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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Стр. 18/274
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She
would
have
protested
that
she
had
done
nothing
for
them
,
with
a
low
laugh
and
a
surprised
widening
of
her
grey
eyes
,
had
anybody
told
her
how
convincingly
she
was
remembered
on
the
edge
of
the
snow-line
above
Sulaco
.
But
directly
,
with
a
little
capable
air
of
setting
her
wits
to
work
,
she
would
have
found
an
explanation
.
"
Of
course
,
it
was
such
a
surprise
for
these
boys
to
find
any
sort
of
welcome
here
.
And
I
suppose
they
are
homesick
.
I
suppose
everybody
must
be
always
just
a
little
homesick
.
"
She
was
always
sorry
for
homesick
people
.
Born
in
the
country
,
as
his
father
before
him
,
spare
and
tall
,
with
a
flaming
moustache
,
a
neat
chin
,
clear
blue
eyes
,
auburn
hair
,
and
a
thin
,
fresh
,
red
face
,
Charles
Gould
looked
like
a
new
arrival
from
over
the
sea
.
His
grandfather
had
fought
in
the
cause
of
independence
under
Bolivar
,
in
that
famous
English
legion
which
on
the
battlefield
of
Carabobo
had
been
saluted
by
the
great
Liberator
as
Saviours
of
his
country
.
One
of
Charles
Gould
's
uncles
had
been
the
elected
President
of
that
very
province
of
Sulaco
(
then
called
a
State
)
in
the
days
of
Federation
,
and
afterwards
had
been
put
up
against
the
wall
of
a
church
and
shot
by
the
order
of
the
barbarous
Unionist
general
,
Guzman
Bento
.
It
was
the
same
Guzman
Bento
who
,
becoming
later
Perpetual
President
,
famed
for
his
ruthless
and
cruel
tyranny
,
readied
his
apotheosis
in
the
popular
legend
of
a
sanguinary
land-haunting
spectre
whose
body
had
been
carried
off
by
the
devil
in
person
from
the
brick
mausoleum
in
the
nave
of
the
Church
of
Assumption
in
Sta
.
Marta
.
Thus
,
at
least
,
the
priests
explained
its
disappearance
to
the
barefooted
multitude
that
streamed
in
,
awestruck
,
to
gaze
at
the
hole
in
the
side
of
the
ugly
box
of
bricks
before
the
great
altar
.
Guzman
Bento
of
cruel
memory
had
put
to
death
great
numbers
of
people
besides
Charles
Gould
's
uncle
;
but
with
a
relative
martyred
in
the
cause
of
aristocracy
,
the
Sulaco
Oligarchs
(
this
was
the
phraseology
of
Guzman
Bento
's
time
;
now
they
were
called
Blancos
,
and
had
given
up
the
federal
idea
)
,
which
meant
the
families
of
pure
Spanish
descent
,
considered
Charles
as
one
of
themselves
.
With
such
a
family
record
,
no
one
could
be
more
of
a
Costaguanero
than
Don
Carlos
Gould
;
but
his
aspect
was
so
characteristic
that
in
the
talk
of
common
people
he
was
just
the
Inglez
--
the
Englishman
of
Sulaco
.
He
looked
more
English
than
a
casual
tourist
,
a
sort
of
heretic
pilgrim
,
however
,
quite
unknown
in
Sulaco
.
He
looked
more
English
than
the
last
arrived
batch
of
young
railway
engineers
,
than
anybody
out
of
the
hunting-field
pictures
in
the
numbers
of
Punch
reaching
his
wife
's
drawing-room
two
months
or
so
after
date
.
It
astonished
you
to
hear
him
talk
Spanish
(
Castillan
,
as
the
natives
say
)
or
the
Indian
dialect
of
the
country-people
so
naturally
.
His
accent
had
never
been
English
;
but
there
was
something
so
indelible
in
all
these
ancestral
Goulds
--
liberators
,
explorers
,
coffee
planters
,
merchants
,
revolutionists
--
of
Costaguana
,
that
he
,
the
only
representative
of
the
third
generation
in
a
continent
possessing
its
own
style
of
horsemanship
,
went
on
looking
thoroughly
English
even
on
horseback
.
This
is
not
said
of
him
in
the
mocking
spirit
of
the
Llaneros
--
men
of
the
great
plains
--
who
think
that
no
one
in
the
world
knows
how
to
sit
a
horse
but
themselves
.
Charles
Gould
,
to
use
the
suitably
lofty
phrase
,
rode
like
a
centaur
.
Riding
for
him
was
not
a
special
form
of
exercise
;
it
was
a
natural
faculty
,
as
walking
straight
is
to
all
men
sound
of
mind
and
limb
;
but
,
all
the
same
,
when
cantering
beside
the
rutty
ox-cart
track
to
the
mine
he
looked
in
his
English
clothes
and
with
his
imported
saddlery
as
though
he
had
come
this
moment
to
Costaguana
at
his
easy
swift
pasotrote
,
straight
out
of
some
green
meadow
at
the
other
side
of
the
world
.
His
way
would
lie
along
the
old
Spanish
road
--
the
Camino
Real
of
popular
speech
--
the
only
remaining
vestige
of
a
fact
and
name
left
by
that
royalty
old
Giorgio
Viola
hated
,
and
whose
very
shadow
had
departed
from
the
land
;
for
the
big
equestrian
statue
of
Charles
IV
at
the
entrance
of
the
Alameda
,
towering
white
against
the
trees
,
was
only
known
to
the
folk
from
the
country
and
to
the
beggars
of
the
town
that
slept
on
the
steps
around
the
pedestal
,
as
the
Horse
of
Stone
.
The
other
Carlos
,
turning
off
to
the
left
with
a
rapid
clatter
of
hoofs
on
the
disjointed
pavement
--
Don
Carlos
Gould
,
in
his
English
clothes
,
looked
as
incongruous
,
but
much
more
at
home
than
the
kingly
cavalier
reining
in
his
steed
on
the
pedestal
above
the
sleeping
leperos
,
with
his
marble
arm
raised
towards
the
marble
rim
of
a
plumed
hat
.
The
weather-stained
effigy
of
the
mounted
king
,
with
its
vague
suggestion
of
a
saluting
gesture
,
seemed
to
present
an
inscrutable
breast
to
the
political
changes
which
had
robbed
it
of
its
very
name
;
but
neither
did
the
other
horseman
,
well
known
to
the
people
,
keen
and
alive
on
his
well-shaped
,
slate-coloured
beast
with
a
white
eye
,
wear
his
heart
on
the
sleeve
of
his
English
coat
.
His
mind
preserved
its
steady
poise
as
if
sheltered
in
the
passionless
stability
of
private
and
public
decencies
at
home
in
Europe
.
He
accepted
with
a
like
calm
the
shocking
manner
in
which
the
Sulaco
ladies
smothered
their
faces
with
pearl
powder
till
they
looked
like
white
plaster
casts
with
beautiful
living
eyes
,
the
peculiar
gossip
of
the
town
,
and
the
continuous
political
changes
,
the
constant
"
saving
of
the
country
,
"
which
to
his
wife
seemed
a
puerile
and
bloodthirsty
game
of
murder
and
rapine
played
with
terrible
earnestness
by
depraved
children
.
In
the
early
days
of
her
Costaguana
life
,
the
little
lady
used
to
clench
her
hands
with
exasperation
at
not
being
able
to
take
the
public
affairs
of
the
country
as
seriously
as
the
incidental
atrocity
of
methods
deserved
.
She
saw
in
them
a
comedy
of
naive
pretences
,
but
hardly
anything
genuine
except
her
own
appalled
indignation
.
Charles
,
very
quiet
and
twisting
his
long
moustaches
,
would
decline
to
discuss
them
at
all
.
Once
,
however
,
he
observed
to
her
gently
--
"
My
dear
,
you
seem
to
forget
that
I
was
born
here
.
"
These
few
words
made
her
pause
as
if
they
had
been
a
sudden
revelation
.
Perhaps
the
mere
fact
of
being
born
in
the
country
did
make
a
difference
.
She
had
a
great
confidence
in
her
husband
;
it
had
always
been
very
great
.
He
had
struck
her
imagination
from
the
first
by
his
unsentimentalism
,
by
that
very
quietude
of
mind
which
she
had
erected
in
her
thought
for
a
sign
of
perfect
competency
in
the
business
of
living
.
