With the most beautiful dog,” said Mr Mountchesney.
“Oh! that must have been Sybil!” exclaimed Mrs Trafford.
“And who is Sybil?” asked Lady Maud. “That is one of our family names. We all thought her quite beautiful.”
“She is a child of the house,” said Mrs Trafford, “or rather was, for I am sorry to say she has long quitted us.”
“Is she a nun?” asked Lord Milford, “for her vestments had a conventual air.”
“She has just left your convent at Mowbray,” said Mr Trafford, addressing his answer to Lady Maud, “and rather against her will. She clings to the dress she was accustomed to there.”
“And now she resides with you?”
“No; I should be very happy if she did. I might almost say she was brought up under this roof. She lives now with her father.”
“And who is so fortunate as to be her father?” enquired Mr Mountchesney.
“Her father is the inspector of my works; the person who accompanied us over them this morning.”
“What! that handsome man I so much admired,” said Lady Maud, “so very aristocratic-looking. Papa,” she said, addressing herself to Lord de Mowbray, “the inspector of Mr Trafford’s works we are speaking of, that aristocratic-looking person that I observed to you, he is the father of the beautiful girl.”
“He seemed a very intelligent person,” said Lord de Mowbray with many smiles.
“Yes,” said Mr Trafford; “he has great talents and great integrity. I would trust him with anything and to any amount. All I wish,” he added, with a smile and in a lower tone to Lady de Mowbray, “all I wish is, that he was not quite so fond of politics.”
“Is he very violent?” enquired her ladyship in a sugary tone.
“Too violent,” said Mr Trafford, “and wild in his ideas.”
“And yet I suppose,” said Lord Milford, “he must be very well off?”
“Why I must say for him it is not selfishness that makes him a malcontent,” said Mr Trafford; “he bemoans the condition of the people.”
“If we are to judge of the condition of the people by what we see here,” said Lord de Mowbray, “there is little to lament in it. But I fear these are instances not so common as we could wish. You must have been at a great outlay, Mr Trafford?”
“Why,” said Mr Trafford, “for my part. I have always considered that there was nothing so expensive as a vicious population. I hope I had other objects in view in what I have done than a pecuniary compensation. They say we all have our hobbies; and it was ever mine to improve the condition of my workpeople, to see what good tenements and good schools and just wages paid in a fair manner, and the encouragement of civilizing pursuits, would do to elevate their character. I should find an ample reward in the moral tone and material happiness of this community; but really viewing it in a pecuniary point of view, the investment of capital has been one of the most profitable I ever made; and I would not, I assure you, for double its amount, exchange my workpeople for the promiscuous assemblage engaged in other factories.”
“The influence of the atmosphere on the condition of the labourer is a subject which deserves investigation,” said Lady Joan to Mr Jermyn, who stared and bowed.
“And you do not feel alarmed at having a person of such violent opinions as your inspector at the head of your establishment,” said Lady Firebrace to Mr Trafford, who smiled a negative.
“What is the name of the intelligent individual who accompanied us?” enquired Lord de Mowbray.
“His name is Gerard,” said Mr Trafford.
“I believe a common name in these parts,” said Lord de Mowbray looking a little confused.
“Not very,” said Mr Trafford; “‘tis an old name and the stock has spread; but all Gerards claim a common lineage I believe, and my inspector has gentle blood, they say, in his veins.”
“He looks as if he had,” said Lady Maud.
“All persons with good names affect good blood,” said Lord de Mowbray; and then turning to Mrs Trafford he overwhelmed her with elaborate courtesies of phrase; praised everything again; first generally and then in detail; the factory, which he seemed to prefer to his castle—the house, which he seemed to prefer even to the factory—the gardens, from which he anticipated even greater gratification than from the house. And this led to an expression of a hope that he would visit them. And so in due time the luncheon was achieved. Mrs Trafford looked at her guests, there was a rustling and a stir, and everybody was to go and see the gardens that Lord de Mowbray had so much praised.
“I am all for looking after the beautiful Nun,” said Mr Mountchesney to Lord Milford.
“I think I shall ask the respectable manufacturer to introduce me to her,” replied his lordship.
In the meantime Egremont had joined Gerard at the factory.
“You should have come sooner,” said Gerard, “and then you might have gone round with the fine folks. We have had a grand party here from the castle.”
“So I perceived,” said Egremont, “and withdrew.”
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Çirattagı - Sybil - 15
- Büleklär
- Sybil - 01Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4670Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 151143.5 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.62.7 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.72.2 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 02Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4950Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 150240.7 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.60.5 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 03Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5004Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 155347.1 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.66.7 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.75.3 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 04Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4695Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 153848.4 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.66.7 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.75.6 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 05Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5080Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 163245.6 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.65.9 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.74.2 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 06Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5050Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 143750.6 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.71.1 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.80.6 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 07Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5136Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 157347.9 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.67.6 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.77.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 08Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4985Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 152047.3 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.66.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.74.8 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 09Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5141Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 143349.9 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.5 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.78.5 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 10Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5167Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 139853.8 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.71.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.79.9 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 11Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5249Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 150748.1 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.66.5 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.75.3 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 12Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5189Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 136451.5 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.0 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.77.7 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 13Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5264Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 155148.5 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.67.3 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.75.6 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 14Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5146Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 139653.3 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.71.9 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.80.5 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 15Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5029Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 151152.3 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.71.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.81.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 16Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5029Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 128653.0 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.6 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.77.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 17Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5029Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 154446.3 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.67.8 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.76.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 18Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5134Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 150048.5 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.68.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.77.4 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 19Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5191Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 147550.4 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.78.3 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 20Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4901Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 126553.0 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.6 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.79.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 21Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4994Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 151547.8 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.67.8 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.77.4 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 22Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4982Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 149148.1 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.3 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.79.7 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 23Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5175Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 125452.8 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.73.6 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.82.1 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 24Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5111Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 142951.8 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.5 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.78.4 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 25Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5167Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 139452.4 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.73.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.82.5 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 26Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4951Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 143448.9 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.78.8 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 27Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5170Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 130853.1 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.71.9 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.79.2 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 28Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5149Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 147349.3 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.69.2 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.78.2 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 29Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5106Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 137152.5 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.69.9 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.77.9 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 30Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 5123Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 142552.2 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.73.0 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.82.0 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 31Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 4954Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 141650.0 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.70.3 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.79.8 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.
- Sybil - 32Härber sızık iñ yış oçrıy torgan 1000 süzlärneñ protsentnı kürsätä.Süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 1437Unikal süzlärneñ gomumi sanı 59754.0 süzlär 2000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.73.8 süzlär 5000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.80.7 süzlär 8000 iñ yış oçrıy torgan süzlärgä kerä.