Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 1. CHAPTER ONE (continued)

Afterwards his story was not so clear. It lost itself amongst the
innumerable tales of conspiracies and plots against the tyrant as
a stream is lost in an arid belt of sandy country before it
emerges, diminished and troubled, perhaps, on the other side. The
doctor made no secret of it that he had lived for years in the
wildest parts of the Republic, wandering with almost unknown
Indian tribes in the great forests of the far interior where the
great rivers have their sources. But it was mere aimless
wandering; he had written nothing, collected nothing, brought
nothing for science out of the twilight of the forests, which
seemed to cling to his battered personality limping about Sulaco,
where it had drifted in casually, only to get stranded on the
shores of the sea.

It was also known that he had lived in a state of destitution
till the arrival of the Goulds from Europe. Don Carlos and Dona
Emilia had taken up the mad English doctor, when it became
apparent that for all his savage independence he could be tamed
by kindness. Perhaps it was only hunger that had tamed him. In
years gone by he had certainly been acquainted with Charles
Gould's father in Sta. Marta; and now, no matter what were the
dark passages of his history, as the medical officer of the San
Tome mine he became a recognized personality. He was recognized,
but not unreservedly accepted. So much defiant eccentricity and
such an outspoken scorn for mankind seemed to point to mere
recklessness of judgment, the bravado of guilt. Besides, since
he had become again of some account, vague whispers had been
heard that years ago, when fallen into disgrace and thrown into
prison by Guzman Bento at the time of the so-called Great
Conspiracy, he had betrayed some of his best friends amongst the
conspirators. Nobody pretended to believe that whisper; the whole
story of the Great Conspiracy was hopelessly involved and
obscure; it is admitted in Costaguana that there never had been a
conspiracy except in the diseased imagination of the Tyrant; and,
therefore, nothing and no one to betray; though the most
distinguished Costaguaneros had been imprisoned and executed upon
that accusation. The procedure had dragged on for years,
decimating the better class like a pestilence. The mere
expression of sorrow for the fate of executed kinsmen had been
punished with death. Don Jose Avellanos was perhaps the only one
living who knew the whole story of those unspeakable cruelties.
He had suffered from them himself, and he, with a shrug of the
shoulders and a nervous, jerky gesture of the arm, was wont to
put away from him, as it were, every allusion to it. But whatever
the reason, Dr. Monygham, a personage in the administration of
the Gould Concession, treated with reverent awe by the miners,
and indulged in his peculiarities by Mrs. Gould, remained
somehow outside the pale.