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- Джозеф Конрад
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"
I
have
found
Dona
Antonia
's
fan
,
Basilio
.
Look
.
here
it
is
!
"
IT
WAS
part
of
what
Decoud
would
have
called
his
sane
materialism
that
he
did
not
believe
in
the
possibility
of
friendship
between
man
and
woman
.
The
one
exception
he
allowed
confirmed
,
he
maintained
,
that
absolute
rule
.
Friendship
was
possible
between
brother
and
sister
,
meaning
by
friendship
the
frank
unreserve
,
as
before
another
human
being
,
of
thoughts
and
sensations
;
all
the
objectless
and
necessary
sincerity
of
one
's
innermost
life
trying
to
re-act
upon
the
profound
sympathies
of
another
existence
.
His
favourite
sister
,
the
handsome
,
slightly
arbitrary
and
resolute
angel
,
ruling
the
father
and
mother
Decoud
in
the
first-floor
apartments
of
a
very
fine
Parisian
house
,
was
the
recipient
of
Martin
Decoud
's
confidences
as
to
his
thoughts
,
actions
,
purposes
,
doubts
,
and
even
failures
...
.
"
Prepare
our
little
circle
in
Paris
for
the
birth
of
another
South
American
Republic
.
One
more
or
less
,
what
does
it
matter
?
They
may
come
into
the
world
like
evil
flowers
on
a
hotbed
of
rotten
institutions
;
but
the
seed
of
this
one
has
germinated
in
your
brother
's
brain
,
and
that
will
be
enough
for
your
devoted
assent
.
I
am
writing
this
to
you
by
the
light
of
a
single
candle
,
in
a
sort
of
inn
,
near
the
harbour
,
kept
by
an
Italian
called
Viola
,
a
protege
of
Mrs.
Gould
.
The
whole
building
,
which
,
for
all
I
know
,
may
have
been
contrived
by
a
Conquistador
farmer
of
the
pearl
fishery
three
hundred
years
ago
,
is
perfectly
silent
.
So
is
the
plain
between
the
town
and
the
harbour
;
silent
,
but
not
so
dark
as
the
house
,
because
the
pickets
of
Italian
workmen
guarding
the
railway
have
lighted
little
fires
all
along
the
line
.
It
was
not
so
quiet
around
here
yesterday
.
We
had
an
awful
riot
--
a
sudden
outbreak
of
the
populace
,
which
was
not
suppressed
till
late
today
.
Its
object
,
no
doubt
,
was
loot
,
and
that
was
defeated
,
as
you
may
have
learned
already
from
the
cablegram
sent
via
San
Francisco
and
New
York
last
night
,
when
the
cables
were
still
open
.
You
have
read
already
there
that
the
energetic
action
of
the
Europeans
of
the
railway
has
saved
the
town
from
destruction
,
and
you
may
believe
that
.
I
wrote
out
the
cable
myself
.
We
have
no
Reuter
's
agency
man
here
.
I
have
also
fired
at
the
mob
from
the
windows
of
the
club
,
in
company
with
some
other
young
men
of
position
.
Our
object
was
to
keep
the
Calle
de
la
Constitucion
clear
for
the
exodus
of
the
ladies
and
children
,
who
have
taken
refuge
on
board
a
couple
of
cargo
ships
now
in
the
harbour
here
.
That
was
yesterday
.
You
should
also
have
learned
from
the
cable
that
the
missing
President
,
Ribiera
,
who
had
disappeared
after
the
battle
of
Sta
.
Marta
,
has
turned
up
here
in
Sulaco
by
one
of
those
strange
coincidences
that
are
almost
incredible
,
riding
on
a
lame
mule
into
the
very
midst
of
the
street
fighting
.
It
appears
that
he
had
fled
,
in
company
of
a
muleteer
called
Bonifacio
,
across
the
mountains
from
the
threats
of
Montero
into
the
arms
of
an
enraged
mob
.
"
The
Capataz
of
Cargadores
,
that
Italian
sailor
of
whom
I
have
written
to
you
before
,
has
saved
him
from
an
ignoble
death
.
That
man
seems
to
have
a
particular
talent
for
being
on
the
spot
whenever
there
is
something
picturesque
to
be
done
.
"
He
was
with
me
at
four
o'clock
in
the
morning
at
the
offices
of
the
Porvenir
,
where
he
had
turned
up
so
early
in
order
to
warn
me
of
the
coming
trouble
,
and
also
to
assure
me
that
he
would
keep
his
Cargadores
on
the
side
of
order
.
When
the
full
daylight
came
we
were
looking
together
at
the
crowd
on
foot
and
on
horseback
,
demonstrating
on
the
Plaza
and
shying
stones
at
the
windows
of
the
Intendencia
.
Nostromo
(
that
is
the
name
they
call
him
by
here
)
was
pointing
out
to
me
his
Cargadores
interspersed
in
the
mob
.
"
The
sun
shines
late
upon
Sulaco
,
for
it
has
first
to
climb
above
the
mountains
.
In
that
clear
morning
light
,
brighter
than
twilight
,
Nostromo
saw
right
across
the
vast
Plaza
,
at
the
end
of
the
street
beyond
the
cathedral
,
a
mounted
man
apparently
in
difficulties
with
a
yelling
knot
of
leperos
.
At
once
he
said
to
me
,
'
That
's
a
stranger
.
What
is
it
they
are
doing
to
him
?
'
Then
he
took
out
the
silver
whistle
he
is
in
the
habit
of
using
on
the
wharf
(
this
man
seems
to
disdain
the
use
of
any
metal
less
precious
than
silver
)
and
blew
into
it
twice
,
evidently
a
preconcerted
signal
for
his
Cargadores
.
He
ran
out
immediately
,
and
they
rallied
round
him
.
I
ran
out
,
too
,
but
was
too
late
to
follow
them
and
help
in
the
rescue
of
the
stranger
,
whose
animal
had
fallen
.
I
was
set
upon
at
once
as
a
hated
aristocrat
,
and
was
only
too
glad
to
get
into
the
club
,
where
Don
Jaime
Berges
(
you
may
remember
him
visiting
at
our
house
in
Paris
some
three
years
ago
)
thrust
a
sporting
gun
into
my
hands
.
They
were
already
firing
from
the
windows
.
There
were
little
heaps
of
cartridges
lying
about
on
the
open
card-tables
.
I
remember
a
couple
of
overturned
chairs
,
some
bottles
rolling
on
the
floor
amongst
the
packs
of
cards
scattered
suddenly
as
the
caballeros
rose
from
their
game
to
open
fire
upon
the
mob
.
Most
of
the
young
men
had
spent
the
night
at
the
club
in
the
expectation
of
some
such
disturbance
.
In
two
of
the
candelabra
,
on
the
consoles
,
the
candles
were
burning
down
in
their
sockets
.
A
large
iron
nut
,
probably
stolen
from
the
railway
workshops
,
flew
in
from
the
street
as
I
entered
,
and
broke
one
of
the
large
mirrors
set
in
the
wall
.
I
noticed
also
one
of
the
club
servants
tied
up
hand
and
foot
with
the
cords
of
the
curtain
and
flung
in
a
corner
.
I
have
a
vague
recollection
of
Don
Jaime
assuring
me
hastily
that
the
fellow
had
been
detected
putting
poison
into
the
dishes
at
supper
.
But
I
remember
distinctly
he
was
shrieking
for
mercy
,
without
stopping
at
all
,
continuously
,
and
so
absolutely
disregarded
that
nobody
even
took
the
trouble
to
gag
him
.
The
noise
he
made
was
so
disagreeable
that
I
had
half
a
mind
to
do
it
myself
.
But
there
was
no
time
to
waste
on
such
trifles
.
I
took
my
place
at
one
of
the
windows
and
began
firing
.
