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- Альбер Камю
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- Стр. 49/187
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Thus
they
endured
that
profound
misery
of
all
prisoners
and
all
exiles
,
which
is
to
live
with
a
memory
that
is
of
no
use
to
them
.
Even
the
past
,
which
they
thought
of
endlessly
,
had
only
the
taste
of
remorse
and
longing
.
They
would
have
liked
to
be
able
to
add
to
it
everything
that
they
regretted
not
having
done
when
they
could
do
it
,
with
the
person
for
whom
they
were
waiting
—
just
as
they
brought
the
absent
one
into
every
situation
of
their
life
as
prisoners
,
even
the
relatively
happy
ones
,
making
them
inevitably
dissatisfied
with
what
they
now
were
.
Impatient
with
the
present
,
hostile
to
the
past
and
deprived
of
a
future
,
we
really
did
then
resemble
those
whom
justice
or
human
hatred
has
forced
to
live
behind
bars
.
In
the
last
resort
,
the
only
way
to
escape
this
unbearable
holiday
was
to
make
the
trains
run
again
in
our
imagination
and
to
fill
the
hours
with
the
repeated
ringing
of
the
doorbell
,
however
silent
it
obstinately
remained
.
But
,
though
this
was
exile
,
in
most
cases
it
was
exile
at
home
.
And
though
the
narrator
only
suffered
an
ordinary
exile
,
he
should
not
forget
those
,
like
the
journalist
Rambert
and
others
,
whose
situation
was
different
,
and
for
whom
the
pain
of
separation
was
amplified
by
the
fact
that
,
being
travellers
surprised
by
the
plague
in
the
town
,
they
were
separated
not
only
from
the
person
to
whom
they
could
not
return
,
but
from
their
homes
as
well
.
In
the
midst
of
the
general
exile
,
they
were
the
most
exiled
because
while
time
aroused
in
them
,
as
in
all
of
us
,
that
anguish
peculiar
to
it
,
they
were
trapped
in
a
particular
space
and
were
constantly
running
up
against
the
barriers
that
separated
this
pestilential
retreat
from
their
lost
homes
.
These
no
doubt
were
the
people
one
saw
wandering
at
any
time
of
the
day
through
the
dusty
town
,
silently
invoking
evenings
that
they
alone
could
know
and
mornings
in
their
own
lands
.
They
would
nourish
their
pain
with
imponderable
signs
and
disconcerting
messages
,
like
a
flight
of
swallows
,
a
rosy
sunset
or
those
peculiar
rays
that
the
sun
sometimes
casts
on
empty
streets
.
They
closed
their
eyes
to
the
external
world
which
can
always
offer
an
escape
from
anything
,
stubbornly
nurturing
their
all
-
too
-
real
fantasies
and
pursuing
with
all
their
strength
the
images
of
a
land
in
which
a
certain
light
,
two
or
three
hills
,
a
favourite
tree
and
the
faces
of
women
composed
a
climate
that
nothing
could
replace
.
To
speak
more
particularly
at
last
of
lovers
,
who
are
the
most
interesting
group
and
one
about
whom
the
narrator
is
perhaps
better
qualified
to
speak
,
they
still
found
themselves
tormented
by
other
agonies
,
among
which
one
should
mention
remorse
.
Their
situation
allowed
them
to
consider
their
feelings
with
a
sort
of
feverish
objectivity
,
and
it
was
rare
,
at
such
times
,
for
them
not
to
see
their
own
shortcomings
clearly
.
The
first
occasion
of
this
was
the
difficulty
they
had
in
imagining
precisely
the
absent
person
’
s
actions
and
gestures
.
They
deplored
the
fact
that
they
knew
nothing
about
how
their
loved
ones
spent
their
time
;
they
felt
guilty
about
their
past
failure
to
find
this
out
and
about
having
pretended
to
believe
that
,
for
a
person
in
love
,
the
beloved
’
s
actions
are
not
the
source
of
every
joy
.
From
then
on
it
was
easy
for
them
to
go
back
through
the
story
of
their
love
and
to
examine
its
imperfections
.
In
normal
times
we
are
all
aware
,
consciously
or
not
,
that
there
is
no
love
which
cannot
to
be
surpassed
,
yet
we
accept
with
a
greater
or
lesser
degree
of
equanimity
that
ours
shall
remain
merely
average
.
But
memory
is
more
demanding
.
And
,
in
a
highly
significant
way
,
the
misfortune
that
attacked
us
from
outside
,
and
which
affected
a
whole
town
,
did
not
only
bring
us
an
unjust
suffering
,
about
which
we
might
have
complained
,
it
also
forced
us
to
make
ourselves
suffer
,
and
so
made
us
consent
to
pain
.
This
was
one
way
that
the
disease
had
of
distracting
attention
and
confusing
the
issue
.
Hence
each
one
of
us
had
to
accept
living
from
day
to
day
,
alone
in
the
sight
of
heaven
.
This
general
abandonment
,
which
might
in
the
long
run
form
character
,
began
however
by
making
life
futile
.
For
some
of
our
fellow
-
citizens
,
for
example
,
they
were
now
subjected
to
another
form
of
slavery
that
made
them
subservient
to
the
sun
and
the
rain
.
Seeing
them
,
you
would
have
thought
that
for
the
first
time
they
were
experiencing
a
direct
impression
of
the
weather
.
Their
faces
would
light
up
at
the
simple
appearance
of
golden
light
,
while
rainy
days
would
cast
a
thick
veil
across
their
features
and
their
thoughts
.
A
few
weeks
earlier
,
they
had
been
able
to
escape
this
weakness
and
this
unreasonable
subjection
because
they
were
not
alone
in
the
world
,
and
to
some
extent
the
other
person
who
lived
with
them
stood
at
the
front
of
their
universe
.
From
this
moment
,
however
,
they
seemed
to
have
been
handed
over
to
the
whims
of
the
heavens
,
which
is
to
say
that
they
hoped
and
suffered
without
reason
.
Finally
,
in
these
extremes
of
loneliness
,
no
one
could
hope
for
help
from
his
neighbour
and
everyone
remained
alone
with
his
anxieties
.
If
one
of
us
,
by
chance
,
tried
to
confide
in
someone
or
describe
something
of
his
feelings
,
most
of
the
time
the
reply
that
he
received
,
whatever
it
was
,
would
wound
him
.
It
was
then
that
he
realized
that
the
other
person
and
he
were
not
talking
about
the
same
thing
.
He
would
be
expressing
himself
from
the
depths
of
long
days
of
meditation
and
suffering
,
the
image
that
he
wanted
to
communicate
having
been
long
tempered
in
the
fire
of
waiting
and
passion
.
The
other
person
,
meanwhile
,
imagined
a
conventional
emotion
,
the
suffering
that
is
hawked
around
the
marketplace
,
a
mass
-
produced
melancholy
.
Whether
well
-
meant
or
not
,
the
reply
would
always
strike
the
wrong
note
and
have
to
be
abandoned
.
Or
at
least
for
those
to
whom
silence
was
unbearable
;
since
others
could
not
find
the
true
language
of
the
heart
,
they
resigned
themselves
to
using
the
language
of
the
market
-
place
and
themselves
speaking
in
a
conventional
manner
,
that
of
the
simple
account
or
newspaper
report
,
which
is
to
some
extent
that
of
the
daily
chronicle
of
events
.
Here
too
the
most
authentic
sufferings
were
habitually
translated
into
the
banal
clichés
of
conversation
.
It
was
only
at
this
price
that
the
prisoners
of
the
plague
could
obtain
compassion
from
their
concierges
or
gain
the
interest
of
their
audience
.
And
yet
the
most
important
thing
is
that
however
painful
these
sufferings
were
,
however
heavy
the
heart
was
to
bear
(
though
empty
)
,
one
can
say
that
,
in
the
first
stage
of
the
plague
,
these
exiles
were
the
privileged
ones
.
At
the
very
moment
when
the
inhabitants
of
the
town
started
to
panic
,
their
thoughts
were
entirely
concerned
with
the
person
for
whom
they
were
waiting
.
The
egotism
of
love
protected
them
in
the
midst
of
the
general
distress
and
,
if
they
did
think
about
the
plague
,
it
was
always
and
only
to
the
extent
that
it
risked
making
their
separation
eternal
.
Thus
at
the
very
heart
of
the
epidemic
they
presented
a
salutary
detachment
that
people
were
inclined
to
mistake
for
cool
-
headed
composure
.
Their
despair
saved
them
from
panic
,
so
there
was
some
good
in
their
misfortune
.
For
example
,
if
it
happened
that
one
of
them
did
succumb
to
the
disease
,
it
was
almost
always
before
he
became
aware
of
it
.
Dragged
away
from
the
long
dialogue
that
he
was
holding
inside
himself
with
a
shadow
,
he
would
then
be
cast
forthwith
into
the
still
deeper
silence
of
the
earth
.
He
had
no
time
for
anything
.
*
*
*
