As he describes one of Stevie’s only acts of public rebellion, Conrad employs foreshadowing and auditory imagery to illustrate both the chaos of the scene and the future repercussions of the young man's actions:
He touched off in quick succession a set of fierce rockets, angry Catherine wheels, loudly exploding squibs – and the matter might have turned out very serious. An awful panic spread through the whole building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the passages full of smoke; silk hats and elderly businessmen could be seen rolling independently down the stairs.
The auditory imagery of Stevie’s youthful defiance paints a vivid scene of chaos for the reader. Conrad’s descriptions of "fierce rockets," "loudly exploding squibs," and "angry Catherine wheels" create a strong and vibrant soundscape. Each of these auditory images carries a sense of urgency and unpredictability, echoing the chaos and panic that Stevie's actions cause.
Stevie has essentially been tricked into starting the fireworks by boys who torment him. The fireworks aren’t meant to hurt anybody, but nevertheless their loud sounds and choking smoke cause a “stampede.” The sounds aren't just loud; they're aggressive and violent. As they echo through the building they cause distress, making “elderly businessmen” roll down the stairs and lose their hats. The words "fierce" and "angry" as the narrator uses them here suggest not just the noise but the emotional effect of the fireworks on those affected by them. This group of sounds—listed one after another in quick succession—makes the reader feel as if they are in the midst of the chaos, hearing every explosion and witnessing the panic.
Beyond the scope of this scene, the link between Winnie’s brother and destructive, public explosions hints at future events. It subtly suggests that this act could be a precursor to more significant acts of terrorism involving Stevie. Verloc is quick to exploit the lingering association between explosions and the cognitively impaired young man, as the reader soon finds out.
Conrad uses visual imagery, personification, and idiom in this passage to describe the sultry, tense atmosphere of London. Although the city is opulent and its colors are bright and rich, there is still an underlying sense of unease:
Carriages went bowling by, mostly two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin of some wild beast inside and a woman’s face and hat emerging above the folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun – against which nothing could be said except that it looked bloodshot – glorified all this by its stare. It hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde Park Corner with an air of punctual and benign vigilance.
The sun casts a red glow over the scene, seeming so present that it behaves like a character with agency. The narrator personifies it, described as having a "bloodshot" look like a strained eyeball and a "benign vigilance.” It's as if the sun itself is a weary observer of the city's activities, hanging lazily and unmovingly a “moderate” distance away from the scene. The sun's "moderate elevation" and "punctual" nature further emphasize its involvement in the specific locale Conrad describes. It’s a “peculiarly London sun,” as if it’s only present in that place, and only watching the people living there.
The depiction of the carriages, especially the "victoria" with "the skin of some wild beast inside," creates a picture of luxury and opulence. This scene is alive with visual descriptions of movement, the vehicles "bowling by" suggesting the rapid pace of the surroundings. The mention of "victoria" here is idiomatic: it’s both a type of carriage and a reference to the young women within them. A “Victoria” is a type of carriage, usually doorless and drawn by one or two horses. However, as the story is set in late 1800s London, the term could also allude to young women of affluence. People often named their children after monarchs and—especially as Queen Victoria was popular with much of the population—many children were named in her honor. A “victoria” in this context could refer to any young girl. This play on words adds a layer of period-specific local color to the passage.
The Commissioner sets out into nighttime London to probe the Greenwich situation. Through vivid visual and tactile imagery and metaphorical references to an "aquarium," Conrad describes how London feels when the sun is down:
His descent into the street was like the descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had been run off. A murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, the mud of the roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and when he emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. He might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can be seen of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners.
In this passage, the city itself feels alien and unforgiving, mirroring the Commissioner’s own displacement in a neighborhood unlike his own. This passage evokes the multiculturalism of 1800s London, where many immigrant communities had set up presences in different areas of the city. This isn’t a positive description of cosmopolitanism, however. Rather, in discussing the Strand as being like an “aquarium”—full of the nasty tactile sensations of “slimy” wetness and "gloomy dampness"—the narrator makes the reader feel a sense of alienation and strangeness.
“Phosphorescence” is light emitted without heat. It's often produced by ocean animals or algae. What Conrad is describing here is the reflection of streetlights and windows in the water covering the cobblestones. However, calling it “phosphorescence” deprives these glowing lights of all their warmth. The chilly touch of the visual "phosphorescence" further transforms this part of London into a strange, aquatic realm. All the sensory language is cool, damp, and “queer," or strange. The "queer foreign fish" metaphor at the end of the passage evokes the Commissioner's own feelings of dislocation and vulnerability. Because he is dressed unobtrusively, the “locality” subsumes him, and he’s indistinguishable from the “queer foreign” figures who live there. In the “aquarium” of London, only “foreign fish” populate this section of the tank. Against this backdrop, the Commissioner seems like just another exotic specimen in this vast urban fishbowl.
Conrad employs tactile imagery and similes to underscore Mrs. Verloc's profound emotional turmoil as she eavesdrops on Inspector Heat interrogating Verloc about Stevie:
Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her hands cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed like two black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in flames.
This passage’s tactile imagery provides a visceral, tangible representation of Winnie’s emotional upheaval. Describing her lips as "blue" and her hands as "cold as ice" illustrates the chilling, numbing impact of the revelations she has just heard about Stevie’s death. These descriptions don't merely serve to paint a vivid image, though. They pass on the sensations of freezing numbness Winnie feels, so the reader can sense the strength of her shock's icy grip.
The passage then switches gears with the juxtaposition of her "face enveloped in flames." The previous coldness evokes a chilling paralysis. The new, burning sensation of Winnie’s face points to her seething anger, disbelief, and overwhelming distress at the news. Through his use of contrasting imagery, Conrad brings the reader close to the tumultuous storm of emotions that Winnie is silently working her way through during this scene.
When Conrad likens Mrs. Verloc's eyes to "two black holes,” he is using a simile to amplify her emotional devastation. Her eyes aren’t actually black holes, but this description reflects the horror and numbness that this news makes Winnie experience. It suggests she's been emotionally and mentally drained by the gravity of the revelations on the other side of the door. It's as if her spirit has been hollowed out, leaving behind an empty shell with “holes” for eyes. Her very spirit seems to have been consumed by the weight of her husband's actions.
The narrator provides visual imagery and hyperbolic descriptions of size to differentiate the preoccupations of the Assistant Commissioner and Sir Ethelred:
The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender, and flexible.
‘I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details which –’
‘No. No details, please.’ The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical dread of details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and weighty, offering a large hand.
In the passage, a stark contrast is evident between the Assistant Commissioner and Sir Ethelred. Their differences in physical size echo the relative “size” and scale of their professional responsibilities.
The narrator portrays the Assistant Commissioner as "slender and flexible.” He has a human-scale presence. He’s not a large man, especially in comparison to Sir Ethelred. This smallness reflects the intensity of his immediate concerns, which focus on Verloc. The Assistant Commissioner is an individual man, focused on a singular issue. The fact that the issue with Verloc has enormous ramifications doesn’t seem to affect this depiction, perhaps because Sir Ethelred doesn’t truly understand what its potential consequences are. Although the Assistant Commissioner believes that the Verloc matter could be the “start of a crusade,” as he thinks immediately after Ethelred departs, the other man’s mind is on other, larger matters.
The narrator depicts Sir Ethelred’s size hyperbolically. He isn’t just a man, he’s a "great shadowy form" who appears "expanded, enormous, and weighty." This exaggerated visual imagery magnifies his stature, making him seem almost supernaturally large. This isn't merely a comment on his physical presence. It's a metaphorical representation of his extensive responsibilities as Secretary of State. His physical size and bulk align with his national importance.
While the Assistant Commissioner can be “flexible” and deal with small-scale problems unobtrusively, Sir Ethelred is a public figure whose actions reverberate outward. The conversation's content reflects these distinctions, with the Assistant Commissioner’s concerns appearing small in comparison to the vast duties of Sir Ethelred. Indeed, Ethelred is so focused on larger issues that he “shrinks away as if in physical dread of details." In this scene, he seems allergic to the smallness of the Verloc situation, and is eager to end the discussion.
As Winnie reacts to the aftermath of stabbing Verloc, Conrad uses auditory imagery to amplify the intensity of her response. This paints a vivid and haunting soundscape for the reader:
Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both hands as though it had been alive, with such force that it went for some distance on its four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, whilst the big dish with the joint crashed heavily on the floor.
Conrad employs auditory imagery to give readers an immediate sense of Winnie’s emotional turmoil. She’s stunned after killing Verloc, but the reality of the room around her comes crashing back into focus. She pushes the table away “as if it had been alive,” setting off a series of startling noises.
The terms "loud, scraping racket" and "crashed heavily" evoke ear-splitting sounds, creating an atmosphere of chaos and disruption. These sounds aren't simply background noise, however. They mirror Winnie's internal state, reflecting her shock and confusion in the immediate aftermath of her desperate actions. The forceful movement of the table and the subsequent crash of the dish are external manifestations of her internal disarray. She’s too stunned to speak, but the room itself mirrors her internal chaos and her physical act of destruction. She has quietly destroyed her husband on purpose, and now loudly destroys her furniture in the same way. Through this sensory language of sound, Conrad transports the reader into the scene and allows them to feel some of Winnie’s shock and turmoil.
Conrad employs hyperbole and vivid visual imagery to depict the isolation and despair Winnie feels in the aftermath of killing Verloc. The world around her transforms into an overwhelming abyss of darkness as she stumbles through the city streets:
It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped abroad. Spain or California. Mere names. The vast world created for the glory of man was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know which way to turn. Murderers had friends, relations, helpers – they had knowledge. She had nothing. She was the most lonely of murderers that ever struck a mortal blow. She was alone in London: and the whole town of marvels and mud, with its maze of streets and its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless night, rested at the bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman could hope to scramble out.
The hyperbole the narrator uses here, describing Winnie as "the most lonely of murderers," points to her sense of desolation. She is likely not the world’s loneliest murderer, but she certainly feels that way in the moment. The phrase doesn't just imply that she's physically alone. It amplifies her solitude to an extreme, suggesting that among all people who have ever committed such acts, she feels the most abandoned. Winnie thinks she is an “unaided woman” in every sense.
The visual imagery in this passage portrays London—a city usually bustling with life—as a "black abyss," emphasizing these overwhelming feelings of hopelessness and entrapment. The light has gone out of Winnie's life, and so the real lights of the city seem dark and meaningless to her. The visual contrasts between the "maze of streets and mass of lights" all submerged in "hopeless night" serve to illustrate the decline of her situation. In one fell swoop, she feels herself plunged into an unyielding void of despair from which she has little hope of being able to “scramble out."
