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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Стр. 9/274
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"
He
has
not
stopped
very
long
with
us
.
There
is
no
praise
from
strangers
to
be
got
here
,
"
Signora
Teresa
said
tragically
.
"
Avanti
!
Yes
!
That
is
all
he
cares
for
.
To
be
first
somewhere
--
somehow
--
to
be
first
with
these
English
.
They
will
be
showing
him
to
everybody
.
'
This
is
our
Nostromo
!
"'
She
laughed
ominously
.
"
What
a
name
!
What
is
that
?
Nostromo
?
He
would
take
a
name
that
is
properly
no
word
from
them
.
"
Meantime
Giorgio
,
with
tranquil
movements
,
had
been
unfastening
the
door
;
the
flood
of
light
fell
on
Signora
Teresa
,
with
her
two
girls
gathered
to
her
side
,
a
picturesque
woman
in
a
pose
of
maternal
exaltation
.
Behind
her
the
wall
was
dazzlingly
white
,
and
the
crude
colours
of
the
Garibaldi
lithograph
paled
in
the
sunshine
.
Old
Viola
,
at
the
door
,
moved
his
arm
upwards
as
if
referring
all
his
quick
,
fleeting
thoughts
to
the
picture
of
his
old
chief
on
the
wall
.
Even
when
he
was
cooking
for
the
"
Signori
Inglesi
"
--
the
engineers
(
he
was
a
famous
cook
,
though
the
kitchen
was
a
dark
place
)
--
he
was
,
as
it
were
,
under
the
eye
of
the
great
man
who
had
led
him
in
a
glorious
struggle
where
,
under
the
walls
of
Gaeta
,
tyranny
would
have
expired
for
ever
had
it
not
been
for
that
accursed
Piedmontese
race
of
kings
and
ministers
.
When
sometimes
a
frying-pan
caught
fire
during
a
delicate
operation
with
some
shredded
onions
,
and
the
old
man
was
seen
backing
out
of
the
doorway
,
swearing
and
coughing
violently
in
an
acrid
cloud
of
smoke
,
the
name
of
Cavour
--
the
arch
intriguer
sold
to
kings
and
tyrants
--
could
be
heard
involved
in
imprecations
against
the
China
girls
,
cooking
in
general
,
and
the
brute
of
a
country
where
he
was
reduced
to
live
for
the
love
of
liberty
that
traitor
had
strangled
.
Then
Signora
Teresa
,
all
in
black
,
issuing
from
another
door
,
advanced
,
portly
and
anxious
,
inclining
her
fine
,
black-browed
head
,
opening
her
arms
,
and
crying
in
a
profound
tone
--
"
Giorgio
!
thou
passionate
man
!
Misericordia
Divina
!
In
the
sun
like
this
!
He
will
make
himself
ill
.
"
At
her
feet
the
hens
made
off
in
all
directions
,
with
immense
strides
;
if
there
were
any
engineers
from
up
the
line
staying
in
Sulaco
,
a
young
English
face
or
two
would
appear
at
the
billiard-room
occupying
one
end
of
the
house
;
but
at
the
other
end
,
in
the
cafe
,
Luis
,
the
mulatto
,
took
good
care
not
to
show
himself
.
The
Indian
girls
,
with
hair
like
flowing
black
manes
,
and
dressed
only
in
a
shift
and
short
petticoat
,
stared
dully
from
under
the
square-cut
fringes
on
their
foreheads
;
the
noisy
frizzling
of
fat
had
stopped
,
the
fumes
floated
upwards
in
sunshine
,
a
strong
smell
of
burnt
onions
hung
in
the
drowsy
heat
,
enveloping
the
house
;
and
the
eye
lost
itself
in
a
vast
flat
expanse
of
grass
to
the
west
,
as
if
the
plain
between
the
Sierra
overtopping
Sulaco
and
the
coast
range
away
there
towards
Esmeralda
had
been
as
big
as
half
the
world
.
Signora
Teresa
,
after
an
impressive
pause
,
remonstrated
--
"
Eh
,
Giorgio
!
Leave
Cavour
alone
and
take
care
of
yourself
now
we
are
lost
in
this
country
all
alone
with
the
two
children
,
because
you
can
not
live
under
a
king
.
"
