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CHAPTER I
Through good and evil report in the varying fortune of
that struggle which D on Jose had characterized in the phrase,
«the fate of national honesty trembles in the balance»,
the Gould Concession, «Imperium in Imperio», had gone on
working; the square mountain had gone on pouring its treasure down the wooden shoots to the unresting batteries of
stamps; the lights of San Tome had twinkled night after night
up on the great, limitless shadow of the Campo; every three
months the silver escort had gone down to the sea as if neither the war nor its consequences could ever affect the ancient Occidental State secluded beyond its high barrier of
the Cordillera. All the fi ghting took place on the other side of
that mighty wall of serrated peaks lorded over by the white
dome of Higuerota and as yet unbreached by the railway, of
which only the fi rst part, the easy Campo part from Sulaco to
the Ivie Valleyat the foot of the pass, had been laid. Neither did
the telegraph line cross the mountains yet; its poles, like slender beacons on the plain, penetrated into the forest fringe of
the foot-hills cut by the deep avenue of the track; and its wire
ended abruptly in the constructi on campat a white deal table
supporting a Morse apparatus, in a long hut of planks with
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JOSEPH CONRAD
a corrugated ir on ro of overshadowed by gigantic cedar trees –
the quarters of the engineer in charge of the advance section.
The harbour was busy, too, with the traffi c in railway
material, and with the movements of troops along the coast.
The O.S.N. Company found much occupati on for its fl eet.
Costaguana had no navy, and, apart from a few coastguard
cutters, there were no national ships except a couple of old
merchant steamers used as transports.
Captain Mitchell, feeling more and more in the thick of
history, found time for an hour or so during an afterno on in
the drawing-room of the Casa Gould, where, with a strange
ignorance of the real forcesat work around him, he professed
himself delighted to get away from the strain of affairs. He did
not know what he would have done without his invaluable
Nostromo, he declared. Those confounded Costaguana politics
gave him more work – he confi ded to Mrs. Gould – than he
had bargained for.
D on Jose Avellanos had displayed in the service of the endangered Ribiera Government an organizing activity and
an eloquence of which the echoes reached even Europe. For,
after the new loan to the Ribiera Government, Europe had
become interested in Costaguana. The Sala of the Provincial
Assembly (in the Municipal Buildings of Sulaco), with its portraits of the Liberators on the walls and an old fl ag of Cortez preserved in a glass case above the President’s chair, had
heard all these speeches – the early one containing the impassioned declarati on «Militarism is the enemy», the famous
one of the «trembling balance» delivered on the occasi on of
the vote for the raising of a second Sulaco regiment in the de-
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fence of the reforming Government; and when the provinces
again displayed their old fl ags (proscribed in Guzman Bento’s
time) there was another of those great orations, when D on
Jose greeted these old emblems of the war of Independence,
brought out again in the name of new Ideals. The old idea of
Federalism had disappeared. For his part he did not wish to
revive old political doctrines. They were perishable. They died.
But the doctrine of political rectitude was immortal. The second Sulaco regiment, to whom he was presenting this fl ag, was
going to show its valour in a contest for order, peace, progress;
for the establishment of national self-respect without which –
he declared with energy – «we are a reproach and a byword
amongst the powers of the world».
D on Jose Avellanos loved his country. He had served it
lavishly with his fortune during his diplomatic career, and
the later story of his captivity and barbarous ill-usage under
Guzman Bento was well known to his listeners. It was a wonder that he had not been a victim of the ferocious and summary executions which marked the course of that tyranny;
for Guzman had ruled the country with the sombre imbecility of political fanaticism. The power of Supreme Government
had become in his dull mind an object of strange worship, as
if it were some sort of cruel deity. It was incarnated in himself, and his adversaries, the Federalists, were the supreme
sinners, objects of hate, abhorrence, and fear, as heretics
would be to a convinced Inquisitor. For years he had carried
aboutat the tail of the Army of Pacifi cation, all over the country, a captive band of such atrocious criminals, who considered
themselves most unfortunateat not having been summarily
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JOSEPH CONRAD
executed. It was a diminishing company of nearly naked skeletons, loaded with irons, covered with dirt, with vermin, with
raw wounds, all men of position, of education, of wealth, who
had learned to fi ght amongst themselves for scraps of rotten
beef thrown to them by soldiers, or to beg a negro cook for
a drink of muddy water in pitiful accents. D on Jose Avellanos,
clanking his chains amongst the others, seemed only to exist
in order to prove how much hunger, pain, degradation, and
cruel torture a human body can stand without parting with
the last spark of life. Sometimes interrogatories, backed by
some primitive method of torture, were administered to
them by a commissi on of offi cers hastily assembled in a hut of
sticks and branches, and made pitiless by the fear for their own
lives. A lucky one or two of that spectral company of prisoners
would perhaps be led tottering behind a bush to be shot by
a fi le of soldiers. Always an army chaplain – some unshaven,
dirty man, girt with a sword and with a tiny cross embroidered
in white cott on on the left breast of a lieutenant’s uniform –
would follow, cigarette in the corner of the mouth, wooden
stool in hand, to hear the confessi on and give absolution; for
the Citizen Saviour of the Country (Guzman Bento was called
thus offi cially in petitions) was not averse from the exercise of
rational clemency. The irregular report of the fi ring squad
would be heard, followed sometimes by a single fi nishing shot;
a little bluish cloud of smoke would fl oat up above the green
bushes, and the Army of Pacifi cati on would move on over
the savannas, through the forests, crossing rivers, invading
rural pueblos, devastating the haciendas of the horrid aristocrats, occupying the inland towns in the fulfi lment of its
164
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patriotic mission, and leaving behind a united land wherein
the evil taint of Federalism could no longer be detected in
the smoke of burning houses and the smell of spilt blood.
D on Jose Avellanos had survived that time. Perhaps, when
contemptuously signifying to him his release, the Citizen Saviour of the Country might have thought this benighted aristocrat too broken in health and spirit and fortune to be any longer dangerous. Or, perhaps, it may have been a simple caprice.
Guzman Bento, usually full of fanciful fears and brooding suspicions, had sudden accesses of unreasonable self-confi dence
when he perceived himself elevated on a pinnacle of power
and safety beyond the reach of mere mortal plotters.At such
times he would impulsively command the celebrati on of
a solemn Mass of thanksgiving, which would be sung in great
pomp in the cathedral of Sta. Marta by the trembling, subservient Archbishop of his creation. He heard it sitting in a gilt
armchair placed before the high altar, surrounded by the civil
and military heads of his Government. The unoffi cial world of
Sta. Marta would crowd into the cathedral, for it was not quite
safe for anybody of mark to stay away from these manifestations of presidential piety. Having thus acknowledged the only
power he wasat all disposed to recognize as above himself, he
would scatter acts of political grace in a sardonic wantonness of clemency. There was no other way left now to enjoy
his power but by seeing his crushed adversaries crawl impotently into the light of day out of the dark, noisome cells of
the Collegio. Their harmlessness fed his insatiable vanity, and
they could always be got hold of again. It was the rule for all
the women of their families to present thanks afterwards in
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JOSEPH CONRAD
a special audience. The incarnati on of that strange god, El Gobierno Supremo, received them standing, cocked hat on head,
and exhorted them in a menacing mutter to show their gratitude by bringing up their children in fi delity to the democratic form of government, «which I have established for the happiness of our country». His front teeth having been knocked
out in some accident of his former herdsman’s life, his utterance was spluttering and indistinct. He had been working for
Costaguana alone in the midst of treachery and opposition.
Let it cease now lest he should become weary of forgiving!
D on Jose Avellanos had known this forgiveness.
He was broken in health and fortune deplorably enough to
present a truly gratifying spectacle to the supreme chief of
democratic institutions. He retired to Sulaco. His wife had
an estate in that province, and she nursed him back to life
out of the house of death and captivity. When she died, their
daughter, an only child, was old enough to devote herself to
«poor papa».
Miss Avellanos, born in Europe and educated partly
in England, was a tall, grave girl, with a self-possessed
manner, a wide, white forehead, a wealth of rich brown hair,
and blue eyes.
The other young ladies of Sulaco stood in awe of her character and accomplishments. She was reputed to be terribly
learned and serious. As to pride, it was well known that all
the Corbelans were proud, and her mother was a Corbelan.
D on Jose Avellanos depended very much up on the devoti on of his beloved Antonia. He accepted it in the benighted
way of men, who, though made in God’s image, are like stone
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idols without sense before the smoke of certain burnt offerings. He was ruined in every way, but a man possessed of passi on is not a bankrupt in life. D on Jose Avellanos desired passionately for his country: peace, prosperity, and (as the end of
the preface to «Fifty Years of Misrule» has it) «an honourable
place in the comity of civilized nations». In this last phrase
the Minister Plenipotentiary, cruelly humiliated by the bad
faith of his Government towards the foreign bondholders,
stands disclosed in the patriot.
The fatuous turmoil of greedy factions succeeding the tyranny of Guzman Bento seemed to bring his desire to the very
door of opportunity. He was too old to descend personally
into the centre of the arena at Sta. Marta. But the men who
acted there sought his adviceat every step. He himself thought
that he could be most usefulat a distance, in Sulaco. His name,
his connections, his former position, his experience commanded the respect of his class. The discovery that this man,
living in dignifi ed poverty in the Corbelan town residence
(opposite the Casa Gould), could dispose of material means
towards the support of the cause increased his infl uence. It
was his open letter of appeal that decided the candidature of
D on Vincente Ribiera for the Presidency. Another of these
informal State papers drawn up by D on Jose (this time in
the shape of an address from the Province) induced that scrupulous constitutionalist to accept the extraordinary powers
conferred up on him for fi ve years by an overwhelming vote of
congress in Sta. Marta. It was a specifi c mandate to establish
the prosperity of the people on the basis of fi rm peaceat home,
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JOSEPH CONRAD
and to redeem the national credit by the satisfacti on of all just
claims abroad.
On the afterno on the news of that vote had reached Sulaco by the usual roundabout postal way through Cayta, and up
the coast by steamer. D on Jose, who had been waiting for
the mail in the Goulds’ drawing-room, got out of the rockingchair, letting his hat fall off his knees. He rubbed his silvery,
short hair with both hands, speechless with the excess of joy.
«Emilia, my soul», he had burst out, «let me embrace you!
Let me –»
Captain Mitchell, had he been there, would no doubt
have made an apt remark about the dawn of a new era; but if
D on Jose thought something of the kind, his eloquence failed
him on this occasion. The inspirer of that revival of the Blanco party tottered where he stood. Mrs. Gould moved forward
quickly and, as she offered her cheek with a smile to her old
friend, managed very cleverly to give him the support of her
arm he really needed.
D on Jose had recovered himselfat once, but for a time he
could do no more than murmur, «Oh, you two patriots! Oh,
you two patriots!» – looking from one to the other. Vague
plans of another historical work, wherein all the devotions to
the regenerati on of the country he loved would be enshrined
for the reverent worship of posterity, fl itted through his mind.
The historian who had enough elevati on of soul to write of
Guzman Bento: «Yet this monster, imbrued in the blood of
his countrymen, must not be held unreservedly to the execrati on of future years. It appears to be true that he, too, loved
his country. He had given it twelve years of peace; and, abso-
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lute master of lives and fortunes as he was, he died poor. His
worst fault, perhaps, was not his ferocity, but his ignorance;»
the man who could write thus of a cruel persecutor (the passage occurs in his «History of Misrule») feltat the foreshadowing of success an almost boundless affecti on for his two helpers, for these two young people from over the sea.
Just as years ago, calmly, from the convicti on of practical necessity, stronger than any abstract political doctrine,
Henry Gould had drawn the sword, so now, the times being
changed, Charles Gould had fl ung the silver of the San Tome
into the fray. The Inglez of Sulaco, the «Costaguana Englishman» of the third generation, was as far from being a political intriguer as his uncle from a revolutionary swashbuckler.
Springing from the instinctive uprightness of their natures
their acti on was reasoned. They saw an opportunity and used
the weapon to hand.
Charles Gould’s positi on – a commanding positi on in
the background of that attempt to retrieve the peace and
the credit of the Republic – was very clear.At the beginning
he had had to accommodate himself to existing circumstances of corrupti on so naively brazen as to disarm the hate of
a man courageous enough not to be afraid of its irresponsible potency to ruin everything it touched. It seemed to him
too contemptible for hot anger even. He made use of it with
a cold, fearless scorn, manifested rather than concealed by
the forms of stony courtesy which did away with much of
the ignominy of the situation.At bottom, perhaps, he suffered
from it, for he was not a man of cowardly illusions, but he
refused to discuss the ethical view with his wife. He trusted
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JOSEPH CONRAD
that, though a little disenchanted, she would be intelligent
enough to understand that his character safeguarded the enterprise of their lives as much or more than his policy. The extraordinary development of the mine had put a great power
into his hands. To feel that prosperity alwaysat the mercy of
unintelligent greed had grown irksome to him. To Mrs. Gould
it was humiliating.At any rate, it was dangerous. In the confi dential communications passing between Charles Gould,
the King of Sulaco, and the head of the silver and steel interests far away in California, the convicti on was growing that
any attempt made by men of educati on and integrity ought to
be discreetly supported. «You may tell your friend Avellanos
that I think so», Mr. Holroyd had writtenat the proper moment
from his inviolable sanctuary within the eleven-storey high
factory of great affairs. And shortly afterwards, with a credit
opened by the Third Southern Bank (located next door but
one to the Holroyd Building), the Ribierist party in Costaguana took a practical shape under the eye of the administrator of
the San Tome mine. And D on Jose, the hereditary friend of
the Gould family, could say: «Perhaps, my dear Carlos, I shall
not have believed in vain».
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