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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 228/274
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Solitude
from
mere
outward
condition
of
existence
becomes
very
swiftly
a
state
of
soul
in
which
the
affectations
of
irony
and
scepticism
have
no
place
.
It
takes
possession
of
the
mind
,
and
drives
forth
the
thought
into
the
exile
of
utter
unbelief
.
After
three
days
of
waiting
for
the
sight
of
some
human
face
,
Decoud
caught
himself
entertaining
a
doubt
of
his
own
individuality
.
It
had
merged
into
the
world
of
cloud
and
water
,
of
natural
forces
and
forms
of
nature
.
In
our
activity
alone
do
we
find
the
sustaining
illusion
of
an
independent
existence
as
against
the
whole
scheme
of
things
of
which
we
form
a
helpless
part
.
Decoud
lost
all
belief
in
the
reality
of
his
action
past
and
to
come
.
On
the
fifth
day
an
immense
melancholy
descended
upon
him
palpably
.
He
resolved
not
to
give
himself
up
to
these
people
in
Sulaco
,
who
had
beset
him
,
unreal
and
terrible
,
like
jibbering
and
obscene
spectres
.
He
saw
himself
struggling
feebly
in
their
midst
,
and
Antonia
,
gigantic
and
lovely
like
an
allegorical
statue
,
looking
on
with
scornful
eyes
at
his
weakness
.
Not
a
living
being
,
not
a
speck
of
distant
sail
,
appeared
within
the
range
of
his
vision
;
and
,
as
if
to
escape
from
this
solitude
,
he
absorbed
himself
in
his
melancholy
.
The
vague
consciousness
of
a
misdirected
life
given
up
to
impulses
whose
memory
left
a
bitter
taste
in
his
mouth
was
the
first
moral
sentiment
of
his
manhood
.
But
at
the
same
time
he
felt
no
remorse
.
What
should
he
regret
?
He
had
recognized
no
other
virtue
than
intelligence
,
and
had
erected
passions
into
duties
.
Both
his
intelligence
and
his
passion
were
swallowed
up
easily
in
this
great
unbroken
solitude
of
waiting
without
faith
.
Sleeplessness
had
robbed
his
will
of
all
energy
,
for
he
had
not
slept
seven
hours
in
the
seven
days
.
His
sadness
was
the
sadness
of
a
sceptical
mind
.
He
beheld
the
universe
as
a
succession
of
incomprehensible
images
.
Nostromo
was
dead
.
Everything
had
failed
ignominiously
.
He
no
longer
dared
to
think
of
Antonia
.
She
had
not
survived
.
But
if
she
survived
he
could
not
face
her
.
And
all
exertion
seemed
senseless
.
On
the
tenth
day
,
after
a
night
spent
without
even
dozing
off
once
(
it
had
occurred
to
him
that
Antonia
could
not
possibly
have
ever
loved
a
being
so
impalpable
as
himself
)
,
the
solitude
appeared
like
a
great
void
,
and
the
silence
of
the
gulf
like
a
tense
,
thin
cord
to
which
he
hung
suspended
by
both
hands
,
without
fear
,
without
surprise
,
without
any
sort
of
emotion
whatever
.
Only
towards
the
evening
,
in
the
comparative
relief
of
coolness
,
he
began
to
wish
that
this
cord
would
snap
.
He
imagined
it
snapping
with
a
report
as
of
a
pistol
--
a
sharp
,
full
crack
.
And
that
would
be
the
end
of
him
.
He
contemplated
that
eventuality
with
pleasure
,
because
he
dreaded
the
sleepless
nights
in
which
the
silence
,
remaining
unbroken
in
the
shape
of
a
cord
to
which
he
hung
with
both
hands
,
vibrated
with
senseless
phrases
,
always
the
same
but
utterly
incomprehensible
,
about
Nostromo
,
Antonia
,
Barrios
,
and
proclamations
mingled
into
an
ironical
and
senseless
buzzing
.
In
the
daytime
he
could
look
at
the
silence
like
a
still
cord
stretched
to
breakingpoint
,
with
his
life
,
his
vain
life
,
suspended
to
it
like
a
weight
.
"
I
wonder
whether
I
would
hear
it
snap
before
I
fell
,
"
he
asked
himself
.
The
sun
was
two
hours
above
the
horizon
when
he
got
up
,
gaunt
,
dirty
,
white-faced
,
and
looked
at
it
with
his
red-rimmed
eyes
.
His
limbs
obeyed
him
slowly
,
as
if
full
of
lead
,
yet
without
tremor
;
and
the
effect
of
that
physical
condition
gave
to
his
movements
an
unhesitating
,
deliberate
dignity
.
He
acted
as
if
accomplishing
some
sort
of
rite
.
He
descended
into
the
gully
;
for
the
fascination
of
all
that
silver
,
with
its
potential
power
,
survived
alone
outside
of
himself
.
He
picked
up
the
belt
with
the
revolver
,
that
was
lying
there
,
and
buckled
it
round
his
waist
.
The
cord
of
silence
could
never
snap
on
the
island
.
It
must
let
him
fall
and
sink
into
the
sea
,
he
thought
.
And
sink
!
He
was
looking
at
the
loose
earth
covering
the
treasure
.
In
the
sea
!
His
aspect
was
that
of
a
somnambulist
.
He
lowered
himself
down
on
his
knees
slowly
and
went
on
grubbing
with
his
fingers
with
industrious
patience
till
he
uncovered
one
of
the
boxes
.
Without
a
pause
,
as
if
doing
some
work
done
many
times
before
,
he
slit
it
open
and
took
four
ingots
,
which
he
put
in
his
pockets
.
He
covered
up
the
exposed
box
again
and
step
by
step
came
out
of
the
gully
.
The
bushes
closed
after
him
with
a
swish
.
It
was
on
the
third
day
of
his
solitude
that
he
had
dragged
the
dinghy
near
the
water
with
an
idea
of
rowing
away
somewhere
,
but
had
desisted
partly
at
the
whisper
of
lingering
hope
that
Nostromo
would
return
,
partly
from
conviction
of
utter
uselessness
of
all
effort
.
Now
she
wanted
only
a
slight
shove
to
be
set
afloat
.
He
had
eaten
a
little
every
day
after
the
first
,
and
had
some
muscular
strength
left
yet
.
Taking
up
the
oars
slowly
,
he
pulled
away
from
the
cliff
of
the
Great
Isabel
,
that
stood
behind
him
warm
with
sunshine
,
as
if
with
the
heat
of
life
,
bathed
in
a
rich
light
from
head
to
foot
as
if
in
a
radiance
of
hope
and
joy
.
He
pulled
straight
towards
the
setting
sun
.
When
the
gulf
had
grown
dark
,
he
ceased
rowing
and
flung
the
sculls
in
.
The
hollow
clatter
they
made
in
falling
was
the
loudest
noise
he
had
ever
heard
in
his
life
.
It
was
a
revelation
.
It
seemed
to
recall
him
from
far
away
,
Actually
the
thought
,
"
Perhaps
I
may
sleep
to-night
,
"
passed
through
his
mind
.
But
he
did
not
believe
it
.
He
believed
in
nothing
;
and
he
remained
sitting
on
the
thwart
.
The
dawn
from
behind
the
mountains
put
a
gleam
into
his
unwinking
eyes
.
After
a
clear
daybreak
the
sun
appeared
splendidly
above
the
peaks
of
the
range
.
The
great
gulf
burst
into
a
glitter
all
around
the
boat
;
and
in
this
glory
of
merciless
solitude
the
silence
appeared
again
before
him
,
stretched
taut
like
a
dark
,
thin
string
.
His
eyes
looked
at
it
while
,
without
haste
,
he
shifted
his
seat
from
the
thwart
to
the
gunwale
.
