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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 168/274
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"
And
but
for
him
we
might
not
have
known
anything
of
what
has
happened
,
"
marvelled
Charles
Gould
.
Mrs.
Gould
cried
out
--
"
Antonia
must
not
know
!
She
must
not
be
told
.
Not
now
.
"
"
Nobody
's
likely
to
carry
the
news
,
"
remarked
the
doctor
.
"
It
's
no
one
's
interest
.
Moreover
,
the
people
here
are
afraid
of
Hernandez
as
if
he
were
the
devil
.
"
He
turned
to
Charles
Gould
.
"
It
's
even
awkward
,
because
if
you
wanted
to
communicate
with
the
refugees
you
could
find
no
messenger
.
When
Hernandez
was
ranging
hundreds
of
miles
away
from
here
the
Sulaco
populace
used
to
shudder
at
the
tales
of
him
roasting
his
prisoners
alive
.
"
"
Yes
,
"
murmured
Charles
Gould
;
"
Captain
Mitchell
's
Capataz
was
the
only
man
in
the
town
who
had
seen
Hernandez
eye
to
eye
.
Father
Corbelan
employed
him
.
He
opened
the
communications
first
.
It
is
a
pity
that
--
"
His
voice
was
covered
by
the
booming
of
the
great
bell
of
the
cathedral
.
Three
single
strokes
,
one
after
another
,
burst
out
explosively
,
dying
away
in
deep
and
mellow
vibrations
.
And
then
all
the
bells
in
the
tower
of
every
church
,
convent
,
or
chapel
in
town
,
even
those
that
had
remained
shut
up
for
years
,
pealed
out
together
with
a
crash
.
In
this
furious
flood
of
metallic
uproar
there
was
a
power
of
suggesting
images
of
strife
and
violence
which
blanched
Mrs.
Gould
's
cheek
.
Basilio
,
who
had
been
waiting
at
table
,
shrinking
within
himself
,
clung
to
the
sideboard
with
chattering
teeth
.
It
was
impossible
to
hear
yourself
speak
.
"
Shut
these
windows
!
"
Charles
Gould
yelled
at
him
,
angrily
.
All
the
other
servants
,
terrified
at
what
they
took
for
the
signal
of
a
general
massacre
,
had
rushed
upstairs
,
tumbling
over
each
other
,
men
and
women
,
the
obscure
and
generally
invisible
population
of
the
ground
floor
on
the
four
sides
of
the
patio
.
The
women
,
screaming
"
Misericordia
!
"
ran
right
into
the
room
,
and
,
falling
on
their
knees
against
the
walls
,
began
to
cross
themselves
convulsively
.
The
staring
heads
of
men
blocked
the
doorway
in
an
instant
--
mozos
from
the
stable
,
gardeners
,
nondescript
helpers
living
on
the
crumbs
of
the
munificent
house
--
and
Charles
Gould
beheld
all
the
extent
of
his
domestic
establishment
,
even
to
the
gatekeeper
.
This
was
a
half-paralyzed
old
man
,
whose
long
white
locks
fell
down
to
his
shoulders
:
an
heirloom
taken
up
by
Charles
Gould
's
familial
piety
.
He
could
remember
Henry
Gould
,
an
Englishman
and
a
Costaguanero
of
the
second
generation
,
chief
of
the
Sulaco
province
;
he
had
been
his
personal
mozo
years
and
years
ago
in
peace
and
war
;
had
been
allowed
to
attend
his
master
in
prison
;
had
,
on
the
fatal
morning
,
followed
the
firing
squad
;
and
,
peeping
from
behind
one
of
the
cypresses
growing
along
the
wall
of
the
Franciscan
Convent
,
had
seen
,
with
his
eyes
starting
out
of
his
head
,
Don
Enrique
throw
up
his
hands
and
fall
with
his
face
in
the
dust
.
Charles
Gould
noted
particularly
the
big
patriarchal
head
of
that
witness
in
the
rear
of
the
other
servants
.
But
he
was
surprised
to
see
a
shrivelled
old
hag
or
two
,
of
whose
existence
within
the
walls
of
his
house
he
had
not
been
aware
.
They
must
have
been
the
mothers
,
or
even
the
grandmothers
of
some
of
his
people
.
There
were
a
few
children
,
too
,
more
or
less
naked
,
crying
and
clinging
to
the
legs
of
their
elders
.
He
had
never
before
noticed
any
sign
of
a
child
in
his
patio
.
Even
Leonarda
,
the
camerista
,
came
in
a
fright
,
pushing
through
,
with
her
spoiled
,
pouting
face
of
a
favourite
maid
,
leading
the
Viola
girls
by
the
hand
The
crockery
rattled
on
table
and
sideboard
,
and
the
whole
house
seemed
to
sway
in
the
deafening
wave
of
sound
.
