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Heart Of Darkness
By
Joseph Conrad
Contents
I =
II =
III =
I
The Nellie, a
cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was =
at
rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the
river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the ti=
de.
The sea-reach of =
the
Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. =
In
the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in=
the
luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide see=
med
to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of
varnished sprits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in va=
nishing
flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed c=
ondensed
into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greate=
st,
town on earth.
The Director of
Companies was our captain and our host. We four affectionately watched his =
back
as he stood in the bows looking to seaward. On the whole river there was
nothing that looked half so nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seam=
an
is trustworthiness personified. It was difficult to realize his work was no=
t out
there in the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.
Between us there =
was,
as I have already said somewhere, the bond of the sea. Besides holding our
hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the effect of ma=
king
us tolerant of each other's yarns--and even convictions. The Lawyer--the be=
st
of old fellows--had, because of his many years and many virtues, the only
cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought =
out
already a box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones.
Marlow sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had =
sunken
cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with =
his
arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol. The Director,
satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way aft and sat down amongst u=
s.
We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards there was silence on board the
yacht. For some reason or other we did not begin that game of dominoes. We =
felt
meditative, and fit for nothing but placid staring. The day was ending in a
serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the
sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very m=
ist
on the Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the woo=
ded rises
inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the gloom to t=
he
west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more somber every minute, as =
if
angered by the approach of the sun.
And at last, in i= ts curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white cha= nged to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.<= o:p>
Forthwith a change
came over the waters, and the serenity became less brilliant but more profo=
und.
The old river in its broad reach rested unruffled at the decline of day, af=
ter
ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks, spread out in=
the
tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. =
We
looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that c=
omes
and departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And inde=
ed
nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes, "followed the
sea" with reverence and affection, than to evoke the great spirit of t=
he
past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal current runs to and fr=
o in
its unceasing service, crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne =
to
the rest of home or to the battles of the sea. It had known and served all =
the
men of whom the nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Frankli=
n,
knights all, titled and untitled--the great knights-errant of the sea. It h=
ad
borne all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of ti=
me,
from the Golden Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to b=
e visited
by the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the Ereb=
us
and Terror, bound on other conquests--and that never returned. It had known=
the
ships and the men. They had sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from
Erith--the adventurers and the settlers; kings' ships and the ships of men =
on
'Change; captains, admirals, the dark "interlopers" of the Eastern
trade, and the commissioned "generals" of East India fleets. Hunt=
ers
for gold or pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing=
the
sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearer=
s of
a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of =
that
river into the mystery of an unknown earth! . . . The dreams of men, the se=
ed of
commonwealths, the germs of empires.
The sun set; the =
dusk
fell on the stream, and lights began to appear along the shore. The Chapman
lighthouse, a three-legged thing erect on a mud-flat, shone strongly. Light=
s of
ships moved in the fairway--a great stir of lights going up and going down.=
And
farther west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous town was still
marked ominously on the sky, a brooding gloom in sunshine, a lurid glare un=
der
the stars.
"And this
also," said Marlow suddenly, "has been one of the dark places of =
the
earth."
He was the only m=
an
of us who still "followed the sea." The worst that could be said =
of
him was that he did not represent his class. He was a seaman, but he was a
wanderer, too, while most seamen lead, if one may so express it, a sedentary
life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is always w=
ith
them--the ship; and so is their country--the sea. One ship is very much like
another, and the sea is always the same. In the immutability of their
surroundings the foreign shores, the foreign faces, the changing immensity =
of
life, glide past, veiled not by a sense of mystery but by a slightly disdai=
nful
ignorance; for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea
itself, which is the mistress of his existence and as inscrutable as Destin=
y. For
the rest, after his hours of work, a casual stroll or a casual spree on sho=
re
suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent, and generally he
finds the secret not worth knowing. The yarns of seamen have a direct
simplicity, the whole meaning of which lies within the shell of a cracked n=
ut.
But Marlow was not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted), a=
nd
to him the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside,
enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, =
in
the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by=
the
spectral illumination of moonshine.
His remark did not
seem at all surprising. It was just like Marlow. It was accepted in silence=
. No
one took the trouble to grunt even; and presently he said, very slow--
"I was think=
ing
of very old times, when the Romans first came here, nineteen hundred years
ago--the other day. . . . Light came out of this river since--you say Knigh=
ts?
Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in
the clouds. We live in the flicker--may it last as long as the old earth ke=
eps
rolling! But darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of a command=
er
of a fine--what d'ye call 'em?--trireme in the Mediterranean, ordered sudde=
nly
to the north; run overland across the Gauls in a hurry; put in charge of on=
e of
these craft the legionaries,--a wonderful lot of handy men they must have b=
een
too--used to build, apparently by the hundred, in a month or two, if we may
believe what we read. Imagine him here--the very end of the world, a sea the
color of lead, a sky the color of smoke, a kind of ship about as rigid as a
concertina--and going up this river with stores, or orders, or what you lik=
e.
Sandbanks, marshes, forests, savages,--precious little to eat fit for a
civilized man, nothing but Thames water to drink. No Falernian wine here, no
going ashore. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness, like a n=
eedle
in a bundle of hay--cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and death,--death
skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must have been dying l=
ike
flies here. Oh yes--he did it. Did it very well, too, no doubt, and without
thinking much about it either, except afterwards to brag of what he had gone
through in his time, perhaps. They were men enough to face the darkness. And
perhaps he was cheered by keeping his eye on a chance of promotion to the f=
leet
at Ravenna by-and-by, if he had good friends in Rome and survived the awful=
climate.
Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga--perhaps too much dice, you
know--coming out here in the train of some prefect, or tax-gatherer, or tra=
der
even, to mend his fortunes. Land in a swamp, march through the woods, and in
some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round
him,--all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, =
in
the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There's no initiation either into s=
uch
mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is al=
so
detestable. And it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The
fascination of the abomination--you know. Imagine the growing regrets, the
longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate."
He paused.
"Mind,"=
he
began again, lifting one arm from the elbow, the palm of the hand outwards,=
so
that, with his legs folded before him, he had the pose of a Buddha preachin=
g in
European clothes and without a lotus-flower--"Mind, none of us would f=
eel
exactly like this. What saves us is efficiency--the devotion to efficiency.=
But
these chaps were not much account, really. They were no colonists; their
administration was merely a squeeze, and nothing more, I suspect. They were
conquerors, and for that you want only brute force--nothing to boast of, wh=
en
you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakn=
ess
of others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be =
got.
It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great scale, and =
men
going at it blind--as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness. The
conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who
have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is no=
t a
pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea on=
ly.
An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretense but an idea; and an
unselfish belief in the idea--something you can set up, and bow down before,
and offer a sacrifice to. . . ."
He broke off. Fla=
mes
glided in the river, small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing,
overtaking, joining, crossing each other--then separating slowly or hastily.
The traffic of the great city went on in the deepening night upon the sleep=
less
river. We looked on, waiting patiently--there was nothing else to do till t=
he
end of the flood; but it was only after a long silence, when he said, in a
hesitating voice, "I suppose you fellows remember I did once turn fres=
h-water
sailor for a bit," that we knew we were fated, before the ebb began to
run, to hear about one of Marlow's inconclusive experiences.
"I don't wan=
t to
bother you much with what happened to me personally," he began, showin=
g in
this remark the weakness of many tellers of tales who seem so often unaware=
of
what their audience would best like to hear; "yet to understand the ef=
fect
of it on me you ought to know how I got out there, what I saw, how I went up
that river to the place where I first met the poor chap. It was the farthest
point of navigation and the culminating point of my experience. It seemed
somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about me--and into my though=
ts.
It was somber enough too--and pitiful--not extraordinary in any way--not ve=
ry
clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of ligh=
t.
"I had then,=
as
you remember, just returned to London after a lot of Indian Ocean, Pacific,
China Seas--a regular dose of the East--six years or so, and I was loafing
about, hindering you fellows in your work and invading your homes, just as
though I had got a heavenly mission to civilize you. It was very fine for a
time, but after a bit I did get tired of resting. Then I began to look for a
ship--I should think the hardest work on earth. But the ships wouldn't even
look at me. And I got tired of that game too.
"Now when I =
was
a little chap I had a passion for maps. I would look for hours at South
America, or Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in all the glories of
exploration. At that time there were many blank spaces on the earth, and wh=
en I
saw one that looked particularly inviting on a map (but they all look that)=
I
would put my finger on it and say, 'When I grow up I will go there.' The No=
rth
Pole was one of these places, I remember. Well, I haven't been there yet, a=
nd
shall not try now. The glamour's off. Other places were scattered about the
Equator, and in every sort of latitude all over the two hemispheres. I have
been in some of them, and . . . well, we won't talk about that. But there w=
as
one yet--the biggest, the most blank, so to speak--that I had a hankering a=
fter.
"True, by th=
is
time it was not a blank space any more. It had got filled since my boyhood =
with
rivers and lakes and names. It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful
mystery--a white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over. It had become a
place of darkness. But there was in it one river especially, a mighty big
river, that you could see on the map, resembling an immense snake uncoiled,
with its head in the sea, its body at rest curving afar over a vast country,
and its tail lost in the depths of the land. And as I looked at the map of =
it
in a shop-window, it fascinated me as a snake would a bird--a silly little
bird. Then I remembered there was a big concern, a Company for trade on that
river. Dash it all! I thought to myself, they can't trade without using som=
e kind
of craft on that lot of fresh water--steamboats! Why shouldn't I try to get
charge of one? I went on along Fleet Street, but could not shake off the id=
ea.
The snake had charmed me.
"You underst=
and
it was a Continental concern, that Trading society; but I have a lot of
relations living on the Continent, because it's cheap and not so nasty as it
looks, they say.
"I am sorry =
to
own I began to worry them. This was already a fresh departure for me. I was=
not
used to get things that way, you know. I always went my own road and on my =
own
legs where I had a mind to go. I wouldn't have believed it of myself; but,
then--you see--I felt somehow I must get there by hook or by crook. So I
worried them. The men said 'My dear fellow,' and did nothing. Then--would y=
ou
believe it?--I tried the women. I, Charlie Marlow, set the women to work--to
get a job. Heavens! Well, you see, the notion drove me. I had an aunt, a de=
ar enthusiastic
soul. She wrote: 'It will be delightful. I am ready to do anything, anything
for you. It is a glorious idea. I know the wife of a very high personage in=
the
Administration, and also a man who has lots of influence with,' &c.,
&c. She was determined to make no end of fuss to get me appointed skipp=
er
of a river steamboat, if such was my fancy.
"I got my
appointment--of course; and I got it very quick. It appears the Company had
received news that one of their captains had been killed in a scuffle with =
the
natives. This was my chance, and it made me the more anxious to go. It was =
only
months and months afterwards, when I made the attempt to recover what was l=
eft
of the body, that I heard the original quarrel arose from a misunderstanding
about some hens. Yes, two black hens. Fresleven--that was the fellow's name=
, a
Dane--thought himself wronged somehow in the bargain, so he went ashore and
started to hammer the chief of the village with a stick. Oh, it didn't surp=
rise
me in the least to hear this, and at the same time to be told that Fresleven
was the gentlest, quietest creature that ever walked on two legs. No doubt =
he
was; but he had been a couple of years already out there engaged in the nob=
le
cause, you know, and he probably felt the need at last of asserting his
self-respect in some way. Therefore he whacked the old nigger mercilessly,
while a big crowd of his people watched him, thunderstruck, till some man,-=
-I
was told the chief's son,--in desperation at hearing the old chap yell, mad=
e a
tentative jab with a spear at the white man--and of course it went quite ea=
sy
between the shoulder-blades. Then the whole population cleared into the for=
est,
expecting all kinds of calamities to happen, while, on the other hand, the
steamer Fresleven commanded left also in a bad panic, in charge of the
engineer, I believe. Afterwards nobody seemed to trouble much about Freslev=
en's
remains, till I got out and stepped into his shoes. I couldn't let it rest,
though; but when an opportunity offered at last to meet my predecessor, the
grass growing through his ribs was tall enough to hide his bones. They were=
all
there. The supernatural being had not been touched after he fell. And the
village was deserted, the huts gaped black, rotting, all askew within the
fallen enclosures. A calamity had come to it, sure enough. The people had
vanished. Mad terror had scattered them, men, women, and children, through =
the
bush, and they had never returned. What became of the hens I don't know eit=
her.
I should think the cause of progress got them, anyhow. However, through thi=
s glorious
affair I got my appointment, before I had fairly begun to hope for it.
"I flew arou=
nd
like mad to get ready, and before forty-eight hours I was crossing the Chan=
nel
to show myself to my employers, and sign the contract. In a very few hours I
arrived in a city that always makes me think of a whited sepulcher. Prejudi=
ce
no doubt. I had no difficulty in finding the Company's offices. It was the
biggest thing in the town, and everybody I met was full of it. They were go=
ing
to run an over-sea empire, and make no end of coin by trade.
"A narrow and
deserted street in deep shadow, high houses, innumerable windows with venet=
ian
blinds, a dead silence, grass sprouting between the stones, imposing carria=
ge
archways right and left, immense double doors standing ponderously ajar. I
slipped through one of these cracks, went up a swept and ungarnished stairc=
ase,
as arid as a desert, and opened the first door I came to. Two women, one fat
and the other slim, sat on straw-bottomed chairs, knitting black wool. The =
slim
one got up and walked straight at me--still knitting with downcast eyes--and
only just as I began to think of getting out of her way, as you would for a=
somnambulist,
stood still, and looked up. Her dress was as plain as an umbrella-cover, and
she turned round without a word and preceded me into a waiting-room. I gave=
my
name, and looked about. Deal table in the middle, plain chairs all round the
walls, on one end a large shining map, marked with all the colors of a rain=
bow.
There was a vast amount of red--good to see at any time, because one knows =
that
some real work is done in there, a deuce of a lot of blue, a little green,
smears of orange, and, on the East Coast, a purple patch, to show where the
jolly pioneers of progress drink the jolly lager-beer. However, I wasn't go=
ing into
any of these. I was going into the yellow. Dead in the center. And the river
was there--fascinating--deadly--like a snake. Ough! A door opened, a
white-haired secretarial head, but wearing a compassionate expression,
appeared, and a skinny forefinger beckoned me into the sanctuary. Its light=
was
dim, and a heavy writing-desk squatted in the middle. From behind that
structure came out an impression of pale plumpness in a frock-coat. The gre=
at
man himself. He was five feet six, I should judge, and had his grip on the
handle-end of ever so many millions. He shook hands, I fancy, murmured vagu=
ely,
was satisfied with my French. Bon voyage.
"In about
forty-five seconds I found myself again in the waiting-room with the
compassionate secretary, who, full of desolation and sympathy, made me sign
some document. I believe I undertook amongst other things not to disclose a=
ny
trade secrets. Well, I am not going to.
"I began to =
feel
slightly uneasy. You know I am not used to such ceremonies, and there was
something ominous in the atmosphere. It was just as though I had been let i=
nto
some conspiracy--I don't know--something not quite right; and I was glad to=
get
out. In the outer room the two women knitted black wool feverishly. People =
were
arriving, and the younger one was walking back and forth introducing them. =
The old
one sat on her chair. Her flat cloth slippers were propped up on a foot-war=
mer,
and a cat reposed on her lap. She wore a starched white affair on her head,=
had
a wart on one cheek, and silver-rimmed spectacles hung on the tip of her no=
se.
She glanced at me above the glasses. The swift and indifferent placidity of
that look troubled me. Two youths with foolish and cheery countenances were
being piloted over, and she threw at them the same quick glance of unconcer=
ned
wisdom. She seemed to know all about them and about me too. An eerie feeling
came over me. She seemed uncanny and fateful. Often far away there I though=
t of
these two, guarding the door of Darkness, knitting black wool as for a warm
pall, one introducing, introducing continuously to the unknown, the other
scrutinizing the cheery and foolish faces with unconcerned old eyes. Ave! O=
ld
knitter of black wool. Morituri te salutant. Not many of those she looked at
ever saw her again--not half, by a long way.
"There was y=
et a
visit to the doctor. 'A simple formality,' assured me the secretary, with an
air of taking an immense part in all my sorrows. Accordingly a young chap
wearing his hat over the left eyebrow, some clerk I suppose,--there must ha=
ve
been clerks in the business, though the house was as still as a house in a =
city
of the dead,--came from somewhere up-stairs, and led me forth. He was shabby
and careless, with ink-stains on the sleeves of his jacket, and his cravat =
was
large and billowy, under a chin shaped like the toe of an old boot. It was =
a little
too early for the doctor, so I proposed a drink, and thereupon he developed=
a
vein of joviality. As we sat over our vermouths he glorified the Company's
business, and by-and-by I expressed casually my surprise at him not going o=
ut
there. He became very cool and collected all at once. 'I am not such a fool=
as
I look, quoth Plato to his disciples,' he said sententiously, emptied his g=
lass
with great resolution, and we rose.
"The old doc=
tor
felt my pulse, evidently thinking of something else the while. 'Good, good =
for
there,' he mumbled, and then with a certain eagerness asked me whether I wo=
uld
let him measure my head. Rather surprised, I said Yes, when he produced a t=
hing
like calipers and got the dimensions back and front and every way, taking n=
otes
carefully. He was an unshaven little man in a threadbare coat like a gaberd=
ine,
with his feet in slippers, and I thought him a harmless fool. 'I always ask=
leave,
in the interests of science, to measure the crania of those going out there=
,'
he said. 'And when they come back, too?' I asked. 'Oh, I never see them,' he
remarked; 'and, moreover, the changes take place inside, you know.' He smil=
ed,
as if at some quiet joke. 'So you are going out there. Famous. Interesting
too.' He gave me a searching glance, and made another note. 'Ever any madne=
ss
in your family?' he asked, in a matter-of-fact tone. I felt very annoyed. '=
Is
that question in the interests of science too?' 'It would be,' he said, wit=
hout
taking notice of my irritation, 'interesting for science to watch the menta=
l changes
of individuals, on the spot, but . . .' 'Are you an alienist?' I interrupte=
d.
'Every doctor should be--a little,' answered that original, imperturbably. =
'I have
a little theory which you Messieurs who go out there must help me to prove.
This is my share in the advantages my country shall reap from the possessio=
n of
such a magnificent dependency. The mere wealth I leave to others. Pardon my
questions, but you are the first Englishman coming under my observation. . =
. .'
I hastened to assure him I was not in the least typical. 'If I were,' said =
I, 'I
wouldn't be talking like this with you.' 'What you say is rather profound, =
and
probably erroneous,' he said, with a laugh. 'Avoid irritation more than
exposure to the sun. Adieu. How do you English say, eh? Good-by. Ah! Good-b=
y.
Adieu. In the tropics one must before everything keep calm.' . . . He lifte=
d a
warning forefinger. . . . 'Du calme, du calme. Adieu.'
"One thing m=
ore
remained to do--say good-by to my excellent aunt. I found her triumphant. I=
had
a cup of tea--the last decent cup of tea for many days--and in a room that =
most
soothingly looked just as you would expect a lady's drawing-room to look, we
had a long quiet chat by the fireside. In the course of these confidences it
became quite plain to me I had been represented to the wife of the high
dignitary, and goodness knows to how many more people besides, as an
exceptional and gifted creature--a piece of good fortune for the Company--a=
man
you don't get hold of every day. Good heavens! and I was going to take char=
ge
of a two-penny-halfpenny river-steamboat with a penny whistle attached! It =
appeared,
however, I was also one of the Workers, with a capital--you know. Something
like an emissary of light, something like a lower sort of apostle. There had
been a lot of such rot let loose in print and talk just about that time, and
the excellent woman, living right in the rush of all that humbug, got carri=
ed
off her feet. She talked about 'weaning those ignorant millions from their
horrid ways,' till, upon my word, she made me quite uncomfortable. I ventur=
ed
to hint that the Company was run for profit.
"'You forget,
dear Charlie, that the laborer is worthy of his hire,' she said, brightly. =
It's
queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their =
own,
and there had never been anything like it, and never can be. It is too
beautiful altogether, and if they were to set it up it would go to pieces b=
efore
the first sunset. Some confounded fact we men have been living contentedly =
with
ever since the day of creation would start up and knock the whole thing ove=
r.
"After this I
got embraced, told to wear flannel, be sure to write often, and so on--and =
I left.
In the street--I don't know why--a queer feeling came to me that I was an
impostor. Odd thing that I, who used to clear out for any part of the world=
at
twenty-four hours' notice, with less thought than most men give to the cros=
sing
of a street, had a moment--I won't say of hesitation, but of startled pause,
before this commonplace affair. The best way I can explain it to you is by
saying that, for a second or two, I felt as though, instead of going to the=
center
of a continent, I were about to set off for the center of the earth.
"I left in a
French steamer, and she called in every blamed port they have out there, fo=
r,
as far as I could see, the sole purpose of landing soldiers and custom-house
officers. I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is =
like
thinking about an enigma. There it is before you--smiling, frowning, inviti=
ng,
grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering,
'Come and find out.' This one was almost featureless, as if still in the ma=
king,
with an aspect of monotonous grimness. The edge of a colossal jungle, so da=
rk-green
as to be almost black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled
line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping
mist. The sun was fierce, the land seemed to glisten and drip with steam. H=
ere
and there grayish-whitish specks showed up, clustered inside the white surf,
with a flag flying above them perhaps. Settlements some centuries old, and
still no bigger than pin-heads on the untouched expanse of their background=
. We
pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerk=
s to
levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin shed an=
d a
flag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers--to take care of the custom-house
clerks, presumably. Some, I heard, got drowned in the surf; but whether they
did or not, nobody seemed particularly to care. They were just flung out th=
ere,
and on we went. Every day the coast looked the same, as though we had not
moved; but we passed various places--trading places--with names like Gran'
Bassam Little Popo, names that seemed to belong to some sordid farce acted =
in
front of a sinister backcloth. The idleness of a passenger, my isolation
amongst all these men with whom I had no point of contact, the oily and lan=
guid
sea, the uniform somberness of the coast, seemed to keep me away from the t=
ruth
of things, within the toil of a mournful and senseless delusion. The voice =
of
the surf heard now and then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a
brother. It was something natural, that had its reason, that had a meaning.=
Now
and then a boat from the shore gave one a momentary contact with reality. It
was paddled by black fellows. You could see from afar the white of their
eyeballs glistening. They shouted, sang; their bodies streamed with
perspiration; they had faces like grotesque masks--these chaps; but they had
bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an intense energy of movement, that was as
natural and true as the surf along their coast. They wanted no excuse for b=
eing
there. They were a great comfort to look at. For a time I would feel I belo=
nged
still to a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last l=
ong.
Something would turn up to scare it away. Once, I remember, we came upon a
man-of-war anchored off the coast. There wasn't even a shed there, and she =
was
shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on
thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long
eight-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell sw=
ung
her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immens=
ity
of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a
continent. Pop, would go one of the eight-inch guns; a small flame would da=
rt
and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would g=
ive
a feeble screech--and nothing happened. Nothing could happen. There was a t=
ouch
of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight;=
and
it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me earnestly there was a
camp of natives--he called them enemies!--hidden out of sight somewhere.
"We gave her=
her
letters (I heard the men in that lonely ship were dying of fever at the rat=
e of
three a day) and went on. We called at some more places with farcical names,
where the merry dance of death and trade goes on in a still and earthy
atmosphere as of an overheated catacomb; all along the formless coast borde=
red
by dangerous surf, as if Nature herself had tried to ward off intruders; in=
and
out of rivers, streams of death in life, whose banks were rotting into mud,
whose waters, thickened into slime, invaded the contorted mangroves, that
seemed to writhe at us in the extremity of an impotent despair. Nowhere did=
we stop
long enough to get a particularized impression, but the general sense of va=
gue
and oppressive wonder grew upon me. It was like a weary pilgrimage amongst
hints for nightmares.
"It was upwa=
rd
of thirty days before I saw the mouth of the big river. We anchored off the
seat of the government. But my work would not begin till some two hundred m=
iles
farther on. So as soon as I could I made a start for a place thirty miles
higher up.
"I had my
passage on a little sea-going steamer. Her captain was a Swede, and knowing=
me
for a seaman, invited me on the bridge. He was a young man, lean, fair, and
morose, with lanky hair and a shuffling gait. As we left the miserable litt=
le
wharf, he tossed his head contemptuously at the shore. 'Been living there?'=
he
asked. I said, 'Yes.' 'Fine lot these government chaps--are they not?' he w=
ent
on, speaking English with great precision and considerable bitterness. 'It =
is
funny what some people will do for a few francs a month. I wonder what beco=
mes
of that kind when it goes up country?' I said to him I expected to see that=
soon.
'So-o-o!' he exclaimed. He shuffled athwart, keeping one eye ahead vigilant=
ly.
'Don't be too sure,' he continued. 'The other day I took up a man who hanged
himself on the road. He was a Swede, too.' 'Hanged himself! Why, in God's
name?' I cried. He kept on looking out watchfully. 'Who knows? The sun too =
much
for him, or the country perhaps.'
"At last we
opened a reach. A rocky cliff appeared, mounds of turned-up earth by the sh=
ore,
houses on a hill, others, with iron roofs, amongst a waste of excavations, =
or
hanging to the declivity. A continuous noise of the rapids above hovered ov=
er
this scene of inhabited devastation. A lot of people, mostly black and nake=
d,
moved about like ants. A jetty projected into the river. A blinding sunlight
drowned all this at times in a sudden recrudescence of glare. 'There's your
Company's station,' said the Swede, pointing to three wooden barrack-like
structures on the rocky slope. 'I will send your things up. Four boxes did =
you
say? So. Farewell.'
"I came upon=
a
boiler wallowing in the grass, then found a path leading up the hill. It tu=
rned
aside for the bowlders, and also for an undersized railway-truck lying ther=
e on
its back with its wheels in the air. One was off. The thing looked as dead =
as
the carcass of some animal. I came upon more pieces of decaying machinery, a
stack of rusty rails. To the left a clump of trees made a shady spot, where
dark things seemed to stir feebly. I blinked, the path was steep. A horn to=
oted
to the right, and I saw the black people run. A heavy and dull detonation s=
hook
the ground, a puff of smoke came out of the cliff, and that was all. No cha=
nge
appeared on the face of the rock. They were building a railway. The cliff w=
as
not in the way or anything; but this objectless blasting was all the work g=
oing
on.
"A slight
clinking behind me made me turn my head. Six black men advanced in a file,
toiling up the path. They walked erect and slow, balancing small baskets fu=
ll
of earth on their heads, and the clink kept time with their footsteps. Black
rags were wound round their loins, and the short ends behind wagged to and =
fro
like tails. I could see every rib, the joints of their limbs were like knot=
s in
a rope; each had an iron collar on his neck, and all were connected together
with a chain whose bights swung between them, rhythmically clinking. Another
report from the cliff made me think suddenly of that ship of war I had seen=
firing
into a continent. It was the same kind of ominous voice; but these men coul=
d by
no stretch of imagination be called enemies. They were called criminals, and
the outraged law, like the bursting shells, had come to them, an insoluble
mystery from over the sea. All their meager breasts panted together, the
violently dilated nostrils quivered, the eyes stared stonily uphill. They
passed me within six inches, without a glance, with that complete, deathlike
indifference of unhappy savages. Behind this raw matter one of the reclaime=
d,
the product of the new forces at work, strolled despondently, carrying a ri=
fle
by its middle. He had a uniform jacket with one button off, and seeing a wh=
ite man
on the path, hoisted his weapon to his shoulder with alacrity. This was sim=
ple
prudence, white men being so much alike at a distance that he could not tell
who I might be. He was speedily reassured, and with a large, white, rascally
grin, and a glance at his charge, seemed to take me into partnership in his
exalted trust. After all, I also was a part of the great cause of these high
and just proceedings.
"Instead of
going up, I turned and descended to the left. My idea was to let that
chain-gang get out of sight before I climbed the hill. You know I am not
particularly tender; I've had to strike and to fend off. I've had to resist=
and
to attack sometimes--that's only one way of resisting--without counting the
exact cost, according to the demands of such sort of life as I had blundered
into. I've seen the devil of violence, and the devil of greed, and the devi=
l of
hot desire; but, by all the stars! these were strong, lusty, red-eyed devil=
s,
that swayed and drove men--men, I tell you. But as I stood on this hillside=
, I foresaw
that in the blinding sunshine of that land I would become acquainted with a
flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly. How
insidious he could be, too, I was only to find out several months later and=
a
thousand miles farther. For a moment I stood appalled, as though by a warni=
ng.
Finally I descended the hill, obliquely, towards the trees I had seen.
"I avoided a
vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on the slope, the purpose of
which I found it impossible to divine. It wasn't a quarry or a sandpit, any=
how.
It was just a hole. It might have been connected with the philanthropic des=
ire
of giving the criminals something to do. I don't know. Then I nearly fell i=
nto
a very narrow ravine, almost no more than a scar in the hillside. I discove=
red
that a lot of imported drainage-pipes for the settlement had been tumbled i=
n there.
There wasn't one that was not broken. It was a wanton smash-up. At last I g=
ot
under the trees. My purpose was to stroll into the shade for a moment; but =
no
sooner within than it seemed to me I had stepped into a gloomy circle of so=
me
Inferno. The rapids were near, and an uninterrupted, uniform, headlong, rus=
hing
noise filled the mournful stillness of the grove, where not a breath stirre=
d,
not a leaf moved, with a mysterious sound--as though the tearing pace of the
launched earth had suddenly become audible.
"Black shapes
crouched, lay, sat between the trees, leaning against the trunks, clinging =
to
the earth, half coming out, half effaced within the dim light, in all the
attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair. Another mine on the cliff went
off, followed by a slight shudder of the soil under my feet. The work was g=
oing
on. The work! And this was the place where some of the helpers had withdraw=
n to
die.
"They were d=
ying
slowly--it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, =
they
were nothing earthly now,--nothing but black shadows of disease and starvat=
ion,
lying confusedly in the greenish gloom. Brought from all the recesses of the
coast in all the legality of time contracts, lost in uncongenial surroundin=
gs,
fed on unfamiliar food, they sickened, became inefficient, and were then
allowed to crawl away and rest. These moribund shapes were free as air--and
nearly as thin. I began to distinguish the gleam of eyes under the trees. T=
hen,
glancing down, I saw a face near my hand. The black bones reclined at full
length with one shoulder against the tree, and slowly the eyelids rose and =
the
sunken eyes looked up at me, enormous and vacant, a kind of blind, white
flicker in the depths of the orbs, which died out slowly. The man seemed
young--almost a boy--but you know with them it's hard to tell. I found noth=
ing
else to do but to offer him one of my good Swede's ship's biscuits I had in=
my
pocket. The fingers closed slowly on it and held--there was no other moveme=
nt
and no other glance. He had tied a bit of white worsted round his neck--Why?
Where did he get it? Was it a badge--an ornament--a charm--a propitiatory a=
ct?
Was there any idea at all connected with it? It looked startling round his
black neck, this bit of white thread from beyond the seas.
"Near the sa=
me
tree two more bundles of acute angles sat with their legs drawn up. One, wi=
th
his chin propped on his knees, stared at nothing, in an intolerable and
appalling manner: his brother phantom rested its forehead, as if overcome w=
ith
a great weariness; and all about others were scattered in every pose of
contorted collapse, as in some picture of a massacre or a pestilence. While=
I
stood horror-struck, one of these creatures rose to his hands and knees, and
went off on all-fours towards the river to drink. He lapped out of his hand,
then sat up in the sunlight, crossing his shins in front of him, and after a
time let his woolly head fall on his breastbone.
"I didn't wa=
nt
any more loitering in the shade, and I made haste towards the station. When
near the buildings I met a white man, in such an unexpected elegance of get=
-up
that in the first moment I took him for a sort of vision. I saw a high star=
ched
collar, white cuffs, a light alpaca jacket, snowy trousers, a clear necktie,
and varnished boots. No hat. Hair parted, brushed, oiled, under a green-lin=
ed
parasol held in a big white hand. He was amazing, and had a penholder behind
his ear.
"I shook han=
ds
with this miracle, and I learned he was the Company's chief accountant, and
that all the bookkeeping was done at this station. He had come out for a
moment, he said, 'to get a breath of fresh air.' The expression sounded
wonderfully odd, with its suggestion of sedentary desk-life. I wouldn't have
mentioned the fellow to you at all, only it was from his lips that I first
heard the name of the man who is so indissolubly connected with the memorie=
s of
that time. Moreover, I respected the fellow. Yes; I respected his collars, =
his
vast cuffs, his brushed hair. His appearance was certainly that of a
hairdresser's dummy; but in the great demoralization of the land he kept up=
his
appearance. That's backbone. His starched collars and got-up shirt-fronts w=
ere
achievements of character. He had been out nearly three years; and, later o=
n, I
could not help asking him how he managed to sport such linen. He had just t=
he
faintest blush, and said modestly, 'I've been teaching one of the native wo=
men
about the station. It was difficult. She had a distaste for the work.' This=
man
had verily accomplished something. And he was devoted to his books, which w=
ere
in apple-pie order.
"Everything =
else
in the station was in a muddle,--heads, things, buildings. Strings of dusty
niggers with splay feet arrived and departed; a stream of manufactured good=
s,
rubbishy cottons, beads, and brass-wire set into the depths of darkness, an=
d in
return came a precious trickle of ivory.
"I had to wa=
it
in the station for ten days--an eternity. I lived in a hut in the yard, but=
to
be out of the chaos I would sometimes get into the accountant's office. It =
was
built of horizontal planks, and so badly put together that, as he bent over=
his
high desk, he was barred from neck to heels with narrow strips of sunlight.
There was no need to open the big shutter to see. It was hot there too; big
flies buzzed fiendishly, and did not sting, but stabbed. I sat generally on=
the
floor, while, of faultless appearance (and even slightly scented), perching=
on
a high stool, he wrote, he wrote. Sometimes he stood up for exercise. When a
truckle-bed with a sick man (some invalided agent from up-country) was put =
in
there, he exhibited a gentle annoyance. 'The groans of this sick person,' he
said, distract my attention. And without that it is extremely difficult to
guard against clerical errors in this climate.'
"One day he
remarked, without lifting his head, 'In the interior you will no doubt meet=
Mr.
Kurtz.' On my asking who Mr. Kurtz was, he said he was a first-class agent;=
and
seeing my disappointment at this information, he added slowly, laying down =
his
pen, 'He is a very remarkable person.' Further questions elicited from him =
that
Mr. Kurtz was at present in charge of a trading post, a very important one,=
in
the true ivory-country, at 'the very bottom of there. Sends in as much ivor=
y as
all the others put together. . . .' He began to write again. The sick man w=
as
too ill to groan. The flies buzzed in a great peace.
"Suddenly th=
ere
was a growing murmur of voices and a great tramping of feet. A caravan had =
come
in. A violent babble of uncouth sounds burst out on the other side of the
planks. All the carriers were speaking together, and in the midst of the up=
roar
the lamentable voice of the chief agent was heard 'giving it up' tearfully =
for
the twentieth time that day. . . . He rose slowly. 'What a frightful row,' =
he
said. He crossed the room gently to look at the sick man, and returning, sa=
id
to me, 'He does not hear.' 'What! Dead?' I asked, startled. 'No, not yet,' =
he
answered, with great composure. Then, alluding with a toss of the head to t=
he
tumult in the station-yard, 'When one has got to make correct entries, one
comes to hate those savages--hate them to the death.' He remained thoughtful
for a moment. 'When you see Mr. Kurtz,' he went on, 'tell him from me that
everything here'--he glanced at the desk--'is very satisfactory. I don't li=
ke
to write to him--with those messengers of ours you never know who may get h=
old
of your letter--at that Central Station.' He stared at me for a moment with=
his
mild, bulging eyes. 'Oh, he will go far, very far,' he began again. 'He wil=
l be
a somebody in the Administration before long. They, above--the Council in
Europe, you know--mean him to be.'
"He turned to
his work. The noise outside had ceased, and presently in going out I stoppe=
d at
the door. In the steady buzz of flies the homeward-bound agent was lying
flushed and insensible; the other, bent over his books, was making correct
entries of perfectly correct transactions; and fifty feet below the doorste=
p I
could see the still tree-tops of the grove of death.
"Next day I =
left
that station at last, with a caravan of sixty men, for a two-hundred-mile
tramp.
"No use tell=
ing
you much about that. Paths, paths, everywhere; a stamped-in network of paths
spreading over the empty land, through long grass, through burnt grass, thr=
ough
thickets, down and up chilly ravines, up and down stony hills ablaze with h=
eat;
and a solitude, a solitude, nobody, not a hut. The population had cleared o=
ut a
long time ago. Well, if a lot of mysterious niggers armed with all kinds of=
fearful
weapons suddenly took to traveling on the road between Deal and Gravesend,
catching the yokels right and left to carry heavy loads for them, I fancy e=
very
farm and cottage thereabouts would get empty very soon. Only here the dwell=
ings
were gone too. Still I passed through several abandoned villages. There's
something pathetically childish in the ruins of grass walls. Day after day,
with the stamp and shuffle of sixty pair of bare feet behind me, each pair
under a 60-lb. load. Camp, cook, sleep, strike camp, march. Now and then a
carrier dead in harness, at rest in the long grass near the path, with an e=
mpty
water-gourd and his long staff lying by his side. A great silence around and
above. Perhaps on some quiet night the tremor of far-off drums, sinking, sw=
elling,
a tremor vast, faint; a sound weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild--and
perhaps with as profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a Christian
country. Once a white man in an unbuttoned uniform, camping on the path wit=
h an
armed escort of lank Zanzibaris, very hospitable and festive--not to say dr=
unk.
Was looking after the upkeep of the road, he declared. Can't say I saw any =
road
or any upkeep, unless the body of a middle-aged negro, with a bullet-hole in
the forehead, upon which I absolutely stumbled three miles farther on, may =
be considered
as a permanent improvement. I had a white companion too, not a bad chap, but
rather too fleshy and with the exasperating habit of fainting on the hot
hillsides, miles away from the least bit of shade and water. Annoying, you
know, to hold your own coat like a parasol over a man's head while he is
coming-to. I couldn't help asking him once what he meant by coming there at
all. 'To make money, of course. What do you think?' he said, scornfully. Th=
en
he got fever, and had to be carried in a hammock slung under a pole. As he
weighed sixteen stone I had no end of rows with the carriers. They jibbed, =
ran
away, sneaked off with their loads in the night--quite a mutiny. So, one
evening, I made a speech in English with gestures, not one of which was los=
t to
the sixty pairs of eyes before me, and the next morning I started the hammo=
ck
off in front all right. An hour afterwards I came upon the whole concern
wrecked in a bush--man, hammock, groans, blankets, horrors. The heavy pole =
had skinned
his poor nose. He was very anxious for me to kill somebody, but there wasn't
the shadow of a carrier near. I remembered the old doctor,--'It would be
interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the =
spot.'
I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting. However, all that is to no
purpose. On the fifteenth day I came in sight of the big river again, and
hobbled into the Central Station. It was on a back water surrounded by scrub
and forest, with a pretty border of smelly mud on one side, and on the thre=
e others
inclosed by a crazy fence of rushes. A neglected gap was all the gate it ha=
d,
and the first glance at the place was enough to let you see the flabby devil
was running that show. White men with long staves in their hands appeared
languidly from amongst the buildings, strolling up to take a look at me, and
then retired out of sight somewhere. One of them, a stout, excitable chap w=
ith
black mustaches, informed me with great volubility and many digressions, as
soon as I told him who I was, that my steamer was at the bottom of the rive=
r. I
was thunderstruck. What, how, why? Oh, it was 'all right.' The 'manager
himself' was there. All quite correct. 'Everybody had behaved splendidly!
splendidly!'--'you must,' he said in agitation, 'go and see the general man=
ager
at once. He is waiting!'
"I did not s=
ee
the real significance of that wreck at once. I fancy I see it now, but I am=
not
sure--not at all. Certainly the affair was too stupid--when I think of it--=
to
be altogether natural. Still. . . . But at the moment it presented itself
simply as a confounded nuisance. The steamer was sunk. They had started two
days before in a sudden hurry up the river with the manager on board, in ch=
arge
of some volunteer skipper, and before they had been out three hours they to=
re
the bottom out of her on stones, and she sank near the south bank. I asked
myself what I was to do there, now my boat was lost. As a matter of fact, I=
had
plenty to do in fishing my command out of the river. I had to set about it =
the
very next day. That, and the repairs when I brought the pieces to the stati=
on,
took some months.
"My first
interview with the manager was curious. He did not ask me to sit down after=
my
twenty-mile walk that morning. He was commonplace in complexion, in feature=
s,
in manners, and in voice. He was of middle size and of ordinary build. His
eyes, of the usual blue, were perhaps remarkably cold, and he certainly cou=
ld
make his glance fall on one as trenchant and heavy as an ax. But even at th=
ese
times the rest of his person seemed to disclaim the intention. Otherwise th=
ere
was only an indefinable, faint expression of his lips, something stealthy--=
a smile--not
a smile--I remember it, but I can't explain. It was unconscious, this smile
was, though just after he had said something it got intensified for an inst=
ant.
It came at the end of his speeches like a seal applied on the words to make=
the
meaning of the commonest phrase appear absolutely inscrutable. He was a com=
mon
trader, from his youth up employed in these parts--nothing more. He was obe=
yed,
yet he inspired neither love nor fear, nor even respect. He inspired
uneasiness. That was it! Uneasiness. Not a definite mistrust--just
uneasiness--nothing more. You have no idea how effective such a . . . a . .=
.
faculty can be. He had no genius for organizing, for initiative, or for ord=
er
even. That was evident in such things as the deplorable state of the statio=
n. He
had no learning, and no intelligence. His position had come to him--why? Pe=
rhaps
because he was never ill . . . He had served three terms of three years out
there . . . Because triumphant health in the general rout of constitutions =
is a
kind of power in itself. When he went home on leave he rioted on a large
scale--pompously. Jack ashore--with a difference--in externals only. This o=
ne
could gather from his casual talk. He originated nothing, he could keep the
routine going--that's all. But he was great. He was great by this little th=
ing
that it was impossible to tell what could control such a man. He never gave
that secret away. Perhaps there was nothing within him. Such a suspicion ma=
de
one pause--for out there there were no external checks. Once when various
tropical diseases had laid low almost every 'agent' in the station, he was
heard to say, 'Men who come out here should have no entrails.' He sealed the
utterance with that smile of his, as though it had been a door opening into=
a
darkness he had in his keeping. You fancied you had seen things--but the se=
al
was on. When annoyed at meal-times by the constant quarrels of the white men
about precedence, he ordered an immense round table to be made, for which a
special house had to be built. This was the station's mess-room. Where he s=
at
was the first place--the rest were nowhere. One felt this to be his unalter=
able
conviction. He was neither civil nor uncivil. He was quiet. He allowed his
'boy'--an overfed young negro from the coast--to treat the white men, under=
his
very eyes, with provoking insolence.
"He began to
speak as soon as he saw me. I had been very long on the road. He could not
wait. Had to start without me. The up-river stations had to be relieved. Th=
ere
had been so many delays already that he did not know who was dead and who w=
as
alive, and how they got on--and so on, and so on. He paid no attention to my
explanations, and, playing with a stick of sealing-wax, repeated several ti=
mes
that the situation was 'very grave, very grave.' There were rumors that a v=
ery
important station was in jeopardy, and its chief, Mr. Kurtz, was ill. Hoped=
it
was not true. Mr. Kurtz was . . . I felt weary and irritable. Hang Kurtz, I
thought. I interrupted him by saying I had heard of Mr. Kurtz on the coast.
'Ah! So they talk of him down there,' he murmured to himself. Then he began
again, assuring me Mr. Kurtz was the best agent he had, an exceptional man,=
of
the greatest importance to the Company; therefore I could understand his
anxiety. He was, he said, 'very, very uneasy.' Certainly he fidgeted on his
chair a good deal, exclaimed, 'Ah, Mr. Kurtz!' broke the stick of sealing-w=
ax
and seemed dumbfounded by the accident. Next thing he wanted to know 'how l=
ong
it would take to' . . . I interrupted him again. Being hungry, you know, and
kept on my feet too, I was getting savage. 'How could I tell,' I said. 'I
hadn't even seen the wreck yet--some months, no doubt.' All this talk seeme=
d to
me so futile. 'Some months,' he said. 'Well, let us say three months before=
we
can make a start. Yes. That ought to do the affair.' I flung out of his hut=
(he
lived all alone in a clay hut with a sort of veranda) muttering to myself my
opinion of him. He was a chattering idiot. Afterwards I took it back when it
was borne in upon me startlingly with what extreme nicety he had estimated =
the
time requisite for the 'affair.'
"I went to w=
ork
the next day, turning, so to speak, my back on that station. In that way on=
ly
it seemed to me I could keep my hold on the redeeming facts of life. Still,=
one
must look about sometimes; and then I saw this station, these men strolling
aimlessly about in the sunshine of the yard. I asked myself sometimes what =
it
all meant. They wandered here and there with their absurd long staves in th=
eir
hands, like a lot of faithless pilgrims bewitched inside a rotten fence. The
word 'ivory' rang in the air, was whispered, was sighed. You would think th=
ey
were praying to it. A taint of imbecile rapacity blew through it all, like =
a whiff
from some corpse. By Jove! I've never seen anything so unreal in my life. A=
nd
outside, the silent wilderness surrounding this cleared speck on the earth
struck me as something great and invincible, like evil or truth, waiting
patiently for the passing away of this fantastic invasion.
"Oh, these
months! Well, never mind. Various things happened. One evening a grass shed
full of calico, cotton prints, beads, and I don't know what else, burst int=
o a
blaze so suddenly that you would have thought the earth had opened to let an
avenging fire consume all that trash. I was smoking my pipe quietly by my
dismantled steamer, and saw them all cutting capers in the light, with their
arms lifted high, when the stout man with mustaches came tearing down to the
river, a tin pail in his hand, assured me that everybody was 'behaving
splendidly, splendidly,' dipped about a quart of water and tore back again.=
I noticed
there was a hole in the bottom of his pail.
"I strolled =
up.
There was no hurry. You see the thing had gone off like a box of matches. It
had been hopeless from the very first. The flame had leaped high, driven
everybody back, lighted up everything--and collapsed. The shed was already a
heap of embers glowing fiercely. A nigger was being beaten near by. They sa=
id
he had caused the fire in some way; be that as it may, he was screeching mo=
st
horribly. I saw him, later on, for several days, sitting in a bit of shade
looking very sick and trying to recover himself: afterwards he arose and we=
nt
out--and the wilderness without a sound took him into its bosom again. As I=
approached
the glow from the dark I found myself at the back of two men, talking. I he=
ard
the name of Kurtz pronounced, then the words, 'take advantage of this
unfortunate accident.' One of the men was the manager. I wished him a good
evening. 'Did you ever see anything like it--eh? it is incredible,' he said,
and walked off. The other man remained. He was a first-class agent, young,
gentlemanly, a bit reserved, with a forked little beard and a hooked nose. =
He
was stand-offish with the other agents, and they on their side said he was =
the
manager's spy upon them. As to me, I had hardly ever spoken to him before. =
We
got into talk, and by-and-by we strolled away from the hissing ruins. Then =
he
asked me to his room, which was in the main building of the station. He str=
uck a
match, and I perceived that this young aristocrat had not only a silver-mou=
nted
dressing-case but also a whole candle all to himself. Just at that time the
manager was the only man supposed to have any right to candles. Native mats
covered the clay walls; a collection of spears, assegais, shields, knives w=
as
hung up in trophies. The business intrusted to this fellow was the making of
bricks--so I had been informed; but there wasn't a fragment of a brick anyw=
here
in the station, and he had been there more than a year--waiting. It seems h=
e could
not make bricks without something, I don't know what--straw maybe. Anyways,=
it
could not be found there, and as it was not likely to be sent from Europe, =
it
did not appear clear to me what he was waiting for. An act of special creat=
ion
perhaps. However, they were all waiting--all the sixteen or twenty pilgrims=
of
them--for something; and upon my word it did not seem an uncongenial
occupation, from the way they took it, though the only thing that ever came=
to
them was disease--as far as I could see. They beguiled the time by backbiti=
ng
and intriguing against each other in a foolish kind of way. There was an ai=
r of
plotting about that station, but nothing came of it, of course. It was as
unreal as everything else--as the philanthropic pretense of the whole conce=
rn,
as their talk, as their government, as their show of work. The only real fe=
eling
was a desire to get appointed to a trading-post where ivory was to be had, =
so
that they could earn percentages. They intrigued and slandered and hated ea=
ch
other only on that account,--but as to effectually lifting a little finger-=
-oh,
no. By heavens! there is something after all in the world allowing one man =
to
steal a horse while another must not look at a halter. Steal a horse straig=
ht
out. Very well. He has done it. Perhaps he can ride. But there is a way of
looking at a halter that would provoke the most charitable of saints into a=
kick.
"I had no id=
ea
why he wanted to be sociable, but as we chatted in there it suddenly occurr=
ed
to me the fellow was trying to get at something--in fact, pumping me. He
alluded constantly to Europe, to the people I was supposed to know
there--putting leading questions as to my acquaintances in the sepulchral c=
ity,
and so on. His little eyes glittered like mica discs--with curiosity,--thou=
gh
he tried to keep up a bit of superciliousness. At first I was astonished, b=
ut
very soon I became awfully curious to see what he would find out from me. I
couldn't possibly imagine what I had in me to make it worth his while. It w=
as very
pretty to see how he baffled himself, for in truth my body was full of chil=
ls,
and my head had nothing in it but that wretched steamboat business. It was
evident he took me for a perfectly shameless prevaricator. At last he got
angry, and to conceal a movement of furious annoyance, he yawned. I rose. T=
hen
I noticed a small sketch in oils, on a panel, representing a woman, draped =
and
blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch. The background was somber--almost bl=
ack.
The movement of the woman was stately, and the effect of the torchlight on =
the
face was sinister.
"It arrested=
me,
and he stood by civilly, holding a half-pint champagne bottle (medical
comforts) with the candle stuck in it. To my question he said Mr. Kurtz had
painted this--in this very station more than a year ago--while waiting for
means to go to his trading-post. 'Tell me, pray,' said I, 'who is this Mr.
Kurtz?'
"'The chief =
of
the Inner Station,' he answered in a short tone, looking away. 'Much oblige=
d,'
I said, laughing. 'And you are the brickmaker of the Central Station. Every=
one
knows that.' He was silent for a while. 'He is a prodigy,' he said at last.=
'He
is an emissary of pity, and science, and progress, and devil knows what els=
e.
We want,' he began to declaim suddenly, 'for the guidance of the cause
intrusted to us by Europe, so to speak, higher intelligence, wide sympathie=
s, a
singleness of purpose.' 'Who says that?' I asked. 'Lots of them,' he replie=
d.
'Some even write that; and so he comes here, a special being, as you ought =
to
know.' 'Why ought I to know?' I interrupted, really surprised. He paid no
attention. 'Yes. To-day he is chief of the best station, next year he will =
be
assistant-manager, two years more and . . . but I dare say you know what he
will be in two years' time. You are of the new gang--the gang of virtue. The
same people who sent him specially also recommended you. Oh, don't say no. =
I've
my own eyes to trust.' Light dawned upon me. My dear aunt's influential
acquaintances were producing an unexpected effect upon that young man. I ne=
arly
burst into a laugh. 'Do you read the Company's confidential correspondence?=
' I
asked. He hadn't a word to say. It was great fun. 'When Mr. Kurtz,' I conti=
nued
severely, 'is General Manager, you won't have the opportunity.'
"He blew the
candle out suddenly, and we went outside. The moon had risen. Black figures
strolled about listlessly, pouring water on the glow, whence proceeded a so=
und
of hissing; steam ascended in the moonlight, the beaten nigger groaned
somewhere. 'What a row the brute makes!' said the indefatigable man with the
mustaches, appearing near us. 'Serve him right.
Transgression--punishment--bang! Pitiless, pitiless. That's the only way. T=
his
will prevent all conflagrations for the future. I was just telling the mana=
ger
. . .' He noticed my companion, and became crestfallen all at once. 'Not in=
bed
yet,' he said, with a kind of servile heartiness; 'it's so natural. Ha! Dan=
ger--agitation.'
He vanished. I went on to the river-side, and the other followed me. I hear=
d a
scathing murmur at my ear, 'Heap of muffs--go to.' The pilgrims could be se=
en
in knots gesticulating, discussing. Several had still their staves in their
hands. I verily believe they took these sticks to bed with them. Beyond the
fence the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlight, and through the dim
stir, through the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard, the silence of=
the
land went home to one's very heart,--its mystery, its greatness, the amazing
reality of its concealed life. The hurt nigger moaned feebly somewhere near=
by,
and then fetched a deep sigh that made me mend my pace away from there. I f=
elt
a hand introducing itself under my arm. 'My dear sir,' said the fellow, 'I
don't want to be misunderstood, and especially by you, who will see Mr. Kur=
tz
long before I can have that pleasure. I wouldn't like him to get a false id=
ea
of my disposition. . . .'
"I let him run on, this papier=
-mache
Mephistopheles, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefin=
ger
through him, and would find nothing inside but a little loose dirt, maybe. =
He,
don't you see, had been planning to be assistant-manager by-and-by under the
present man, and I could see that the coming of that Kurtz had upset them b=
oth
not a little. He talked precipitately, and I did not try to stop him. I had=
my shoulders
against the wreck of my steamer, hauled up on the slope like a carcass of s=
ome
big river animal. The smell of mud, of primeval mud, by Jove! was in my
nostrils, the high stillness of primeval forest was before my eyes; there w=
ere
shiny patches on the black creek. The moon had spread over everything a thin
layer of silver--over the rank grass, over the mud, upon the wall of matted
vegetation standing higher than the wall of a temple, over the great river I
could see through a somber gap glittering, glittering, as it flowed broadly=
by
without a murmur. All this was great, expectant, mute, while the man jabber=
ed
about himself. I wondered whether the stillness on the face of the immensit=
y looking
at us two were meant as an appeal or as a menace. What were we who had stra=
yed
in here? Could we handle that dumb thing, or would it handle us? I felt how
big, how confoundedly big, was that thing that couldn't talk, and perhaps w=
as
deaf as well. What was in there? I could see a little ivory coming out from
there, and I had heard Mr. Kurtz was in there. I had heard enough about it
too--God knows! Yet somehow it didn't bring any image with it--no more than=
if
I had been told an angel or a fiend was in there. I believed it in the same=
way
one of you might believe there are inhabitants in the planet Mars. I knew o=
nce
a Scotch sailmaker who was certain, dead sure, there were people in Mars. If
you asked him for some idea how they looked and behaved, he would get shy a=
nd
mutter something about 'walking on all-fours.' If you as much as smiled, he
would--though a man of sixty--offer to fight you. I would not have gone so =
far
as to fight for Kurtz, but I went for him near enough to a lie. You know I
hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I am straighter than the re=
st
of us, but simply because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavo=
r of
mortality in lies,--which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world--w=
hat
I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rot=
ten
would do. Temperament, I suppose. Well, I went near enough to it by letting=
the
young fool there believe anything he liked to imagine as to my influence in
Europe. I became in an instant as much of a pretense as the rest of the
bewitched pilgrims. This simply because I had a notion it somehow would be =
of
help to that Kurtz whom at the time I did not see--you understand. He was j=
ust
a word for me. I did not see the man in the name any more than you do. Do y=
ou
see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am try=
ing
to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream =
can
convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and
bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being capture=
d by
the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams. . . ."
He was silent for=
a
while.
". . . No, i=
t is
impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoc=
h of
one's existence,--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and
penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone. . . .&q=
uot;
He paused again a=
s if
reflecting, then added--"Of course in this you fellows see more than I
could then. You see me, whom you know. . . ."
It had become so
pitch dark that we listeners could hardly see one another. For a long time
already he, sitting apart, had been no more to us than a voice. There was n=
ot a
word from anybody. The others might have been asleep, but I was awake. I
listened, I listened on the watch for the sentence, for the word, that would
give me the clew to the faint uneasiness inspired by this narrative that se=
emed
to shape itself without human lips in the heavy night-air of the river.
". . . Yes--I
let him run on," Marlow began again, "and think what he pleased a=
bout
the powers that were behind me. I did! And there was nothing behind me! The=
re
was nothing but that wretched, old, mangled steamboat I was leaning against,
while he talked fluently about 'the necessity for every man to get on.' 'And
when one comes out here, you conceive, it is not to gaze at the moon.' Mr.
Kurtz was a 'universal genius,' but even a genius would find it easier to w=
ork
with 'adequate tools--intelligent men.' He did not make bricks--why, there =
was
a physical impossibility in the way--as I was well aware; and if he did
secretarial work for the manager, it was because 'no sensible man rejects
wantonly the confidence of his superiors.' Did I see it? I saw it. What more
did I want? What I really wanted was rivets, by heaven! Rivets. To get on w=
ith
the work--to stop the hole. Rivets I wanted. There were cases of them down =
at
the coast--cases--piled up--burst--split! You kicked a loose rivet at every
second step in that station yard on the hillside. Rivets had rolled into the
grove of death. You could fill your pockets with rivets for the trouble of
stooping down--and there wasn't one rivet to be found where it was wanted. =
We
had plates that would do, but nothing to fasten them with. And every week t=
he
messenger, a lone negro, letter-bag on shoulder and staff in hand, left our
station for the coast. And several times a week a coast caravan came in with
trade goods,--ghastly glazed calico that made you shudder only to look at i=
t,
glass beads value about a penny a quart, confounded spotted cotton handkerc=
hiefs.
And no rivets. Three carriers could have brought all that was wanted to set
that steamboat afloat.
"He was beco=
ming
confidential now, but I fancy my unresponsive attitude must have exasperated
him at last, for he judged it necessary to inform me he feared neither God =
nor
devil, let alone any mere man. I said I could see that very well, but what I
wanted was a certain quantity of rivets--and rivets were what really Mr. Ku=
rtz
wanted, if he had only known it. Now letters went to the coast every week. =
. .
. 'My dear sir,' he cried, 'I write from dictation.' I demanded rivets. The=
re
was a way--for an intelligent man. He changed his manner; became very cold,=
and
suddenly began to talk about a hippopotamus; wondered whether sleeping on b=
oard
the steamer (I stuck to my salvage night and day) I wasn't disturbed. There=
was
an old hippo that had the bad habit of getting out on the bank and roaming =
at
night over the station grounds. The pilgrims used to turn out in a body and
empty every rifle they could lay hands on at him. Some even had sat up o'
nights for him. All this energy was wasted, though. 'That animal has a char=
med
life,' he said; 'but you can say this only of brutes in this country. No
man--you apprehend me?--no man here bears a charmed life.' He stood there f=
or a
moment in the moonlight with his delicate hooked nose set a little askew, a=
nd
his mica eyes glittering without a wink, then, with a curt Good night, he
strode off. I could see he was disturbed and considerably puzzled, which ma=
de
me feel more hopeful than I had been for days. It was a great comfort to tu=
rn
from that chap to my influential friend, the battered, twisted, ruined, tin=
-pot
steamboat. I clambered on board. She rang under my feet like an empty Huntl=
ey
& Palmer biscuit-tin kicked along a gutter; she was nothing so solid in
make, and rather less pretty in shape, but I had expended enough hard work =
on
her to make me love her. No influential friend would have served me better.=
She
had given me a chance to come out a bit--to find out what I could do. No, I
don't like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things t=
hat can
be done. I don't like work--no man does--but I like what is in the work,--t=
he
chance to find yourself. Your own reality--for yourself, not for others--wh=
at
no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can =
tell
what it really means.
"I was not
surprised to see somebody sitting aft, on the deck, with his legs dangling =
over
the mud. You see I rather chummed with the few mechanics there were in that
station, whom the other pilgrims naturally despised--on account of their
imperfect manners, I suppose. This was the foreman--a boiler-maker by trade=
--a
good worker. He was a lank, bony, yellow-faced man, with big intense eyes. =
His
aspect was worried, and his head was as bald as the palm of my hand; but his
hair in falling seemed to have stuck to his chin, and had prospered in the =
new
locality, for his beard hung down to his waist. He was a widower with six y=
oung
children (he had left them in charge of a sister of his to come out there),=
and
the passion of his life was pigeon-flying. He was an enthusiast and a
connoisseur. He would rave about pigeons. After work hours he used sometime=
s to
come over from his hut for a talk about his children and his pigeons; at wo=
rk,
when he had to crawl in the mud under the bottom of the steamboat, he would=
tie
up that beard of his in a kind of white serviette he brought for the purpos=
e.
It had loops to go over his ears. In the evening he could be seen squatted =
on the
bank rinsing that wrapper in the creek with great care, then spreading it
solemnly on a bush to dry.
"I slapped h=
im
on the back and shouted, 'We shall have rivets!' He scrambled to his feet
exclaiming 'No! Rivets!' as though he couldn't believe his ears. Then in a =
low
voice, 'You . . . eh?' I don't know why we behaved like lunatics. I put my
finger to the side of my nose and nodded mysteriously. 'Good for you!' he
cried, snapped his fingers above his head, lifting one foot. I tried a jig.=
We
capered on the iron deck. A frightful clatter came out of that hulk, and the
virgin forest on the other bank of the creek sent it back in a thundering r=
oll
upon the sleeping station. It must have made some of the pilgrims sit up in
their hovels. A dark figure obscured the lighted doorway of the manager's h=
ut, vanished,
then, a second or so after, the doorway itself vanished too. We stopped, and
the silence driven away by the stamping of our feet flowed back again from =
the
recesses of the land. The great wall of vegetation, an exuberant and entang=
led
mass of trunks, branches, leaves, boughs, festoons, motionless in the
moonlight, was like a rioting invasion of soundless life, a rolling wave of
plants, piled up, crested, ready to topple over the creek, to sweep every l=
ittle
man of us out of his little existence. And it moved not. A deadened burst of
mighty splashes and snorts reached us from afar, as though an ichthyosaurus=
had
been taking a bath of glitter in the great river. 'After all,' said the boi=
ler-maker
in a reasonable tone, 'why shouldn't we get the rivets?' Why not, indeed! I=
did
not know of any reason why we shouldn't. 'They'll come in three weeks,' I s=
aid
confidently.
"But they
didn't. Instead of rivets there came an invasion, an infliction, a visitati=
on.
It came in sections during the next three weeks, each section headed by a
donkey carrying a white man in new clothes and tan shoes, bowing from that
elevation right and left to the impressed pilgrims. A quarrelsome band of
footsore sulky niggers trod on the heels of the donkeys; a lot of tents,
camp-stools, tin boxes, white cases, brown bales would be shot down in the
courtyard, and the air of mystery would deepen a little over the muddle of =
the
station. Five such installments came, with their absurd air of disorderly
flight with the loot of innumerable outfit shops and provision stores, that,
one would think, they were lugging, after a raid, into the wilderness for e=
quitable
division. It was an inextricable mess of things decent in themselves but th=
at
human folly made look like the spoils of thieving.
"This devoted
band called itself the Eldorado Exploring Expedition, and I believe they we=
re
sworn to secrecy. Their talk, however, was the talk of sordid buccaneers: it
was reckless without hardihood, greedy without audacity, and cruel without
courage; there was not an atom of foresight or of serious intention in the
whole batch of them, and they did not seem aware these things are wanted for
the work of the world. To tear treasure out of the bowels of the land was t=
heir
desire, with no more moral purpose at the back of it than there is in burgl=
ars
breaking into a safe. Who paid the expenses of the noble enterprise I don't
know; but the uncle of our manager was leader of that lot.
"In exterior=
he
resembled a butcher in a poor neighborhood, and his eyes had a look of slee=
py
cunning. He carried his fat paunch with ostentation on his short legs, and
during the time his gang infested the station spoke to no one but his nephe=
w.
You could see these two roaming about all day long with their heads close
together in an everlasting confab.
"I had given=
up
worrying myself about the rivets. One's capacity for that kind of folly is =
more
limited than you would suppose. I said Hang!--and let things slide. I had
plenty of time for meditation, and now and then I would give some thought to
Kurtz. I wasn't very interested in him. No. Still, I was curious to see whe=
ther
this man, who had come out equipped with moral ideas of some sort, would cl=
imb
to the top after all, and how he would set about his work when there."=
II
"One evening as I was lying fl=
at on
the deck of my steamboat, I heard voices approaching--and there were the ne=
phew
and the uncle strolling along the bank. I laid my head on my arm again, and=
had
nearly lost myself in a doze, when somebody said in my ear, as it were: 'I =
am
as harmless as a little child, but I don't like to be dictated to. Am I the=
manager--or
am I not? I was ordered to send him there. It's incredible.' . . . I became
aware that the two were standing on the shore alongside the forepart of the
steamboat, just below my head. I did not move; it did not occur to me to mo=
ve:
I was sleepy. 'It is unpleasant,' grunted the uncle. 'He has asked the
Administration to be sent there,' said the other, 'with the idea of showing
what he could do; and I was instructed accordingly. Look at the influence t=
hat
man must have. Is it not frightful?' They both agreed it was frightful, then
made several bizarre remarks: 'Make rain and fine weather--one man--the
Council--by the nose'--bits of absurd sentences that got the better of my
drowsiness, so that I had pretty near the whole of my wits about me when the
uncle said, 'The climate may do away with this difficulty for you. Is he al=
one there?'
'Yes,' answered the manager; 'he sent his assistant down the river with a n=
ote
to me in these terms: "Clear this poor devil out of the country, and d=
on't
bother sending more of that sort. I had rather be alone than have the kind =
of
men you can dispose of with me." It was more than a year ago. Can you
imagine such impudence!' 'Anything since then?' asked the other, hoarsely.
'Ivory,' jerked the nephew; 'lots of it--prime sort--lots--most annoying, f=
rom
him.' 'And with that?' questioned the heavy rumble. 'Invoice,' was the reply
fired out, so to speak. Then silence. They had been talking about Kurtz.
"I was broad
awake by this time, but, lying perfectly at ease, remained still, having no
inducement to change my position. 'How did that ivory come all this way?'
growled the elder man, who seemed very vexed. The other explained that it h=
ad
come with a fleet of canoes in charge of an English half-caste clerk Kurtz =
had
with him; that Kurtz had apparently intended to return himself, the station
being by that time bare of goods and stores, but after coming three hundred
miles, had suddenly decided to go back, which he started to do alone in a s=
mall
dug-out with four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to continue down the riv=
er
with the ivory. The two fellows there seemed astounded at anybody attempting
such a thing. They were at a loss for an adequate motive. As to me, I seeme=
d to
see Kurtz for the first time. It was a distinct glimpse: the dug-out, four
paddling savages, and the lone white man turning his back suddenly on the
headquarters, on relief, on thoughts of home--perhaps; setting his face tow=
ards
the depths of the wilderness, towards his empty and desolate station. I did=
not
know the motive. Perhaps he was just simply a fine fellow who stuck to his =
work
for its own sake. His name, you understand, had not been pronounced once. He
was 'that man.' The half-caste, who, as far as I could see, had conducted a
difficult trip with great prudence and pluck, was invariably alluded to as
'that scoundrel.' The 'scoundrel' had reported that the 'man' had been very=
ill--had
recovered imperfectly. . . . The two below me moved away then a few paces, =
and
strolled back and forth at some little distance. I heard: 'Military
post--doctor--two hundred miles--quite alone now--unavoidable delays--nine
months--no news--strange rumors.' They approached again, just as the manager
was saying, 'No one, as far as I know, unless a species of wandering trader=
--a
pestilential fellow, snapping ivory from the natives.' Who was it they were
talking about now? I gathered in snatches that this was some man supposed t=
o be
in Kurtz's district, and of whom the manager did not approve. 'We will not =
be
free from unfair competition till one of these fellows is hanged for an
example,' he said. 'Certainly,' grunted the other; 'get him hanged! Why not=
? Anything--anything
can be done in this country. That's what I say; nobody here, you understand,
here, can endanger your position. And why? You stand the climate--you outla=
st
them all. The danger is in Europe; but there before I left I took care to--'
They moved off and whispered, then their voices rose again. 'The extraordin=
ary
series of delays is not my fault. I did my possible.' The fat man sighed, '=
Very
sad.' 'And the pestiferous absurdity of his talk,' continued the other; 'he
bothered me enough when he was here. "Each station should be like a be=
acon
on the road towards better things, a center for trade of course, but also f=
or
humanizing, improving, instructing." Conceive you--that ass! And he wa=
nts
to be manager! No, it's--' Here he got choked by excessive indignation, and=
I
lifted my head the least bit. I was surprised to see how near they were--ri=
ght
under me. I could have spat upon their hats. They were looking on the groun=
d,
absorbed in thought. The manager was switching his leg with a slender twig:=
his
sagacious relative lifted his head. 'You have been well since you came out =
this
time?' he asked. The other gave a start. 'Who? I? Oh! Like a charm--like a
charm. But the rest--oh, my goodness! All sick. They die so quick, too, tha=
t I
haven't the time to send them out of the country--it's incredible!' 'H'm. J=
ust
so,' grunted the uncle. 'Ah! my boy, trust to this--I say, trust to this.' I
saw him extend his short flipper of an arm for a gesture that took in the
forest, the creek, the mud, the river,--seemed to beckon with a dishonoring
flourish before the sunlit face of the land a treacherous appeal to the lur=
king
death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart. It was so
startling that I leaped to my feet and looked back at the edge of the fores=
t,
as though I had expected an answer of some sort to that black display of co=
nfidence.
You know the foolish notions that come to one sometimes. The high stillness
confronted these two figures with its ominous patience, waiting for the pas=
sing
away of a fantastic invasion.
"They swore
aloud together--out of sheer fright, I believe--then pretending not to know
anything of my existence, turned back to the station. The sun was low; and
leaning forward side by side, they seemed to be tugging painfully uphill th=
eir
two ridiculous shadows of unequal length, that trailed behind them slowly o=
ver
the tall grass without bending a single blade.
"In a few da=
ys
the Eldorado Expedition went into the patient wilderness, that closed upon =
it
as the sea closes over a diver. Long afterwards the news came that all the
donkeys were dead. I know nothing as to the fate of the less valuable anima=
ls.
They, no doubt, like the rest of us, found what they deserved. I did not
inquire. I was then rather excited at the prospect of meeting Kurtz very so=
on.
When I say very soon I mean it comparatively. It was just two months from t=
he
day we left the creek when we came to the bank below Kurtz's station.
"Going up th=
at
river was like traveling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when
vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An empty strea=
m, a
great silence, an impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy,
sluggish. There was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretche=
s of
the waterway ran on, deserted, into the gloom of overshadowed distances. On
silvery sandbanks hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side. The
broadening waters flowed through a mob of wooded islands; you lost your way=
on
that river as you would in a desert, and butted all day long against shoals,
trying to find the channel, till you thought yourself bewitched and cut off=
for
ever from everything you had known once--somewhere--far away--in another ex=
istence
perhaps. There were moments when one's past came back to one, as it will
sometimes when you have not a moment to spare to yourself; but it came in t=
he
shape of an unrestful and noisy dream, remembered with wonder amongst the
overwhelming realities of this strange world of plants, and water, and sile=
nce.
And this stillness of life did not in the least resemble a peace. It was the
stillness of an implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention. It
looked at you with a vengeful aspect. I got used to it afterwards; I did not
see it any more; I had no time. I had to keep guessing at the channel; I ha=
d to
discern, mostly by inspiration, the signs of hidden banks; I watched for su=
nken
stones; I was learning to clap my teeth smartly before my heart flew out, w=
hen
I shaved by a fluke some infernal sly old snag that would have ripped the l=
ife
out of the tin-pot steamboat and drowned all the pilgrims; I had to keep a
look-out for the signs of dead wood we could cut up in the night for next d=
ay's
steaming. When you have to attend to things of that sort, to the mere incid=
ents
of the surface, the reality--the reality, I tell you--fades. The inner trut=
h is
hidden--luckily, luckily. But I felt it all the same; I felt often its
mysterious stillness watching me at my monkey tricks, just as it watches you
fellows performing on your respective tight-ropes for--what is it? half-a-c=
rown
a tumble--"
"Try to be
civil, Marlow," growled a voice, and I knew there was at least one
listener awake besides myself.
"I beg your
pardon. I forgot the heartache which makes up the rest of the price. And in=
deed
what does the price matter, if the trick be well done? You do your tricks v=
ery
well. And I didn't do badly either, since I managed not to sink that steamb=
oat
on my first trip. It's a wonder to me yet. Imagine a blindfolded man set to
drive a van over a bad road. I sweated and shivered over that business
considerably, I can tell you. After all, for a seaman, to scrape the bottom=
of
the thing that's supposed to float all the time under his care is the
unpardonable sin. No one may know of it, but you never forget the thump--eh=
? A
blow on the very heart. You remember it, you dream of it, you wake up at ni=
ght
and think of it--years after--and go hot and cold all over. I don't pretend=
to
say that steamboat floated all the time. More than once she had to wade for=
a
bit, with twenty cannibals splashing around and pushing. We had enlisted so=
me
of these chaps on the way for a crew. Fine fellows--cannibals--in their pla=
ce.
They were men one could work with, and I am grateful to them. And, after al=
l,
they did not eat each other before my face: they had brought along a provis=
ion
of hippo-meat which went rotten, and made the mystery of the wilderness sti=
nk
in my nostrils. Phoo! I can sniff it now. I had the manager on board and th=
ree or
four pilgrims with their staves--all complete. Sometimes we came upon a sta=
tion
close by the bank, clinging to the skirts of the unknown, and the white men
rushing out of a tumble-down hovel, with great gestures of joy and surprise=
and
welcome, seemed very strange,--had the appearance of being held there capti=
ve
by a spell. The word ivory would ring in the air for a while--and on we went
again into the silence, along empty reaches, round the still bends, between=
the
high walls of our winding way, reverberating in hollow claps the ponderous =
beat
of the stern-wheel. Trees, trees, millions of trees, massive, immense, runn=
ing up
high; and at their foot, hugging the bank against the stream, crept the lit=
tle
begrimed steamboat, like a sluggish beetle crawling on the floor of a lofty
portico. It made you feel very small, very lost, and yet it was not altoget=
her
depressing, that feeling. After all, if you were small, the grimy beetle
crawled on--which was just what you wanted it to do. Where the pilgrims
imagined it crawled to I don't know. To some place where they expected to g=
et
something, I bet! For me it crawled toward Kurtz--exclusively; but when the
steam-pipes started leaking we crawled very slow. The reaches opened before=
us
and closed behind, as if the forest had stepped leisurely across the water =
to
bar the way for our return. We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart =
of
darkness. It was very quiet there. At night sometimes the roll of drums beh=
ind
the curtain of trees would run up the river and remain sustained faintly, a=
s if
hovering in the air high over our heads, till the first break of day. Wheth=
er
it meant war, peace, or prayer we could not tell. The dawns were heralded by
the descent of a chill stillness; the woodcutters slept, their fires burned
low; the snapping of a twig would make you start. We were wanderers on a
prehistoric earth, on an earth that wore the aspect of an unknown planet. We
could have fancied ourselves the first of men taking possession of an accur=
sed
inheritance, to be subdued at the cost of profound anguish and of excessive
toil. But suddenly, as we struggled round a bend, there would be a glimpse =
of
rush walls, of peaked grass-roofs, a burst of yells, a whirl of black limbs=
, a
mass of hands clapping, of feet stamping, of bodies swaying, of eyes rollin=
g,
under the droop of heavy and motionless foliage. The steamer toiled along
slowly on the edge of a black and incomprehensible frenzy. The prehistoric =
man
was cursing us, praying to us, welcoming us--who could tell? We were cut off
from the comprehension of our surroundings; we glided past like phantoms,
wondering and secretly appalled, as sane men would be before an enthusiastic
outbreak in a madhouse. We could not understand, because we were too far and
could not remember, because we were traveling in the night of first ages, of
those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign--and no memories.
"The earth
seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a
conquered monster, but there--there you could look at a thing monstrous and
free. It was unearthly, and the men were--No, they were not inhuman. Well, =
you
know, that was the worst of it--this suspicion of their not being inhuman. =
It
would come slowly to one. They howled, and leaped, and spun, and made horrid
faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of their humanity--like
yours--the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate upr=
oar.
Ugly. Yes, it was ugly enough; but if you were man enough you would admit to
yourself that there was in you just the faintest trace of a response to the
terrible frankness of that noise, a dim suspicion of there being a meaning =
in
it which you--you so remote from the night of first ages--could comprehend.=
And
why not? The mind of man is capable of anything--because everything is in i=
t,
all the past as well as all the future. What was there after all? Joy, fear,
sorrow, devotion, valor, rage--who can tell?--but truth--truth stripped of =
its
cloak of time. Let the fool gape and shudder--the man knows, and can look on
without a wink. But he must at least be as much of a man as these on the sh=
ore.
He must meet that truth with his own true stuff--with his own inborn streng=
th.
Principles? Principles won't do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags--rags t=
hat
would fly off at the first good shake. No; you want a deliberate belief. An=
appeal
to me in this fiendish row--is there? Very well; I hear; I admit, but I hav=
e a
voice too, and for good or evil mine is the speech that cannot be silenced.=
Of
course, a fool, what with sheer fright and fine sentiments, is always safe.
Who's that grunting? You wonder I didn't go ashore for a howl and a dance?
Well, no--I didn't. Fine sentiments, you say? Fine sentiments, be hanged! I=
had
no time. I had to mess about with white-lead and strips of woolen blanket
helping to put bandages on those leaky steam-pipes--I tell you. I had to wa=
tch
the steering, and circumvent those snags, and get the tin-pot along by hook=
or
by crook. There was surface-truth enough in these things to save a wiser ma=
n.
And between whiles I had to look after the savage who was fireman. He was an
improved specimen; he could fire up a vertical boiler. He was there below m=
e,
and, upon my word, to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a paro=
dy
of breeches and a feather hat, walking on his hind-legs. A few months of
training had done for that really fine chap. He squinted at the steam-gauge=
and
at the water-gauge with an evident effort of intrepidity--and he had filed
teeth too, the poor devil, and the wool of his pate shaved into queer patte=
rns,
and three ornamental scars on each of his cheeks. He ought to have been
clapping his hands and stamping his feet on the bank, instead of which he w=
as
hard at work, a thrall to strange witchcraft, full of improving knowledge. =
He
was useful because he had been instructed; and what he knew was this--that
should the water in that transparent thing disappear, the evil spirit inside
the boiler would get angry through the greatness of his thirst, and take a
terrible vengeance. So he sweated and fired up and watched the glass fearfu=
lly (with
an impromptu charm, made of rags, tied to his arm, and a piece of polished
bone, as big as a watch, stuck flatways through his lower lip), while the
wooded banks slipped past us slowly, the short noise was left behind, the
interminable miles of silence--and we crept on, towards Kurtz. But the snags
were thick, the water was treacherous and shallow, the boiler seemed indeed=
to
have a sulky devil in it, and thus neither that fireman nor I had any time =
to
peer into our creepy thoughts.
"Some fifty
miles below the Inner Station we came upon a hut of reeds, an inclined and
melancholy pole, with the unrecognizable tatters of what had been a flag of
some sort flying from it, and a neatly stacked woodpile. This was unexpecte=
d.
We came to the bank, and on the stack of firewood found a flat piece of boa=
rd
with some faded pencil-writing on it. When deciphered it said: 'Wood for yo=
u.
Hurry up. Approach cautiously.' There was a signature, but it was
illegible--not Kurtz--a much longer word. 'Hurry up.' Where? Up the river?
'Approach cautiously.' We had not done so. But the warning could not have b=
een meant
for the place where it could be only found after approach. Something was wr=
ong
above. But what--and how much? That was the question. We commented adversely
upon the imbecility of that telegraphic style. The bush around said nothing,
and would not let us look very far, either. A torn curtain of red twill hun=
g in
the doorway of the hut, and flapped sadly in our faces. The dwelling was
dismantled; but we could see a white man had lived there not very long ago.
There remained a rude table--a plank on two posts; a heap of rubbish repose=
d in
a dark corner, and by the door I picked up a book. It had lost its covers, =
and
the pages had been thumbed into a state of extremely dirty softness; but th=
e back
had been lovingly stitched afresh with white cotton thread, which looked cl=
ean
yet. It was an extraordinary find. Its title was, 'An Inquiry into some Poi=
nts
of Seamanship,' by a man Tower, Towson--some such name--Master in his Majes=
ty's
Navy. The matter looked dreary reading enough, with illustrative diagrams a=
nd
repulsive tables of figures, and the copy was sixty years old. I handled th=
is
amazing antiquity with the greatest possible tenderness, lest it should
dissolve in my hands. Within, Towson or Towser was inquiring earnestly into=
the
breaking strain of ships' chains and tackle, and other such matters. Not a =
very
enthralling book; but at the first glance you could see there a singleness =
of
intention, an honest concern for the right way of going to work, which made
these humble pages, thought out so many years ago, luminous with another th=
an a
professional light. The simple old sailor, with his talk of chains and
purchases, made me forget the jungle and the pilgrims in a delicious sensat=
ion
of having come upon something unmistakably real. Such a book being there was
wonderful enough; but still more astounding were the notes penciled in the
margin, and plainly referring to the text. I couldn't believe my eyes! They
were in cipher! Yes, it looked like cipher. Fancy a man lugging with him a =
book
of that description into this nowhere and studying it--and making notes--in=
cipher
at that! It was an extravagant mystery.
"I had been
dimly aware for some time of a worrying noise, and when I lifted my eyes I =
saw
the wood-pile was gone, and the manager, aided by all the pilgrims, was
shouting at me from the river-side. I slipped the book into my pocket. I as=
sure
you to leave off reading was like tearing myself away from the shelter of an
old and solid friendship.
"I started t=
he
lame engine ahead. 'It must be this miserable trader--this intruder,' excla=
imed
the manager, looking back malevolently at the place we had left. 'He must be
English,' I said. 'It will not save him from getting into trouble if he is =
not
careful,' muttered the manager darkly. I observed with assumed innocence th=
at
no man was safe from trouble in this world.
"The current=
was
more rapid now, the steamer seemed at her last gasp, the stern-wheel flopped
languidly, and I caught myself listening on tiptoe for the next beat of the
boat, for in sober truth I expected the wretched thing to give up every mom=
ent.
It was like watching the last flickers of a life. But still we crawled. Som=
etimes
I would pick out a tree a little way ahead to measure our progress towards
Kurtz by, but I lost it invariably before we got abreast. To keep the eyes =
so
long on one thing was too much for human patience. The manager displayed a
beautiful resignation. I fretted and fumed and took to arguing with myself
whether or no I would talk openly with Kurtz; but before I could come to any
conclusion it occurred to me that my speech or my silence, indeed any actio=
n of
mine, would be a mere futility. What did it matter what anyone knew or igno=
red?
What did it matter who was manager? One gets sometimes such a flash of insi=
ght.
The essentials of this affair lay deep under the surface, beyond my reach, =
and
beyond my power of meddling.
"Towards the
evening of the second day we judged ourselves about eight miles from Kurtz's
station. I wanted to push on; but the manager looked grave, and told me the
navigation up there was so dangerous that it would be advisable, the sun be=
ing
very low already, to wait where we were till next morning. Moreover, he poi=
nted
out that if the warning to approach cautiously were to be followed, we must
approach in daylight--not at dusk, or in the dark. This was sensible enough.
Eight miles meant nearly three hours' steaming for us, and I could also see=
suspicious
ripples at the upper end of the reach. Nevertheless, I was annoyed beyond
expression at the delay, and most unreasonably too, since one night more co=
uld
not matter much after so many months. As we had plenty of wood, and caution=
was
the word, I brought up in the middle of the stream. The reach was narrow,
straight, with high sides like a railway cutting. The dusk came gliding int=
o it
long before the sun had set. The current ran smooth and swift, but a dumb
immobility sat on the banks. The living trees, lashed together by the creep=
ers
and every living bush of the undergrowth, might have been changed into ston=
e, even
to the slenderest twig, to the lightest leaf. It was not sleep--it seemed
unnatural, like a state of trance. Not the faintest sound of any kind could=
be
heard. You looked on amazed, and began to suspect yourself of being deaf--t=
hen
the night came suddenly, and struck you blind as well. About three in the
morning some large fish leaped, and the loud splash made me jump as though a
gun had been fired. When the sun rose there was a white fog, very warm and
clammy, and more blinding than the night. It did not shift or drive; it was
just there, standing all round you like something solid. At eight or nine,
perhaps, it lifted as a shutter lifts. We had a glimpse of the towering
multitude of trees, of the immense matted jungle, with the blazing little b=
all
of the sun hanging over it--all perfectly still--and then the white shutter
came down again, smoothly, as if sliding in greased grooves. I ordered the =
chain,
which we had begun to heave in, to be paid out again. Before it stopped run=
ning
with a muffled rattle, a cry, a very loud cry, as of infinite desolation,
soared slowly in the opaque air. It ceased. A complaining clamor, modulated=
in
savage discords, filled our ears. The sheer unexpectedness of it made my ha=
ir
stir under my cap. I don't know how it struck the others: to me it seemed as
though the mist itself had screamed, so suddenly, and apparently from all s=
ides
at once, did this tumultuous and mournful uproar arise. It culminated in a
hurried outbreak of almost intolerably excessive shrieking, which stopped
short, leaving us stiffened in a variety of silly attitudes, and obstinatel=
y listening
to the nearly as appalling and excessive silence. 'Good God! What is the
meaning--?' stammered at my elbow one of the pilgrims,--a little fat man, w=
ith
sandy hair and red whiskers, who wore side-spring boots, and pink pyjamas
tucked into his socks. Two others remained open-mouthed a whole minute, then
dashed into the little cabin, to rush out incontinently and stand darting
scared glances, with Winchesters at 'ready' in their hands. What we could s=
ee
was just the steamer we were on, her outlines blurred as though she had bee=
n on
the point of dissolving, and a misty strip of water, perhaps two feet broad,
around her--and that was all. The rest of the world was nowhere, as far as =
our eyes
and ears were concerned. Just nowhere. Gone, disappeared; swept off without
leaving a whisper or a shadow behind.
"I went forw=
ard,
and ordered the chain to be hauled in short, so as to be ready to trip the
anchor and move the steamboat at once if necessary. 'Will they attack?'
whispered an awed voice. 'We will all be butchered in this fog,' murmured
another. The faces twitched with the strain, the hands trembled slightly, t=
he
eyes forgot to wink. It was very curious to see the contrast of expressions=
of
the white men and of the black fellows of our crew, who were as much strang=
ers
to that part of the river as we, though their homes were only eight hundred
miles away. The whites, of course greatly discomposed, had besides a curious
look of being painfully shocked by such an outrageous row. The others had a=
n alert,
naturally interested expression; but their faces were essentially quiet, ev=
en
those of the one or two who grinned as they hauled at the chain. Several
exchanged short, grunting phrases, which seemed to settle the matter to the=
ir
satisfaction. Their headman, a young, broad-chested black, severely draped =
in dark-blue
fringed cloths, with fierce nostrils and his hair all done up artfully in o=
ily
ringlets, stood near me. 'Aha!' I said, just for good fellowship's sake. 'C=
atch
'im,' he snapped, with a bloodshot widening of his eyes and a flash of sharp
teeth--'catch 'im. Give 'im to us.' 'To you, eh?' I asked; 'what would you =
do
with them?' 'Eat 'im!' he said curtly, and, leaning his elbow on the rail, =
looked
out into the fog in a dignified and profoundly pensive attitude. I would no
doubt have been properly horrified, had it not occurred to me that he and h=
is
chaps must be very hungry: that they must have been growing increasingly hu=
ngry
for at least this month past. They had been engaged for six months (I don't
think a single one of them had any clear idea of time, as we at the end of
countless ages have. They still belonged to the beginnings of time--had no
inherited experience to teach them as it were), and of course, as long as t=
here
was a piece of paper written over in accordance with some farcical law or o=
ther
made down the river, it didn't enter anybody's head to trouble how they wou=
ld
live. Certainly they had brought with them some rotten hippo-meat, which co=
uldn't
have lasted very long, anyway, even if the pilgrims hadn't, in the midst of=
a
shocking hullabaloo, thrown a considerable quantity of it overboard. It loo=
ked
like a high-handed proceeding; but it was really a case of legitimate
self-defense. You can't breathe dead hippo waking, sleeping, and eating, an=
d at
the same time keep your precarious grip on existence. Besides that, they had
given them every week three pieces of brass wire, each about nine inches lo=
ng;
and the theory was they were to buy their provisions with that currency in
river-side villages. You can see how that worked. There were either no
villages, or the people were hostile, or the director, who like the rest of=
us
fed out of tins, with an occasional old he-goat thrown in, didn't want to s=
top
the steamer for some more or less recondite reason. So, unless they swallow=
ed
the wire itself, or made loops of it to snare the fishes with, I don't see =
what
good their extravagant salary could be to them. I must say it was paid with=
a
regularity worthy of a large and honorable trading company. For the rest, t=
he
only thing to eat--though it didn't look eatable in the least--I saw in the=
ir
possession was a few lumps of some stuff like half-cooked dough, of a dirty
lavender color, they kept wrapped in leaves, and now and then swallowed a p=
iece
of, but so small that it seemed done more for the looks of the thing than f=
or
any serious purpose of sustenance. Why in the name of all the gnawing devil=
s of
hunger they didn't go for us--they were thirty to five--and have a good tuc=
k in
for once, amazes me now when I think of it. They were big powerful men, wit=
h not
much capacity to weigh the consequences, with courage, with strength, even =
yet,
though their skins were no longer glossy and their muscles no longer hard. =
And
I saw that something restraining, one of those human secrets that baffle
probability, had come into play there. I looked at them with a swift quicke=
ning
of interest--not because it occurred to me I might be eaten by them before =
very
long, though I own to you that just then I perceived--in a new light, as it
were--how unwholesome the pilgrims looked, and I hoped, yes, I positively
hoped, that my aspect was not so--what shall I say?--so--unappetizing: a to=
uch of
fantastic vanity which fitted well with the dream-sensation that pervaded a=
ll
my days at that time. Perhaps I had a little fever too. One can't live with
one's finger everlastingly on one's pulse. I had often 'a little fever,' or=
a
little touch of other things--the playful paw-strokes of the wilderness, the
preliminary trifling before the more serious onslaught which came in due
course. Yes; I looked at them as you would on any human being, with a curio=
sity
of their impulses, motives, capacities, weaknesses, when brought to the tes=
t of
an inexorable physical necessity. Restraint! What possible restraint? Was i=
t superstition,
disgust, patience, fear--or some kind of primitive honor? No fear can stand=
up
to hunger, no patience can wear it out, disgust simply does not exist where
hunger is; and as to superstition, beliefs, and what you may call principle=
s,
they are less than chaff in a breeze. Don't you know the devilry of lingeri=
ng
starvation, its exasperating torment, its black thoughts, its somber and
brooding ferocity? Well, I do. It takes a man all his inborn strength to fi=
ght
hunger properly. It's really easier to face bereavement, dishonor, and the
perdition of one's soul--than this kind of prolonged hunger. Sad, but true.=
And
these chaps too had no earthly reason for any kind of scruple. Restraint! I=
would
just as soon have expected restraint from a hyena prowling amongst the corp=
ses
of a battlefield. But there was the fact facing me--the fact dazzling, to be
seen, like the foam on the depths of the sea, like a ripple on an unfathoma=
ble
enigma, a mystery greater--when I thought of it--than the curious, inexplic=
able
note of desperate grief in this savage clamor that had swept by us on the
river-bank, behind the blind whiteness of the fog.
"Two pilgrims
were quarreling in hurried whispers as to which bank. 'Left.' 'No, no; how =
can
you? Right, right, of course.' 'It is very serious,' said the manager's voi=
ce
behind me; 'I would be desolated if anything should happen to Mr. Kurtz bef=
ore
we came up.' I looked at him, and had not the slightest doubt he was sincer=
e.
He was just the kind of man who would wish to preserve appearances. That was
his restraint. But when he muttered something about going on at once, I did=
not
even take the trouble to answer him. I knew, and he knew, that it was
impossible. Were we to let go our hold of the bottom, we would be absolutel=
y in
the air--in space. We wouldn't be able to tell where we were going to--whet=
her
up or down stream, or across--till we fetched against one bank or the
other,--and then we wouldn't know at first which it was. Of course I made no
move. I had no mind for a smash-up. You couldn't imagine a more deadly place
for a shipwreck. Whether drowned at once or not, we were sure to perish
speedily in one way or another. 'I authorize you to take all the risks,' he
said, after a short silence. 'I refuse to take any,' I said shortly; which =
was
just the answer he expected, though its tone might have surprised him. 'Wel=
l, I
must defer to your judgment. You are captain,' he said, with marked civilit=
y. I
turned my shoulder to him in sign of my appreciation, and looked into the f=
og.
How long would it last? It was the most hopeless look-out. The approach to =
this
Kurtz grubbing for ivory in the wretched bush was beset by as many dangers =
as though
he had been an enchanted princess sleeping in a fabulous castle. 'Will they
attack, do you think?' asked the manager, in a confidential tone.
"I did not t=
hink
they would attack, for several obvious reasons. The thick fog was one. If t=
hey
left the bank in their canoes they would get lost in it, as we would be if =
we
attempted to move. Still, I had also judged the jungle of both banks quite
impenetrable--and yet eyes were in it, eyes that had seen us. The river-side
bushes were certainly very thick; but the undergrowth behind was evidently
penetrable. However, during the short lift I had seen no canoes anywhere in=
the
reach--certainly not abreast of the steamer. But what made the idea of atta=
ck
inconceivable to me was the nature of the noise--of the cries we had heard.
They had not the fierce character boding of immediate hostile intention.
Unexpected, wild, and violent as they had been, they had given me an
irresistible impression of sorrow. The glimpse of the steamboat had for some
reason filled those savages with unrestrained grief. The danger, if any, I
expounded, was from our proximity to a great human passion let loose. Even =
extreme
grief may ultimately vent itself in violence--but more generally takes the =
form
of apathy. . . .
"You should =
have
seen the pilgrims stare! They had no heart to grin, or even to revile me; b=
ut I
believe they thought me gone mad--with fright, maybe. I delivered a regular
lecture. My dear boys, it was no good bothering. Keep a look-out? Well, you=
may
guess I watched the fog for the signs of lifting as a cat watches a mouse; =
but
for anything else our eyes were of no more use to us than if we had been bu=
ried
miles deep in a heap of cotton-wool. It felt like it too--choking, warm,
stifling. Besides, all I said, though it sounded extravagant, was absolutel=
y true
to fact. What we afterwards alluded to as an attack was really an attempt at
repulse. The action was very far from being aggressive--it was not even
defensive, in the usual sense: it was undertaken under the stress of
desperation, and in its essence was purely protective.
"It developed
itself, I should say, two hours after the fog lifted, and its commencement =
was
at a spot, roughly speaking, about a mile and a half below Kurtz's station.=
We
had just floundered and flopped round a bend, when I saw an islet, a mere
grassy hummock of bright green, in the middle of the stream. It was the only
thing of the kind; but as we opened the reach more, I perceived it was the =
head
of a long sandbank, or rather of a chain of shallow patches stretching down=
the
middle of the river. They were discolored, just awash, and the whole lot was
seen just under the water, exactly as a man's backbone is seen running down=
the
middle of his back under the skin. Now, as far as I did see, I could go to =
the
right or to the left of this. I didn't know either channel, of course. The
banks looked pretty well alike, the depth appeared the same; but as I had b=
een
informed the station was on the west side, I naturally headed for the weste=
rn
passage.
"No sooner h=
ad
we fairly entered it than I became aware it was much narrower than I had
supposed. To the left of us there was the long uninterrupted shoal, and to =
the
right a high, steep bank heavily overgrown with bushes. Above the bush the
trees stood in serried ranks. The twigs overhung the current thickly, and f=
rom
distance to distance a large limb of some tree projected rigidly over the s=
tream.
It was then well on in the afternoon, the face of the forest was gloomy, an=
d a broad
strip of shadow had already fallen on the water. In this shadow we steamed
up--very slowly, as you may imagine. I sheered her well inshore--the water
being deepest near the bank, as the sounding-pole informed me.
"One of my
hungry and forbearing friends was sounding in the bows just below me. This
steamboat was exactly like a decked scow. On the deck there were two little
teak-wood houses, with doors and windows. The boiler was in the fore-end, a=
nd
the machinery right astern. Over the whole there was a light roof, supporte=
d on
stanchions. The funnel projected through that roof, and in front of the fun=
nel
a small cabin built of light planks served for a pilot-house. It contained a
couch, two camp-stools, a loaded Martini-Henry leaning in one corner, a tin=
y table,
and the steering-wheel. It had a wide door in front and a broad shutter at =
each
side. All these were always thrown open, of course. I spent my days perched=
up
there on the extreme fore-end of that roof, before the door. At night I sle=
pt,
or tried to, on the couch. An athletic black belonging to some coast tribe,=
and
educated by my poor predecessor, was the helmsman. He sported a pair of bra=
ss
earrings, wore a blue cloth wrapper from the waist to the ankles, and thoug=
ht
all the world of himself. He was the most unstable kind of fool I had ever
seen. He steered with no end of a swagger while you were by; but if he lost=
sight
of you, he became instantly the prey of an abject funk, and would let that
cripple of a steamboat get the upper hand of him in a minute.
"I was looki=
ng
down at the sounding-pole, and feeling much annoyed to see at each try a li=
ttle
more of it stick out of that river, when I saw my poleman give up the busin=
ess
suddenly, and stretch himself flat on the deck, without even taking the tro=
uble
to haul his pole in. He kept hold on it though, and it trailed in the water=
. At
the same time the fireman, whom I could also see below me, sat down abruptly
before his furnace and ducked his head. I was amazed. Then I had to look at=
the
river mighty quick, because there was a snag in the fairway. Sticks, little
sticks, were flying about--thick: they were whizzing before my nose, droppi=
ng
below me, striking behind me against my pilot-house. All this time the rive=
r,
the shore, the woods, were very quiet--perfectly quiet. I could only hear t=
he
heavy splashing thump of the stern-wheel and the patter of these things. We
cleared the snag clumsily. Arrows, by Jove! We were being shot at! I steppe=
d in
quickly to close the shutter on the land side. That fool-helmsman, his hand=
s on
the spokes, was lifting his knees high, stamping his feet, champing his mou=
th,
like a reined-in horse. Confound him! And we were staggering within ten fee=
t of
the bank. I had to lean right out to swing the heavy shutter, and I saw a f=
ace
amongst the leaves on the level with my own, looking at me very fierce and
steady; and then suddenly, as though a veil had been removed from my eyes, I
made out, deep in the tangled gloom, naked breasts, arms, legs, glaring
eyes,--the bush was swarming with human limbs in movement, glistening, of
bronze color. The twigs shook, swayed, and rustled, the arrows flew out of
them, and then the shutter came to. 'Steer her straight,' I said to the
helmsman. He held his head rigid, face forward; but his eyes rolled, he kep=
t on
lifting and setting down his feet gently, his mouth foamed a little. 'Keep
quiet!' I said in a fury. I might just as well have ordered a tree not to s=
way
in the wind. I darted out. Below me there was a great scuffle of feet on the
iron deck; confused exclamations; a voice screamed, 'Can you turn back?' I
caught shape of a V-shaped ripple on the water ahead. What? Another snag! A
fusillade burst out under my feet. The pilgrims had opened with their
Winchesters, and were simply squirting lead into that bush. A deuce of a lo=
t of
smoke came up and drove slowly forward. I swore at it. Now I couldn't see t=
he
ripple or the snag either. I stood in the doorway, peering, and the arrows =
came
in swarms. They might have been poisoned, but they looked as though they
wouldn't kill a cat. The bush began to howl. Our wood-cutters raised a warl=
ike
whoop; the report of a rifle just at my back deafened me. I glanced over my=
shoulder,
and the pilot-house was yet full of noise and smoke when I made a dash at t=
he wheel.
The fool-nigger had dropped everything, to throw the shutter open and let o=
ff
that Martini-Henry. He stood before the wide opening, glaring, and I yelled=
at
him to come back, while I straightened the sudden twist out of that steambo=
at.
There was no room to turn even if I had wanted to, the snag was somewhere v=
ery
near ahead in that confounded smoke, there was no time to lose, so I just
crowded her into the bank--right into the bank, where I knew the water was
deep.
"We tore slo=
wly
along the overhanging bushes in a whirl of broken twigs and flying leaves. =
The
fusillade below stopped short, as I had foreseen it would when the squirts =
got
empty. I threw my head back to a glinting whizz that traversed the pilot-ho=
use,
in at one shutter-hole and out at the other. Looking past that mad helmsman,
who was shaking the empty rifle and yelling at the shore, I saw vague forms=
of
men running bent double, leaping, gliding, distinct, incomplete, evanescent.
Something big appeared in the air before the shutter, the rifle went overbo=
ard,
and the man stepped back swiftly, looked at me over his shoulder in an extr=
aordinary,
profound, familiar manner, and fell upon my feet. The side of his head hit =
the
wheel twice, and the end of what appeared a long cane clattered round and
knocked over a little camp-stool. It looked as though after wrenching that
thing from somebody ashore he had lost his balance in the effort. The thin
smoke had blown away, we were clear of the snag, and looking ahead I could =
see
that in another hundred yards or so I would be free to sheer off, away from=
the
bank; but my feet felt so very warm and wet that I had to look down. The man
had rolled on his back and stared straight up at me; both his hands clutche=
d that
cane. It was the shaft of a spear that, either thrown or lunged through the
opening, had caught him in the side just below the ribs; the blade had gone=
in
out of sight, after making a frightful gash; my shoes were full; a pool of
blood lay very still, gleaming dark-red under the wheel; his eyes shone wit=
h an
amazing luster. The fusillade burst out again. He looked at me anxiously,
gripping the spear like something precious, with an air of being afraid I w=
ould
try to take it away from him. I had to make an effort to free my eyes from =
his
gaze and attend to the steering. With one hand I felt above my head for the
line of the steam-whistle, and jerked out screech after screech hurriedly. =
The tumult
of angry and warlike yells was checked instantly, and then from the depths =
of
the woods went out such a tremulous and prolonged wail of mournful fear and
utter despair as may be imagined to follow the flight of the last hope from=
the
earth. There was a great commotion in the bush; the shower of arrows stoppe=
d, a
few dropping shots rang out sharply--then silence, in which the languid bea=
t of
the stern-wheel came plainly to my ears. I put the helm hard a-starboard at=
the
moment when the pilgrim in pink pyjamas, very hot and agitated, appeared in=
the
doorway. 'The manager sends me--' he began in an official tone, and stopped
short. 'Good God!' he said, glaring at the wounded man.
"We two whit=
es
stood over him, and his lustrous and inquiring glance enveloped us both. I
declare it looked as though he would presently put to us some question in an
understandable language; but he died without uttering a sound, without movi=
ng a
limb, without twitching a muscle. Only in the very last moment, as though in
response to some sign we could not see, to some whisper we could not hear, =
he
frowned heavily, and that frown gave to his black death-mask an inconceivab=
ly
somber, brooding, and menacing expression. The luster of inquiring glance f=
aded
swiftly into vacant glassiness. 'Can you steer?' I asked the agent eagerly.=
He
looked very dubious; but I made a grab at his arm, and he understood at onc=
e I
meant him to steer whether or no. To tell you the truth, I was morbidly anx=
ious
to change my shoes and socks. 'He is dead,' murmured the fellow, immensely
impressed. 'No doubt about it,' said I, tugging like mad at the shoe-laces.
'And, by the way, I suppose Mr. Kurtz is dead as well by this time.'
"For the mom=
ent
that was the dominant thought. There was a sense of extreme disappointment,=
as
though I had found out I had been striving after something altogether witho=
ut a
substance. I couldn't have been more disgusted if I had traveled all this w=
ay
for the sole purpose of talking with Mr. Kurtz. Talking with. . . . I flung=
one
shoe overboard, and became aware that that was exactly what I had been look=
ing
forward to--a talk with Kurtz. I made the strange discovery that I had neve=
r imagined
him as doing, you know, but as discoursing. I didn't say to myself, 'Now I =
will
never see him,' or 'Now I will never shake him by the hand,' but, 'Now I wi=
ll
never hear him.' The man presented himself as a voice. Not of course that I=
did
not connect him with some sort of action. Hadn't I been told in all the ton=
es
of jealousy and admiration that he had collected, bartered, swindled, or st=
olen
more ivory than all the other agents together? That was not the point. The
point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one
that stood out pre-eminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence,
was his ability to talk, his words--the gift of expression, the bewildering=
, the
illuminating, the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating str=
eam
of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness.=
"The other s=
hoe
went flying unto the devil-god of that river. I thought, 'By Jove! it's all
over. We are too late; he has vanished--the gift has vanished, by means of =
some
spear, arrow, or club. I will never hear that chap speak after all,'--and my
sorrow had a startling extravagance of emotion, even such as I had noticed =
in
the howling sorrow of these savages in the bush. I couldn't have felt more =
of
lonely desolation somehow, had I been robbed of a belief or had missed my
destiny in life. . . . Why do you sigh in this beastly way, somebody? Absur=
d?
Well, absurd. Good Lord! mustn't a man ever--Here, give me some tobacco.&qu=
ot;
. . .
There was a pause=
of
profound stillness, then a match flared, and Marlow's lean face appeared, w=
orn,
hollow, with downward folds and dropped eyelids, with an aspect of concentr=
ated
attention; and as he took vigorous draws at his pipe, it seemed to retreat =
and
advance out of the night in the regular flicker of the tiny flame. The match
went out.
"Absurd!&quo=
t;
he cried. "This is the worst of trying to tell. . . . Here you all are,
each moored with two good addresses, like a hulk with two anchors, a butcher
round one corner, a policeman round another, excellent appetites, and
temperature normal--you hear--normal from year's end to year's end. And you
say, Absurd! Absurd be--exploded! Absurd! My dear boys, what can you expect
from a man who out of sheer nervousness had just flung overboard a pair of =
new
shoes. Now I think of it, it is amazing I did not shed tears. I am, upon the
whole, proud of my fortitude. I was cut to the quick at the idea of having =
lost
the inestimable privilege of listening to the gifted Kurtz. Of course I was
wrong. The privilege was waiting for me. Oh yes, I heard more than enough. =
And
I was right, too. A voice. He was very little more than a voice. And I
heard--him--it--this voice--other voices--all of them were so little more t=
han
voices--and the memory of that time itself lingers around me, impalpable, l=
ike
a dying vibration of one immense jabber, silly, atrocious, sordid, savage, =
or
simply mean, without any kind of sense. Voices, voices--even the girl
herself--now--"
He was silent for=
a
long time.
"I laid the
ghost of his gifts at last with a lie," he began suddenly. "Girl!
What? Did I mention a girl? Oh, she is out of it--completely. They--the wom=
en,
I mean--are out of it--should be out of it. We must help them to stay in th=
at
beautiful world of their own, lest ours gets worse. Oh, she had to be out of
it. You should have heard the disinterred body of Mr. Kurtz saying, 'My
Intended.' You would have perceived directly then how completely she was ou=
t of
it. And the lofty frontal bone of Mr. Kurtz! They say the hair goes on grow=
ing
sometimes, but this--ah specimen, was impressively bald. The wilderness had
patted him on the head, and, behold, it was like a ball--an ivory ball; it =
had caressed
him, and--lo!--he had withered; it had taken him, loved him, embraced him, =
got
into his veins, consumed his flesh, and sealed his soul to its own by the
inconceivable ceremonies of some devilish initiation. He was its spoiled and
pampered favorite. Ivory? I should think so. Heaps of it, stacks of it. The=
old
mud shanty was bursting with it. You would think there was not a single tusk
left either above or below the ground in the whole country. 'Mostly fossil,'
the manager had remarked disparagingly. It was no more fossil than I am; but
they call it fossil when it is dug up. It appears these niggers do bury the
tusks sometimes--but evidently they couldn't bury this parcel deep enough to
save the gifted Mr. Kurtz from his fate. We filled the steamboat with it, a=
nd
had to pile a lot on the deck. Thus he could see and enjoy as long as he co=
uld
see, because the appreciation of this favor had remained with him to the la=
st.
You should have heard him say, 'My ivory.' Oh yes, I heard him. 'My Intende=
d,
my ivory, my station, my river, my--' everything belonged to him. It made me
hold my breath in expectation of hearing the wilderness burst into a prodig=
ious
peal of laughter that would shake the fixed stars in their places. Everythi=
ng belonged
to him--but that was a trifle. The thing was to know what he belonged to, h=
ow
many powers of darkness claimed him for their own. That was the reflection =
that
made you creepy all over. It was impossible--it was not good for one either=
--trying
to imagine. He had taken a high seat amongst the devils of the land--I mean
literally. You can't understand. How could you?--with solid pavement under =
your
feet, surrounded by kind neighbors ready to cheer you or to fall on you,
stepping delicately between the butcher and the policeman, in the holy terr=
or
of scandal and gallows and lunatic asylums--how can you imagine what partic=
ular
region of the first ages a man's untrammeled feet may take him into by the =
way of
solitude--utter solitude without a policeman--by the way of silence, utter
silence, where no warning voice of a kind neighbor can be heard whispering =
of
public opinion? These little things make all the great difference. When they
are gone you must fall back upon your own innate strength, upon your own
capacity for faithfulness. Of course you may be too much of a fool to go
wrong--too dull even to know you are being assaulted by the powers of darkn=
ess.
I take it, no fool ever made a bargain for his soul with the devil: the foo=
l is
too much of a fool, or the devil too much of a devil--I don't know which. Or
you may be such a thunderingly exalted creature as to be altogether deaf and
blind to anything but heavenly sights and sounds. Then the earth for you is
only a standing place--and whether to be like this is your loss or your gai=
n I
won't pretend to say. But most of us are neither one nor the other. The ear=
th
for us is a place to live in, where we must put up with sights, with sounds,
with smells too, by Jove!--breathe dead hippo, so to speak, and not be
contaminated. And there, don't you see? Your strength comes in, the faith in
your ability for the digging of unostentatious holes to bury the stuff in--=
your
power of devotion, not to yourself, but to an obscure, back-breaking busine=
ss.
And that's difficult enough. Mind, I am not trying to excuse or even explai=
n--I
am trying to account to myself for--for--Mr. Kurtz--for the shade of Mr. Ku=
rtz.
This initiated wraith from the back of Nowhere honored me with its amazing
confidence before it vanished altogether. This was because it could speak
English to me. The original Kurtz had been educated partly in England, and-=
-as
he was good enough to say himself--his sympathies were in the right place. =
His
mother was half-English, his father was half-French. All Europe contributed=
to
the making of Kurtz; and by-and-by I learned that, most appropriately, the
International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs had intrusted h=
im
with the making of a report, for its future guidance. And he had written it=
too.
I've seen it. I've read it. It was eloquent, vibrating with eloquence, but =
too
high-strung, I think. Seventeen pages of close writing he had found time fo=
r!
But this must have been before his--let us say--nerves, went wrong, and cau=
sed
him to preside at certain midnight dances ending with unspeakable rites,
which--as far as I reluctantly gathered from what I heard at various
times--were offered up to him--do you understand?--to Mr. Kurtz himself. Bu=
t it
was a beautiful piece of writing. The opening paragraph, however, in the li=
ght
of later information, strikes me now as ominous. He began with the argument=
that
we whites, from the point of development we had arrived at, 'must necessari=
ly
appear to them [savages] in the nature of supernatural beings--we approach =
them
with the might as of a deity,' and so on, and so on. 'By the simple exercis=
e of
our will we can exert a power for good practically unbounded,' &c., &am=
p;c.
From that point he soared and took me with him. The peroration was magnific=
ent,
though difficult to remember, you know. It gave me the notion of an exotic
Immensity ruled by an august Benevolence. It made me tingle with enthusiasm.
This was the unbounded power of eloquence--of words--of burning noble words.
There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current of phrases, un=
less
a kind of note at the foot of the last page, scrawled evidently much later,=
in
an unsteady hand, may be regarded as the exposition of a method. It was very
simple, and at the end of that moving appeal to every altruistic sentiment =
it
blazed at you, luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a sere=
ne
sky: 'Exterminate all the brutes!' The curious part was that he had apparen=
tly
forgotten all about that valuable postscriptum, because, later on, when he =
in a
sense came to himself, he repeatedly entreated me to take good care of 'my
pamphlet' (he called it), as it was sure to have in the future a good influ=
ence
upon his career. I had full information about all these things, and, beside=
s,
as it turned out, I was to have the care of his memory. I've done enough fo=
r it
to give me the indisputable right to lay it, if I choose, for an everlasting
rest in the dust-bin of progress, amongst all the sweepings and, figurative=
ly
speaking, all the dead cats of civilization. But then, you see, I can't cho=
ose.
He won't be forgotten. Whatever he was, he was not common. He had the power=
to
charm or frighten rudimentary souls into an aggravated witch-dance in his h=
onor;
he could also fill the small souls of the pilgrims with bitter misgivings: =
he
had one devoted friend at least, and he had conquered one soul in the world
that was neither rudimentary nor tainted with self-seeking. No; I can't for=
get
him, though I am not prepared to affirm the fellow was exactly worth the li=
fe
we lost in getting to him. I missed my late helmsman awfully,--I missed him
even while his body was still lying in the pilot-house. Perhaps you will th=
ink
it passing strange this regret for a savage who was no more account than a
grain of sand in a black Sahara. Well, don't you see, he had done something=
, he
had steered; for months I had him at my back--a help--an instrument. It was=
a
kind of partnership. He steered for me--I had to look after him, I worried
about his deficiencies, and thus a subtle bond had been created, of which I
only became aware when it was suddenly broken. And the intimate profundity =
of
that look he gave me when he received his hurt remains to this day in my
memory--like a claim of distant kinship affirmed in a supreme moment.
"Poor fool! =
If
he had only left that shutter alone. He had no restraint, no restraint--just
like Kurtz--a tree swayed by the wind. As soon as I had put on a dry pair of
slippers, I dragged him out, after first jerking the spear out of his side,
which operation I confess I performed with my eyes shut tight. His heels le=
aped
together over the little door-step; his shoulders were pressed to my breast=
; I
hugged him from behind desperately. Oh! he was heavy, heavy; heavier than a=
ny
man on earth, I should imagine. Then without more ado I tipped him overboar=
d. The
current snatched him as though he had been a wisp of grass, and I saw the b=
ody
roll over twice before I lost sight of it for ever. All the pilgrims and the
manager were then congregated on the awning-deck about the pilot-house,
chattering at each other like a flock of excited magpies, and there was a
scandalized murmur at my heartless promptitude. What they wanted to keep th=
at
body hanging about for I can't guess. Embalm it, maybe. But I had also heard
another, and a very ominous, murmur on the deck below. My friends the
wood-cutters were likewise scandalized, and with a better show of
reason--though I admit that the reason itself was quite inadmissible. Oh,
quite! I had made up my mind that if my late helmsman was to be eaten, the
fishes alone should have him. He had been a very second-rate helmsman while
alive, but now he was dead he might have become a first-class temptation, a=
nd
possibly cause some startling trouble. Besides, I was anxious to take the
wheel, the man in pink pyjamas showing himself a hopeless duffer at the
business.
"This I did
directly the simple funeral was over. We were going half-speed, keeping rig=
ht
in the middle of the stream, and I listened to the talk about me. They had
given up Kurtz, they had given up the station; Kurtz was dead, and the stat=
ion
had been burnt--and so on--and so on. The red-haired pilgrim was beside him=
self
with the thought that at least this poor Kurtz had been properly revenged.
'Say! We must have made a glorious slaughter of them in the bush. Eh? What =
do
you think? Say?' He positively danced, the bloodthirsty little gingery begg=
ar. And
he had nearly fainted when he saw the wounded man! I could not help saying,
'You made a glorious lot of smoke, anyhow.' I had seen, from the way the to=
ps
of the bushes rustled and flew, that almost all the shots had gone too high.
You can't hit anything unless you take aim and fire from the shoulder; but
these chaps fired from the hip with their eyes shut. The retreat, I
maintained--and I was right--was caused by the screeching of the steam-whis=
tle.
Upon this they forgot Kurtz, and began to howl at me with indignant protest=
s.
"The manager
stood by the wheel murmuring confidentially about the necessity of getting =
well
away down the river before dark at all events, when I saw in the distance a
clearing on the river-side and the outlines of some sort of building. 'What=
's
this?' I asked. He clapped his hands in wonder. 'The station!' he cried. I
edged in at once, still going half-speed.
"Through my
glasses I saw the slope of a hill interspersed with rare trees and perfectly
free from undergrowth. A long decaying building on the summit was half buri=
ed
in the high grass; the large holes in the peaked roof gaped black from afar;
the jungle and the woods made a background. There was no inclosure or fence=
of
any kind; but there had been one apparently, for near the house half-a-dozen
slim posts remained in a row, roughly trimmed, and with their upper ends
ornamented with round carved balls. The rails, or whatever there had been
between, had disappeared. Of course the forest surrounded all that. The
river-bank was clear, and on the water-side I saw a white man under a hat l=
ike
a cart-wheel beckoning persistently with his whole arm. Examining the edge =
of the
forest above and below, I was almost certain I could see movements--human f=
orms
gliding here and there. I steamed past prudently, then stopped the engines =
and
let her drift down. The man on the shore began to shout, urging us to land.=
'We
have been attacked,' screamed the manager. 'I know--I know. It's all right,'
yelled back the other, as cheerful as you please. 'Come along. It's all rig=
ht.
I am glad.'
"His aspect
reminded me of something I had seen--something funny I had seen somewhere. =
As I
maneuvered to get alongside, I was asking myself, 'What does this fellow lo=
ok
like?' Suddenly I got it. He looked like a harlequin. His clothes had been =
made
of some stuff that was brown holland probably, but it was covered with patc=
hes
all over, with bright patches, blue, red, and yellow,--patches on the back,
patches on front, patches on elbows, on knees; colored binding round his
jacket, scarlet edging at the bottom of his trousers; and the sunshine made=
him
look extremely gay and wonderfully neat withal, because you could see how b=
eautifully
all this patching had been done. A beardless, boyish face, very fair, no
features to speak of, nose peeling, little blue eyes, smiles and frowns cha=
sing
each other over that open countenance like sunshine and shadow on a windswe=
pt
plain. 'Look out, captain!' he cried; 'there's a snag lodged in here last
night.' What! Another snag? I confess I swore shamefully. I had nearly hole=
d my
cripple, to finish off that charming trip. The harlequin on the bank turned=
his
little pug nose up to me. 'You English?' he asked, all smiles. 'Are you?' I
shouted from the wheel. The smiles vanished, and he shook his head as if so=
rry
for my disappointment. Then he brightened up. 'Never mind!' he cried encour=
agingly.
'Are we in time?' I asked. 'He is up there,' he replied, with a toss of the
head up the hill, and becoming gloomy all of a sudden. His face was like the
autumn sky, overcast one moment and bright the next.
"When the
manager, escorted by the pilgrims, all of them armed to the teeth, had gone=
to
the house, this chap came on board. 'I say, I don't like this. These natives
are in the bush,' I said. He assured me earnestly it was all right. 'They a=
re
simple people,' he added; 'well, I am glad you came. It took me all my time=
to
keep them off.' 'But you said it was all right,' I cried. 'Oh, they meant no
harm,' he said; and as I stared he corrected himself, 'Not exactly.' Then
vivaciously, 'My faith, your pilot-house wants a clean up!' In the next bre=
ath
he advised me to keep enough steam on the boiler to blow the whistle in cas=
e of
any trouble. 'One good screech will do more for you than all your rifles. T=
hey
are simple people,' he repeated. He rattled away at such a rate he quite
overwhelmed me. He seemed to be trying to make up for lots of silence, and
actually hinted, laughing, that such was the case. 'Don't you talk with Mr.
Kurtz?' I said. 'You don't talk with that man--you listen to him,' he excla=
imed
with severe exaltation. 'But now--' He waved his arm, and in the twinkling =
of
an eye was in the uttermost depths of despondency. In a moment he came up a=
gain
with a jump, possessed himself of both my hands, shook them continuously, w=
hile
he gabbled: 'Brother sailor . . . honor . . . pleasure . . . delight . . . =
introduce
myself . . . Russian . . . son of an arch-priest . . . Government of Tambov=
. .
. What? Tobacco! English tobacco; the excellent English tobacco! Now, that's
brotherly. Smoke? Where's a sailor that does not smoke?'
"The pipe
soothed him, and gradually I made out he had run away from school, had gone=
to
sea in a Russian ship; ran away again; served some time in English ships; w=
as
now reconciled with the arch-priest. He made a point of that. 'But when one=
is
young one must see things, gather experience, ideas; enlarge the mind.' 'He=
re!'
I interrupted. 'You can never tell! Here I have met Mr. Kurtz,' he said,
youthfully solemn and reproachful. I held my tongue after that. It appears =
he
had persuaded a Dutch trading-house on the coast to fit him out with stores=
and
goods, and had started for the interior with a light heart, and no more ide=
a of
what would happen to him than a baby. He had been wandering about that river
for nearly two years alone, cut off from everybody and everything. 'I am no=
t so
young as I look. I am twenty-five,' he said. 'At first old Van Shuyten would
tell me to go to the devil,' he narrated with keen enjoyment; 'but I stuck =
to
him, and talked and talked, till at last he got afraid I would talk the
hind-leg off his favorite dog, so he gave me some cheap things and a few gu=
ns,
and told me he hoped he would never see my face again. Good old Dutchman, V=
an
Shuyten. I've sent him one small lot of ivory a year ago, so that he can't =
call
me a little thief when I get back. I hope he got it. And for the rest I don=
't
care. I had some wood stacked for you. That was my old house. Did you see?'=
"I gave him
Towson's book. He made as though he would kiss me, but restrained himself. =
'The
only book I had left, and I thought I had lost it,' he said, looking at it
ecstatically. 'So many accidents happen to a man going about alone, you kno=
w.
Canoes get upset sometimes--and sometimes you've got to clear out so quick =
when
the people get angry.' He thumbed the pages. 'You made notes in Russian?' I
asked. He nodded. 'I thought they were written in cipher,' I said. He laugh=
ed,
then became serious. 'I had lots of trouble to keep these people off,' he s=
aid.
'Did they want to kill you?' I asked. 'Oh no!' he cried, and checked himsel=
f.
'Why did they attack us?' I pursued. He hesitated, then said shamefacedly,
'They don't want him to go.' 'Don't they?' I said, curiously. He nodded a n=
od
full of mystery and wisdom. 'I tell you,' he cried, 'this man has enlarged =
my
mind.' He opened his arms wide, staring at me with his little blue eyes that
were perfectly round."
III
"I looked at him, lost in
astonishment. There he was before me, in motley, as though he had absconded
from a troupe of mimes, enthusiastic, fabulous. His very existence was
improbable, inexplicable, and altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble
problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed, how he had succeeded in
getting so far, how he had managed to remain--why he did not instantly
disappear. 'I went a little farther,' he said, 'then still a little
farther--till I had gone so far that I don't know how I'll ever get back. N=
ever
mind. Plenty time. I can manage. You take Kurtz away quick--quick--I tell y=
ou.'
The glamour of youth enveloped his particolored rags, his destitution, his
loneliness, the essential desolation of his futile wanderings. For months--=
for
years--his life hadn't been worth a day's purchase; and there he was gallan=
tly,
thoughtlessly alive, to all appearance indestructible solely by the virtue =
of
his few years and of his unreflecting audacity. I was seduced into something
like admiration--like envy. Glamour urged him on, glamour kept him unscathe=
d. He
surely wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathe in and to pu=
sh
on through. His need was to exist, and to move onwards at the greatest poss=
ible
risk, and with a maximum of privation. If the absolutely pure, uncalculatin=
g,
unpractical spirit of adventure had ever ruled a human being, it ruled this
be-patched youth. I almost envied him the possession of this modest and cle=
ar
flame. It seemed to have consumed all thought of self so completely, that, =
even
while he was talking to you, you forgot that it was he--the man before your
eyes--who had gone through these things. I did not envy him his devotion to
Kurtz, though. He had not meditated over it. It came to him, and he accepte=
d it
with a sort of eager fatalism. I must say that to me it appeared about the =
most
dangerous thing in every way he had come upon so far.
"They had co=
me
together unavoidably, like two ships becalmed near each other, and lay rubb=
ing
sides at last. I suppose Kurtz wanted an audience, because on a certain
occasion, when encamped in the forest, they had talked all night, or more
probably Kurtz had talked. 'We talked of everything,' he said, quite
transported at the recollection. 'I forgot there was such a thing as sleep.=
The
night did not seem to last an hour. Everything! Everything! . . . Of love t=
oo.'
'Ah, he talked to you of love!' I said, much amused. 'It isn't what you thi=
nk,'
he cried, almost passionately. 'It was in general. He made me see
things--things.'
"He threw his
arms up. We were on deck at the time, and the headman of my wood-cutters,
lounging near by, turned upon him his heavy and glittering eyes. I looked
around, and I don't know why, but I assure you that never, never before, did
this land, this river, this jungle, the very arch of this blazing sky, appe=
ar
to me so hopeless and so dark, so impenetrable to human thought, so pitiles=
s to
human weakness. 'And, ever since, you have been with him, of course?' I sai=
d.
"On the cont=
rary.
It appears their intercourse had been very much broken by various causes. He
had, as he informed me proudly, managed to nurse Kurtz through two illnesses
(he alluded to it as you would to some risky feat), but as a rule Kurtz
wandered alone, far in the depths of the forest. 'Very often coming to this
station, I had to wait days and days before he would turn up,' he said. 'Ah=
, it
was worth waiting for!--sometimes.' 'What was he doing? exploring or what?'=
I
asked. 'Oh yes, of course;' he had discovered lots of villages, a lake too-=
-he did
not know exactly in what direction; it was dangerous to inquire too much--b=
ut
mostly his expeditions had been for ivory. 'But he had no goods to trade wi=
th
by that time,' I objected. 'There's a good lot of cartridges left even yet,=
' he
answered, looking away. 'To speak plainly, he raided the country,' I said. =
He
nodded. 'Not alone, surely!' He muttered something about the villages round
that lake. 'Kurtz got the tribe to follow him, did he?' I suggested. He
fidgeted a little. 'They adored him,' he said. The tone of these words was =
so
extraordinary that I looked at him searchingly. It was curious to see his
mingled eagerness and reluctance to speak of Kurtz. The man filled his life,
occupied his thoughts, swayed his emotions. 'What can you expect?' he burst
out; 'he came to them with thunder and lightning, you know--and they had ne=
ver seen
anything like it--and very terrible. He could be very terrible. You can't j=
udge
Mr. Kurtz as you would an ordinary man. No, no, no! Now--just to give you an
idea--I don't mind telling you, he wanted to shoot me too one day--but I do=
n't
judge him.' 'Shoot you!' I cried. 'What for?' 'Well, I had a small lot of i=
vory
the chief of that village near my house gave me. You see I used to shoot ga=
me
for them. Well, he wanted it, and wouldn't hear reason. He declared he would
shoot me unless I gave him the ivory and then cleared out of the country,
because he could do so, and had a fancy for it, and there was nothing on ea=
rth to
prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased. And it was true too. I gave=
him
the ivory. What did I care! But I didn't clear out. No, no. I couldn't leave
him. I had to be careful, of course, till we got friendly again for a time.=
He
had his second illness then. Afterwards I had to keep out of the way; but I
didn't mind. He was living for the most part in those villages on the lake.
When he came down to the river, sometimes he would take to me, and sometime=
s it
was better for me to be careful. This man suffered too much. He hated all t=
his,
and somehow he couldn't get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try a=
nd
leave while there was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say
yes, and then he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt; disappear for
weeks; forget himself amongst these people--forget himself--you know.' 'Why=
! he's
mad,' I said. He protested indignantly. Mr. Kurtz couldn't be mad. If I had
heard him talk, only two days ago, I wouldn't dare hint at such a thing. . =
. .
I had taken up my binoculars while we talked and was looking at the shore,
sweeping the limit of the forest at each side and at the back of the house.=
The
consciousness of there being people in that bush, so silent, so quiet--as
silent and quiet as the ruined house on the hill--made me uneasy. There was=
no
sign on the face of nature of this amazing tale that was not so much told as
suggested to me in desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs, in interrupt=
ed
phrases, in hints ending in deep sighs. The woods were unmoved, like a
mask--heavy, like the closed door of a prison--they looked with their air of
hidden knowledge, of patient expectation, of unapproachable silence. The Ru=
ssian
was explaining to me that it was only lately that Mr. Kurtz had come down to
the river, bringing along with him all the fighting men of that lake tribe.=
He
had been absent for several months--getting himself adored, I suppose--and =
had
come down unexpectedly, with the intention to all appearance of making a ra=
id
either across the river or down stream. Evidently the appetite for more ivo=
ry
had got the better of the--what shall I say?--less material aspirations.
However he had got much worse suddenly. 'I heard he was lying helpless, and=
so
I came up--took my chance,' said the Russian. 'Oh, he is bad, very bad.' I =
directed
my glass to the house. There were no signs of life, but there was the ruined
roof, the long mud wall peeping above the grass, with three little square
window-holes, no two of the same size; all this brought within reach of my
hand, as it were. And then I made a brusque movement, and one of the remain=
ing
posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass. You rememb=
er I
told you I had been struck at the distance by certain attempts at
ornamentation, rather remarkable in the ruinous aspect of the place. Now I =
had
suddenly a nearer view, and its first result was to make me throw my head b=
ack
as if before a blow. Then I went carefully from post to post with my glass,=
and
I saw my mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they =
were
expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbing--food for thought and also=
for
the vultures if there had been any looking down from the sky; but at all ev=
ents
for such ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole. They would have
been even more impressive, those heads on the stakes, if their faces had not
been turned to the house. Only one, the first I had
made out, was fac=
ing
my way. I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back I had given w=
as
really nothing but a movement of surprise. I had expected to see a knob of =
wood
there, you know. I returned deliberately to the first I had seen--and there=
it
was, black, dried, sunken, with closed eyelids,--a head that seemed to slee=
p at
the top of that pole, and, with the shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white
line of the teeth, was smiling too, smiling continuously at some endless an=
d jocose
dream of that eternal slumber.
"I am not
disclosing any trade secrets. In fact the manager said afterwards that Mr.
Kurtz's methods had ruined the district. I have no opinion on that point, b=
ut I
want you clearly to understand that there was nothing exactly profitable in
these heads being there. They only showed that Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint in
the gratification of his various lusts, that there was something wanting in
him--some small matter which, when the pressing need arose, could not be fo=
und
under his magnificent eloquence. Whether he knew of this deficiency himself=
I can't
say. I think the knowledge came to him at last--only at the very last. But =
the
wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him a terrible vengean=
ce
for the fantastic invasion. I think it had whispered to him things about
himself which he did not know, things of which he had no conception till he
took counsel with this great solitude--and the whisper had proved irresisti=
bly
fascinating. It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core.=
. .
. I put down the glass, and the head that had appeared near enough to be sp=
oken
to seemed at once to have leaped away from me into inaccessible distance.
"The admirer=
of
Mr. Kurtz was a bit crestfallen. In a hurried, indistinct voice he began to
assure me he had not dared to take these--say, symbols--down. He was not af=
raid
of the natives; they would not stir till Mr. Kurtz gave the word. His
ascendency was extraordinary. The camps of these people surrounded the plac=
e,
and the chiefs came every day to see him. They would crawl. . . . 'I don't =
want
to know anything of the ceremonies used when approaching Mr. Kurtz,' I shou=
ted.
Curious, this feeling that came over me that such details would be more int=
olerable
than those heads drying on the stakes under Mr. Kurtz's windows. After all,
that was only a savage sight, while I seemed at one bound to have been
transported into some lightless region of subtle horrors, where pure,
uncomplicated savagery was a positive relief, being something that had a ri=
ght
to exist--obviously--in the sunshine. The young man looked at me with surpr=
ise.
I suppose it did not occur to him Mr. Kurtz was no idol of mine. He forgot I
hadn't heard any of these splendid monologues on, what was it? on love,
justice, conduct of life--or what not. If it had come to crawling before Mr.
Kurtz, he crawled as much as the veriest savage of them all. I had no idea =
of the
conditions, he said: these heads were the heads of rebels. I shocked him ex=
cessively
by laughing. Rebels! What would be the next definition I was to hear? There=
had
been enemies, criminals, workers--and these were rebels. Those rebellious h=
eads
looked very subdued to me on their sticks. 'You don't know how such a life
tries a man like Kurtz,' cried Kurtz's last disciple. 'Well, and you?' I sa=
id.
'I! I! I am a simple man. I have no great thoughts. I want nothing from
anybody. How can you compare me to . . .?' His feelings were too much for
speech, and suddenly he broke down. 'I don't understand,' he groaned. 'I've
been doing my best to keep him alive, and that's enough. I had no hand in a=
ll
this. I have no abilities. There hasn't been a drop of medicine or a mouthf=
ul
of invalid food for months here. He was shamefully abandoned. A man like th=
is,
with such ideas. Shamefully! Shamefully! I--I--haven't slept for the last t=
en
nights. . . .'
"His voice l= ost itself in the calm of the evening. The long shadows of the forest had slipp= ed down hill while we talked, had gone far beyond the ruined hovel, beyond the symbolic row of stakes. All this was in the gloom, while we down there were= yet in the sunshine, and the stretch of the river abreast of the clearing glitt= ered in a still and dazzling splendor, with a murky and over-shadowed bend above= and below. Not a living soul was seen on the shore. The bushes did not rustle.<= o:p>
"Suddenly ro=
und
the corner of the house a group of men appeared, as though they had come up
from the ground. They waded waist-deep in the grass, in a compact body, bea=
ring
an improvised stretcher in their midst. Instantly, in the emptiness of the
landscape, a cry arose whose shrillness pierced the still air like a sharp
arrow flying straight to the very heart of the land; and, as if by enchantm=
ent,
streams of human beings--of naked human beings--with spears in their hands,
with bows, with shields, with wild glances and savage movements, were poured
into the clearing by the dark-faced and pensive forest. The bushes shook, t=
he grass
swayed for a time, and then everything stood still in attentive immobility.=
"'Now, if he
does not say the right thing to them we are all done for,' said the Russian=
at
my elbow. The knot of men with the stretcher had stopped too, half-way to t=
he
steamer, as if petrified. I saw the man on the stretcher sit up, lank and w=
ith
an uplifted arm, above the shoulders of the bearers. 'Let us hope that the =
man
who can talk so well of love in general will find some particular reason to=
spare
us this time,' I said. I resented bitterly the absurd danger of our situati=
on,
as if to be at the mercy of that atrocious phantom had been a dishonoring n=
ecessity.
I could not hear a sound, but through my glasses I saw the thin arm extended
commandingly, the lower jaw moving, the eyes of that apparition shining dar=
kly
far in its bony head that nodded with grotesque jerks. Kurtz--Kurtz--that m=
eans
short in German--don't it? Well, the name was as true as everything else in=
his
life--and death. He looked at least seven feet long. His covering had fallen
off, and his body emerged from it pitiful and appalling as from a
winding-sheet. I could see the cage of his ribs all astir, the bones of his=
arm
waving. It was as though an animated image of death carved out of old ivory=
had
been shaking its hand with menaces at a motionless crowd of men made of dark
and glittering bronze. I saw him open his mouth wide--it gave him a weirdly
voracious aspect, as though he had wanted to swallow all the air, all the
earth, all the men before him. A deep voice reached me faintly. He must have
been shouting. He fell back suddenly. The stretcher shook as the bearers
staggered forward again, and almost at the same time I noticed that the cro=
wd
of savages was vanishing without any perceptible movement of retreat, as if=
the
forest that had ejected these beings so suddenly had drawn them in again as=
the
breath is drawn in a long aspiration.
"Some of the
pilgrims behind the stretcher carried his arms--two shot-guns, a heavy rifl=
e,
and a light revolver-carbine--the thunderbolts of that pitiful Jupiter. The
manager bent over him murmuring as he walked beside his head. They laid him
down in one of the little cabins--just a room for a bed-place and a camp-st=
ool
or two, you know. We had brought his belated correspondence, and a lot of t=
orn
envelopes and open letters littered his bed. His hand roamed feebly amongst
these papers. I was struck by the fire of his eyes and the composed languor=
of his
expression. It was not so much the exhaustion of disease. He did not seem in
pain. This shadow looked satiated and calm, as though for the moment it had=
had
its fill of all the emotions.
"He rustled =
one
of the letters, and looking straight in my face said, 'I am glad.' Somebody=
had
been writing to him about me. These special recommendations were turning up
again. The volume of tone he emitted without effort, almost without the tro=
uble
of moving his lips, amazed me. A voice! a voice! It was grave, profound,
vibrating, while the man did not seem capable of a whisper. However, he had
enough strength in him--factitious no doubt--to very nearly make an end of =
us,
as you shall hear directly.
"The manager
appeared silently in the doorway; I stepped out at once and he drew the cur=
tain
after me. The Russian, eyed curiously by the pilgrims, was staring at the
shore. I followed the direction of his glance.
"Dark human
shapes could be made out in the distance, flitting indistinctly against the
gloomy border of the forest, and near the river two bronze figures, leaning=
on
tall spears, stood in the sunlight under fantastic headdresses of spotted
skins, warlike and still in statuesque repose. And from right to left along=
the
lighted shore moved a wild and gorgeous apparition of a woman.
"She walked =
with
measured steps, draped in striped and fringed cloths, treading the earth
proudly, with a slight jingle and flash of barbarous ornaments. She carried=
her
head high; her hair was done in the shape of a helmet; she had brass leggin=
gs
to the knee, brass wire gauntlets to the elbow, a crimson spot on her tawny
cheek, innumerable necklaces of glass beads on her neck; bizarre things,
charms, gifts of witch-men, that hung about her, glittered and trembled at
every step. She must have had the value of several elephant tusks upon her.=
She
was savage and superb, wild-eyed and magnificent; there was something omino=
us
and stately in her deliberate progress. And in the hush that had fallen sud=
denly
upon the whole sorrowful land, the immense wilderness, the colossal body of=
the
fecund and mysterious life seemed to look at her, pensive, as though it had
been looking at the image of its own tenebrous and passionate soul.
"She came
abreast of the steamer, stood still, and faced us. Her long shadow fell to =
the
water's edge. Her face had a tragic and fierce aspect of wild sorrow and of
dumb pain mingled with the fear of some struggling, half-shaped resolve. She
stood looking at us without a stir and like the wilderness itself, with an =
air
of brooding over an inscrutable purpose. A whole minute passed, and then she
made a step forward. There was a low jingle, a glint of yellow metal, a swa=
y of
fringed draperies, and she stopped as if her heart had failed her. The young
fellow by my side growled. The pilgrims murmured at my back. She looked at =
us
all as if her life had depended upon the unswerving steadiness of her glanc=
e.
Suddenly she opened her bared arms and threw them up rigid above her head, =
as
though in an uncontrollable desire to touch the sky, and at the same time t=
he
swift shadows darted out on the earth, swept around on the river, gathering=
the
steamer into a shadowy embrace. A formidable silence hung over the scene.
"She turned =
away
slowly, walked on, following the bank, and passed into the bushes to the le=
ft.
Once only her eyes gleamed back at us in the dusk of the thickets before she
disappeared.
"'If she had
offered to come aboard I really think I would have tried to shoot her,' said
the man of patches, nervously. 'I had been risking my life every day for the
last fortnight to keep her out of the house. She got in one day and kicked =
up a
row about those miserable rags I picked up in the storeroom to mend my clot=
hes
with. I wasn't decent. At least it must have been that, for she talked like=
a
fury to Kurtz for an hour, pointing at me now and then. I don't understand =
the
dialect of this tribe. Luckily for me, I fancy Kurtz felt too ill that day =
to
care, or there would have been mischief. I don't understand. . . . No--it's=
too
much for me. Ah, well, it's all over now.'
"At this mom=
ent
I heard Kurtz's deep voice behind the curtain, 'Save me!--save the ivory, y=
ou
mean. Don't tell me. Save me! Why, I've had to save you. You are interrupti=
ng
my plans now. Sick! Sick! Not so sick as you would like to believe. Never m=
ind.
I'll carry my ideas out yet--I will return. I'll show you what can be done.=
You
with your little peddling notions--you are interfering with me. I will retu=
rn.
I . . .'
"The manager came out. He did me the honor to take me under the arm and lead me aside. '= He is very low, very low,' he said. He considered it necessary to sigh, but neglected to be consistently sorrowful. 'We have done all we could for him--haven't we? But there is no disguising the fact, Mr. Kurtz has done mo= re harm than good to the Company. He did not see the time was not ripe for vigorous action. Cautiously, cautiously--that's my principle. We must be cautious yet. The district is closed to us for a time. Deplorable! Upon the whole, the trade will suffer. I don't deny there is a remarkable quantity of ivory--mostly fossil. We must save it, at all events--but look how precario= us the position is--and why? Because the method is unsound.' 'Do you,' said I,= looking at the shore, 'call it "unsound method"?' 'Without doubt,' he exc= laimed, hotly. 'Don't you?' . . . 'No method at all,' I murmured after a while. 'Exactly,' he exulted. 'I anticipated this. Shows a complete want of judgme= nt. It is my duty to point it out in the proper quarter.' 'Oh,' said I, 'that fellow--what's his name?--the brickmaker, will make a readable report for y= ou.' He appeared confounded for a moment. It seemed to me I had never breathed an atmosphere so vile, and I turned mentally to Kurtz for relief--positively f= or relief. 'Nevertheless I think Mr. Kurtz is a remarkable man,' I said with e= mphasis. He started, dropped on me a cold heavy glance, said very quietly, 'He was,'= and turned his back on me. My hour of favor was over; I found myself lumped alo= ng with Kurtz as a partisan of methods for which the time was not ripe: I was unsound! Ah! but it was something to have at least a choice of nightmares.<= o:p>
"I had turne=
d to
the wilderness really, not to Mr. Kurtz, who, I was ready to admit, was as =
good
as buried. And for a moment it seemed to me as if I also were buried in a v=
ast
grave full of unspeakable secrets. I felt an intolerable weight oppressing =
my
breast, the smell of the damp earth, the unseen presence of victorious
corruption, the darkness of an impenetrable night. . . . The Russian tapped=
me
on the shoulder. I heard him mumbling and stammering something about 'broth=
er
seaman--couldn't conceal--knowledge of matters that would affect Mr. Kurtz's
reputation.' I waited. For him evidently Mr. Kurtz was not in his grave; I
suspect that for him Mr. Kurtz was one of the immortals. 'Well!' said I at =
last,
'speak out. As it happens, I am Mr. Kurtz's friend--in a way.'
"He stated w=
ith
a good deal of formality that had we not been 'of the same profession,' he
would have kept the matter to himself without regard to consequences. 'He
suspected there was an active ill-will towards him on the part of these whi=
te
men that--' 'You are right,' I said, remembering a certain conversation I h=
ad
overheard. 'The manager thinks you ought to be hanged.' He showed a concern=
at
this intelligence which amused me at first. 'I had better get out of the way
quietly,' he said, earnestly. 'I can do no more for Kurtz now, and they wou=
ld
soon find some excuse. What's to stop them? There's a military post three h=
undred
miles from here.' 'Well, upon my word,' said I, 'perhaps you had better go =
if
you have any friends amongst the savages near by.' 'Plenty,' he said. 'They=
are
simple people--and I want nothing, you know.' He stood biting his lips, the=
n:
'I don't want any harm to happen to these whites here, but of course I was
thinking of Mr. Kurtz's reputation--but you are a brother seaman and--' 'All
right,' said I, after a time. 'Mr. Kurtz's reputation is safe with me.' I d=
id
not know how truly I spoke.
"He informed=
me,
lowering his voice, that it was Kurtz who had ordered the attack to be made=
on
the steamer. 'He hated sometimes the idea of being taken away--and then aga=
in.
. . . But I don't understand these matters. I am a simple man. He thought it
would scare you away--that you would give it up, thinking him dead. I could=
not
stop him. Oh, I had an awful time of it this last month.' 'Very well,' I sa=
id.
'He is all right now.' 'Ye-e-es,' he muttered, not very convinced apparentl=
y.
'Thanks,' said I; 'I shall keep my eyes open.' 'But quiet--eh?' he urged, a=
nxiously.
'It would be awful for his reputation if anybody here--' I promised a compl=
ete
discretion with great gravity. 'I have a canoe and three black fellows wait=
ing
not very far. I am off. Could you give me a few Martini-Henry cartridges?' I
could, and did, with proper secrecy. He helped himself, with a wink at me, =
to a
handful of my tobacco. 'Between sailors--you know--good English tobacco.' At
the door of the pilot-house he turned round--' I say, haven't you a pair of
shoes you could spare?' He raised one leg. 'Look.' The soles were tied with
knotted strings sandal-wise under his bare feet. I rooted out an old pair, =
at
which he looked with admiration before tucking it under his left arm. One of
his pockets (bright red) was bulging with cartridges, from the other (dark =
blue)
peeped 'Towson's Inquiry,' &c., &c. He seemed to think himself exce=
llently
well equipped for a renewed encounter with the wilderness. 'Ah! I'll never,
never meet such a man again. You ought to have heard him recite poetry--his=
own
too it was, he told me. Poetry!' He rolled his eyes at the recollection of
these delights. 'Oh, he enlarged my mind!' 'Goodby,' said I. He shook hands=
and
vanished in the night. Sometimes I ask myself whether I had ever really seen
him--whether it was possible to meet such a phenomenon! . . .
"When I woke=
up
shortly after midnight his warning came to my mind with its hint of danger =
that
seemed, in the starred darkness, real enough to make me get up for the purp=
ose
of having a look round. On the hill a big fire burned, illuminating fitfull=
y a
crooked corner of the station-house. One of the agents with a picket of a f=
ew
of our blacks, armed for the purpose, was keeping guard over the ivory; but
deep within the forest, red gleams that wavered, that seemed to sink and ri=
se
from the ground amongst confused columnar shapes of intense blackness, show=
ed the
exact position of the camp where Mr. Kurtz's adorers were keeping their une=
asy
vigil. The monotonous beating of a big drum filled the air with muffled sho=
cks
and a lingering vibration. A steady droning sound of many men chanting each=
to
himself some weird incantation came out from the black, flat wall of the wo=
ods
as the humming of bees comes out of a hive, and had a strange narcotic effe=
ct
upon my half-awake senses. I believe I dozed off leaning over the rail, til=
l an
abrupt burst of yells, an overwhelming outbreak of a pent-up and mysterious
frenzy, woke me up in a bewildered wonder. It was cut short all at once, and
the low droning went on with an effect of audible and soothing silence. I g=
lanced
casually into the little cabin. A light was burning within, but Mr. Kurtz w=
as
not there.
"I think I w=
ould
have raised an outcry if I had believed my eyes. But I didn't believe them =
at
first--the thing seemed so impossible. The fact is I was completely unnerve=
d by
a sheer blank fright, pure abstract terror, unconnected with any distinct s=
hape
of physical danger. What made this emotion so overpowering was--how shall I
define it?--the moral shock I received, as if something altogether monstrou=
s,
intolerable to thought and odious to the soul, had been thrust upon me
unexpectedly. This lasted of course the merest fraction of a second, and th=
en
the usual sense of commonplace, deadly danger, the possibility of a sudden =
onslaught
and massacre, or something of the kind, which I saw impending, was positive=
ly
welcome and composing. It pacified me, in fact, so much, that I did not rai=
se
an alarm.
"There was an
agent buttoned up inside an ulster and sleeping on a chair on deck within t=
hree
feet of me. The yells had not awakened him; he snored very slightly; I left=
him
to his slumbers and leaped ashore. I did not betray Mr. Kurtz--it was order=
ed I
should never betray him--it was written I should be loyal to the nightmare =
of
my choice. I was anxious to deal with this shadow by myself alone,--and to =
this
day I don't know why I was so jealous of sharing with anyone the peculiar b=
lackness
of that experience.
"As soon as I
got on the bank I saw a trail--a broad trail through the grass. I remember =
the
exultation with which I said to myself, 'He can't walk--he is crawling on
all-fours--I've got him.' The grass was wet with dew. I strode rapidly with
clenched fists. I fancy I had some vague notion of falling upon him and giv=
ing
him a drubbing. I don't know. I had some imbecile thoughts. The knitting old
woman with the cat obtruded herself upon my memory as a most improper perso=
n to
be sitting at the other end of such an affair. I saw a row of pilgrims
squirting lead in the air out of Winchesters held to the hip. I thought I w=
ould
never get back to the steamer, and imagined myself living alone and unarmed=
in
the woods to an advanced age. Such silly things--you know. And I remember I
confounded the beat of the drum with the beating of my heart, and was pleas=
ed
at its calm regularity.
"I kept to t=
he
track though--then stopped to listen. The night was very clear: a dark blue
space, sparkling with dew and starlight, in which black things stood very
still. I thought I could see a kind of motion ahead of me. I was strangely
cocksure of everything that night. I actually left the track and ran in a w=
ide
semicircle (I verily believe chuckling to myself) so as to get in front of =
that
stir, of that motion I had seen--if indeed I had seen anything. I was
circumventing Kurtz as though it had been a boyish game.
"I came upon
him, and, if he had not heard me coming, I would have fallen over him too, =
but
he got up in time. He rose, unsteady, long, pale, indistinct, like a vapor
exhaled by the earth, and swayed slightly, misty and silent before me; whil=
e at
my back the fires loomed between the trees, and the murmur of many voices
issued from the forest. I had cut him off cleverly; but when actually
confronting him I seemed to come to my senses, I saw the danger in its right
proportion. It was by no means over yet. Suppose he began to shout? Though =
he
could hardly stand, there was still plenty of vigor in his voice. 'Go
away--hide yourself,' he said, in that profound tone. It was very awful. I
glanced back. We were within thirty yards from the nearest fire. A black fi=
gure
stood up, strode on long black legs, waving long black arms, across the glo=
w.
It had horns--antelope horns, I think--on its head. Some sorcerer, some
witch-man, no doubt: it looked fiend-like enough. 'Do you know what you are
doing?' I whispered. 'Perfectly,' he answered, raising his voice for that
single word: it sounded to me far off and yet loud, like a hail through a
speaking-trumpet. 'If he makes a row we are lost,' I thought to myself. This
clearly was not a case for fisticuffs, even apart from the very natural
aversion I had to beat that Shadow--this wandering and tormented thing. 'You
will be lost,' I said--'utterly lost.' One gets sometimes such a flash of
inspiration, you know. I did say the right thing, though indeed he could not
have been more irretrievably lost than he was at this very moment, when the
foundations of our intimacy were being laid--to endure--to endure--even to =
the
end--even beyond.
"'I had imme=
nse
plans,' he muttered irresolutely. 'Yes,' said I; 'but if you try to shout I=
'll
smash your head with--' There was not a stick or a stone near. 'I will thro=
ttle
you for good,' I corrected myself. 'I was on the threshold of great things,=
' he
pleaded, in a voice of longing, with a wistfulness of tone that made my blo=
od
run cold. 'And now for this stupid scoundrel--' 'Your success in Europe is
assured in any case,' I affirmed, steadily. I did not want to have the
throttling of him, you understand--and indeed it would have been very little
use for any practical purpose. I tried to break the spell--the heavy, mute
spell of the wilderness--that seemed to draw him to its pitiless breast by =
the awakening
of forgotten and brutal instincts, by the memory of gratified and monstrous
passions. This alone, I was convinced, had driven him out to the edge of the
forest, to the bush, towards the gleam of fires, the throb of drums, the dr=
one
of weird incantations; this alone had beguiled his unlawful soul beyond the
bounds of permitted aspirations. And, don't you see, the terror of the posi=
tion
was not in being knocked on the head--though I had a very lively sense of t=
hat
danger too--but in this, that I had to deal with a being to whom I could not
appeal in the name of anything high or low. I had, even like the niggers, to
invoke him--himself his own exalted and incredible degradation. There was n=
othing
either above or below him, and I knew it. He had kicked himself loose of the
earth. Confound the man! he had kicked the very earth to pieces. He was alo=
ne,
and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground or floated in t=
he
air. I've been telling you what we said--repeating the phrases we
pronounced,--but what's the good? They were common everyday words,--the
familiar, vague sounds exchanged on every waking day of life. But what of t=
hat?
They had behind them, to my mind, the terrific suggestiveness of words hear=
d in
dreams, of phrases spoken in nightmares. Soul! If anybody had ever struggled
with a soul, I am the man. And I wasn't arguing with a lunatic either. Beli=
eve
me or not, his intelligence was perfectly clear--concentrated, it is true, =
upon
himself with horrible intensity, yet clear; and therein was my only chance-=
-barring,
of course, the killing him there and then, which wasn't so good, on account=
of
unavoidable noise. But his soul was mad. Being alone in the wilderness, it =
had
looked within itself, and, by heavens! I tell you, it had gone mad. I had--=
for
my sins, I suppose--to go through the ordeal of looking into it myself. No
eloquence could have been so withering to one's belief in mankind as his fi=
nal
burst of sincerity. He struggled with himself, too. I saw it,--I heard it. I
saw the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint, no faith, a=
nd no
fear, yet struggling blindly with itself. I kept my head pretty well; but w=
hen
I had him at last stretched on the couch, I wiped my forehead, while my legs
shook under me as though I had carried half a ton on my back down that hill.
And yet I had only supported him, his bony arm clasped round my neck--and he
was not much heavier than a child.
"When next d=
ay
we left at noon, the crowd, of whose presence behind the curtain of trees I=
had
been acutely conscious all the time, flowed out of the woods again, filled =
the
clearing, covered the slope with a mass of naked, breathing, quivering, bro=
nze
bodies. I steamed up a bit, then swung down-stream, and two thousand eyes
followed the evolutions of the splashing, thumping, fierce river-demon beat=
ing
the water with its terrible tail and breathing black smoke into the air. In
front of the first rank, along the river, three men, plastered with bright =
red
earth from head to foot, strutted to and fro restlessly. When we came abrea=
st again,
they faced the river, stamped their feet, nodded their horned heads, swayed
their scarlet bodies; they shook towards the fierce river-demon a bunch of
black feathers, a mangy skin with a pendent tail--something that looked lik=
e a
dried gourd; they shouted periodically together strings of amazing words th=
at
resembled no sounds of human language; and the deep murmurs of the crowd,
interrupted suddenly, were like the response of some satanic litany.
"We had carr=
ied
Kurtz into the pilot-house: there was more air there. Lying on the couch, he
stared through the open shutter. There was an eddy in the mass of human bod=
ies,
and the woman with helmeted head and tawny cheeks rushed out to the very br=
ink
of the stream. She put out her hands, shouted something, and all that wild =
mob
took up the shout in a roaring chorus of articulated, rapid, breathless
utterance.
"'Do you
understand this?' I asked.
"He kept on
looking out past me with fiery, longing eyes, with a mingled expression of
wistfulness and hate. He made no answer, but I saw a smile, a smile of
indefinable meaning, appear on his colorless lips that a moment after twitc=
hed
convulsively. 'Do I not?' he said slowly, gasping, as if the words had been
torn out of him by a supernatural power.
"I pulled the
string of the whistle, and I did this because I saw the pilgrims on deck
getting out their rifles with an air of anticipating a jolly lark. At the
sudden screech there was a movement of abject terror through that wedged ma=
ss
of bodies. 'Don't! Don't you frighten them away,' cried someone on deck
disconsolately. I pulled the string time after time. They broke and ran, th=
ey
leaped, they crouched, they swerved, they dodged the flying terror of the
sound. The three red chaps had fallen flat, face down on the shore, as thou=
gh
they had been shot dead. Only the barbarous and superb woman did not so muc=
h as
flinch, and stretched tragically her bare arms after us over the somber and=
glittering
river.
"And then th=
at
imbecile crowd down on the deck started their little fun, and I could see
nothing more for smoke.
"The brown
current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness, bearing us down towards t=
he
sea with twice the speed of our upward progress; and Kurtz's life was runni=
ng
swiftly too, ebbing, ebbing out of his heart into the sea of inexorable tim=
e.
The manager was very placid, he had no vital anxieties now, he took us both=
in
with a comprehensive and satisfied glance: the 'affair' had come off as wel=
l as
could be wished. I saw the time approaching when I would be left alone of t=
he
party of 'unsound method.' The pilgrims looked upon me with disfavor. I was=
, so
to speak, numbered with the dead. It is strange how I accepted this unfores=
een
partnership, this choice of nightmares forced upon me in the tenebrous land
invaded by these mean and greedy phantoms.
"Kurtz
discoursed. A voice! a voice! It rang deep to the very last. It survived his
strength to hide in the magnificent folds of eloquence the barren darkness =
of
his heart. Oh, he struggled! he struggled! The wastes of his weary brain we=
re
haunted by shadowy images now--images of wealth and fame revolving obsequio=
usly
round his unextinguishable gift of noble and lofty expression. My Intended,=
my
station, my career, my ideas--these were the subjects for the occasional
utterances of elevated sentiments. The shade of the original Kurtz frequent=
ed
the bedside of the hollow sham, whose fate it was to be buried presently in=
the
mold of primeval earth. But both the diabolic love and the unearthly hate o=
f the
mysteries it had penetrated fought for the possession of that soul satiated
with primitive emotions, avid of lying fame, of sham distinction, of all the
appearances of success and power.
"Sometimes he
was contemptibly childish. He desired to have kings meet him at
railway-stations on his return from some ghastly Nowhere, where he intended=
to
accomplish great things. 'You show them you have in you something that is
really profitable, and then there will be no limits to the recognition of y=
our
ability,' he would say. 'Of course you must take care of the motives--right
motives--always.' The long reaches that were like one and the same reach,
monotonous bends that were exactly alike, slipped past the steamer with the=
ir
multitude of secular trees looking patiently after this grimy fragment of
another world, the forerunner of change, of conquest, of trade, of massacre=
s,
of blessings. I looked ahead--piloting. 'Close the shutter,' said Kurtz
suddenly one day; 'I can't bear to look at this.' I did so. There was a
silence. 'Oh, but I will wring your heart yet!' he cried at the invisible
wilderness.
"We broke
down--as I had expected--and had to lie up for repairs at the head of an
island. This delay was the first thing that shook Kurtz's confidence. One
morning he gave me a packet of papers and a photograph,--the lot tied toget=
her
with a shoe-string. 'Keep this for me,' he said. 'This noxious fool' (meani=
ng
the manager) 'is capable of prying into my boxes when I am not looking.' In=
the
afternoon I saw him. He was lying on his back with closed eyes, and I withd=
rew
quietly, but I heard him mutter, 'Live rightly, die, die . . .' I listened.
There was nothing more. Was he rehearsing some speech in his sleep, or was =
it a
fragment of a phrase from some newspaper article? He had been writing for t=
he
papers and meant to do so again, 'for the furthering of my ideas. It's a du=
ty.'
"His was an =
impenetrable
darkness. I looked at him as you peer down at a man who is lying at the bot=
tom
of a precipice where the sun never shines. But I had not much time to give =
him,
because I was helping the engine-driver to take to pieces the leaky cylinde=
rs,
to straighten a bent connecting-rod, and in other such matters. I lived in =
an infernal
mess of rust, filings, nuts, bolts, spanners, hammers, ratchet-drills--thin=
gs I
abominate, because I don't get on with them. I tended the little forge we
fortunately had aboard; I toiled wearily in a wretched scrap-heap--unless I=
had
the shakes too bad to stand.
"One evening
coming in with a candle I was startled to hear him say a little tremulously=
, 'I
am lying here in the dark waiting for death.' The light was within a foot o=
f his
eyes. I forced myself to murmur, 'Oh, nonsense!' and stood over him as if
transfixed.
"Anything
approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before,
and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated. It was=
as
though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of som=
ber
pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror--of an intense and hopeless desp=
air.
Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surre=
nder
during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at =
some
image, at some vision,--he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a
breath--
"'The horror!
The horror!'
"I blew the
candle out and left the cabin. The pilgrims were dining in the mess-room, a=
nd I
took my place opposite the manager, who lifted his eyes to give me a
questioning glance, which I successfully ignored. He leaned back, serene, w=
ith
that peculiar smile of his sealing the unexpressed depths of his meanness. A
continuous shower of small flies streamed upon the lamp, upon the cloth, up=
on
our hands and faces. Suddenly the manager's boy put his insolent black head=
in
the doorway, and said in a tone of scathing contempt--
"'Mistah
Kurtz--he dead.'
"All the
pilgrims rushed out to see. I remained, and went on with my dinner. I belie=
ve I
was considered brutally callous. However, I did not eat much. There was a l=
amp
in there--light, don't you know--and outside it was so beastly, beastly dar=
k. I
went no more near the remarkable man who had pronounced a judgment upon the
adventures of his soul on this earth. The voice was gone. What else had been
there? But I am of course aware that next day the pilgrims buried something=
in
a muddy hole.
"And then th=
ey
very nearly buried me.
"However, as=
you
see, I did not go to join Kurtz there and then. I did not. I remained to dr=
eam
the nightmare out to the end, and to show my loyalty to Kurtz once more.
Destiny. My destiny! Droll thing life is--that mysterious arrangement of
merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some
knowledge of yourself--that comes too late--a crop of unextinguishable regr=
ets.
I have wrestled with death. It is the most unexciting contest you can imagi=
ne.
It takes place in an impalpable grayness, with nothing underfoot, with noth=
ing
around, without spectators, without clamor, without glory, without the grea=
t desire
of victory, without the great fear of defeat, in a sickly atmosphere of tep=
id
skepticism, without much belief in your own right, and still less in that of
your adversary. If such is the form of ultimate wisdom, then life is a grea=
ter
riddle than some of us think it to be. I was within a hair's-breadth of the
last opportunity for pronouncement, and I found with humiliation that proba=
bly
I would have nothing to say. This is the reason why I affirm that Kurtz was=
a remarkable
man. He had something to say. He said it. Since I had peeped over the edge
myself, I understand better the meaning of his stare, that could not see the
flame of the candle, but was wide enough to embrace the whole universe,
piercing enough to penetrate all the hearts that beat in the darkness. He h=
ad
summed up--he had judged. 'The horror!' He was a remarkable man. After all,
this was the expression of some sort of belief; it had candor, it had
conviction, it had a vibrating note of revolt in its whisper, it had the
appalling face of a glimpsed truth--the strange commingling of desire and h=
ate.
And it is not my own extremity I remember best--a vision of grayness without
form filled with physical pain, and a careless contempt for the evanescence=
of
all things--even of this pain itself. No! It is his extremity that I seem t=
o have
lived through. True, he had made that last stride, he had stepped over the
edge, while I had been permitted to draw back my hesitating foot. And perha=
ps
in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom, and all truth, and=
all
sincerity, are just compressed into that inappreciable moment of time in wh=
ich
we step over the threshold of the invisible. Perhaps! I like to think my
summing-up would not have been a word of careless contempt. Better his
cry--much better. It was an affirmation, a moral victory paid for by
innumerable defeats, by abominable terrors, by abominable satisfactions. Bu=
t it
was a victory! That is why I have remained loyal to Kurtz to the last, and =
even
beyond, when a long time after I heard once more, not his own voice, but the
echo of his magnificent eloquence thrown to me from a soul as translucently
pure as a cliff of crystal.
"No, they did
not bury me, though there is a period of time which I remember mistily, wit=
h a
shuddering wonder, like a passage through some inconceivable world that had=
no
hope in it and no desire. I found myself back in the sepulchral city resent=
ing
the sight of people hurrying through the streets to filch a little money fr=
om
each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome bee=
r,
to dream their insignificant and silly dreams. They trespassed upon my
thoughts. They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritati=
ng
pretense, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I
knew. Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individual=
s going
about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me
like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unabl=
e to
comprehend. I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some
difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of
stupid importance. I dare say I was not very well at that time. I tottered
about the streets--there were various affairs to settle--grinning bitterly =
at
perfectly respectable persons. I admit my behavior was inexcusable, but the=
n my
temperature was seldom normal in these days. My dear aunt's endeavors to 'n=
urse
up my strength' seemed altogether beside the mark. It was not my strength t=
hat
wanted nursing, it was my imagination that wanted soothing. I kept the bund=
le
of papers given me by Kurtz, not knowing exactly what to do with it. His mo=
ther
had died lately, watched over, as I was told, by his Intended. A clean-shav=
ed
man, with an official manner and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, called on =
me
one day and made inquiries, at first circuitous, afterwards suavely pressin=
g,
about what he was pleased to denominate certain 'documents.' I was not
surprised, because I had had two rows with the manager on the subject out
there. I had refused to give up the smallest scrap out of that package, and=
I
took the same attitude with the spectacled man. He became darkly menacing at
last, and with much heat argued that the Company had the right to every bit=
of
information about its 'territories.' And, said he, 'Mr. Kurtz's knowledge of
unexplored regions must have been necessarily extensive and peculiar--owing=
to
his great abilities and to the deplorable circumstances in which he had been
placed: therefore'--I assured him Mr. Kurtz's knowledge, however extensive,=
did
not bear upon the problems of commerce or administration. He invoked then t=
he
name of science. 'It would be an incalculable loss if,' &c., &c. I
offered him the report on the 'Suppression of Savage Customs,' with the
postscriptum torn off. He took it up eagerly, but ended by sniffing at it w=
ith
an air of contempt. 'This is not what we had a right to expect,' he remarke=
d.
'Expect nothing else,' I said. 'There are only private letters.' He withdre=
w upon
some threat of legal proceedings, and I saw him no more; but another fellow,
calling himself Kurtz's cousin, appeared two days later, and was anxious to
hear all the details about his dear relative's last moments. Incidentally he
gave me to understand that Kurtz had been essentially a great musician. 'Th=
ere
was the making of an immense success,' said the man, who was an organist, I
believe, with lank gray hair flowing over a greasy coat-collar. I had no re=
ason
to doubt his statement; and to this day I am unable to say what was Kurtz's=
profession,
whether he ever had any--which was the greatest of his talents. I had taken=
him
for a painter who wrote for the papers, or else for a journalist who could
paint--but even the cousin (who took snuff during the interview) could not =
tell
me what he had been--exactly. He was a universal genius--on that point I ag=
reed
with the old chap, who thereupon blew his nose noisily into a large cotton
handkerchief and withdrew in senile agitation, bearing off some family lett=
ers
and memoranda without importance. Ultimately a journalist anxious to know s=
omething
of the fate of his 'dear colleague' turned up. This visitor informed me Kur=
tz's
proper sphere ought to have been politics 'on the popular side.' He had fur=
ry
straight eyebrows, bristly hair cropped short, an eye-glass on a broad ribb=
on,
and, becoming expansive, confessed his opinion that Kurtz really couldn't w=
rite
a bit--'but heavens! how that man could talk! He electrified large meetings=
. He
had faith--don't you see?--he had the faith. He could get himself to believ=
e anything--anything.
He would have been a splendid leader of an extreme party.' 'What party?' I
asked. 'Any party,' answered the other. 'He was an--an--extremist.' Did I n=
ot
think so? I assented. Did I know, he asked, with a sudden flash of curiosit=
y,
'what it was that had induced him to go out there?' 'Yes,' said I, and
forthwith handed him the famous Report for publication, if he thought fit. =
He
glanced through it hurriedly, mumbling all the time, judged 'it would do,' =
and
took himself off with this plunder.
"Thus I was =
left
at last with a slim packet of letters and the girl's portrait. She struck m=
e as
beautiful--I mean she had a beautiful expression. I know that the sunlight =
can
be made to lie too, yet one felt that no manipulation of light and pose cou=
ld
have conveyed the delicate shade of truthfulness upon those features. She
seemed ready to listen without mental reservation, without suspicion, witho=
ut a
thought for herself. I concluded I would go and give her back her portrait =
and
those letters myself. Curiosity? Yes; and also some other feeling perhaps. =
All
that had been Kurtz's had passed out of my hands: his soul, his body, his
station, his plans, his ivory, his career. There remained only his memory a=
nd
his Intended--and I wanted to give that up too to the past, in a way,--to
surrender personally all that remained of him with me to that oblivion whic=
h is
the last word of our common fate. I don't defend myself. I had no clear
perception of what it was I really wanted. Perhaps it was an impulse of
unconscious loyalty, or the fulfillment of one of these ironic necessities =
that
lurk in the facts of human existence. I don't know. I can't tell. But I wen=
t.
"I thought h=
is
memory was like the other memories of the dead that accumulate in every man=
's
life,--a vague impress on the brain of shadows that had fallen on it in the=
ir
swift and final passage; but before the high and ponderous door, between the
tall houses of a street as still and decorous as a well-kept alley in a
cemetery, I had a vision of him on the stretcher, opening his mouth
voraciously, as if to devour all the earth with all its mankind. He lived t=
hen
before me; he lived as much as he had ever lived--a shadow insatiable of
splendid appearances, of frightful realities; a shadow darker than the shad=
ow
of the night, and draped nobly in the folds of a gorgeous eloquence. The vi=
sion
seemed to enter the house with me--the stretcher, the phantom-bearers, the =
wild
crowd of obedient worshipers, the gloom of the forests, the glitter of the
reach between the murky bends, the beat of the drum, regular and muffled li=
ke
the beating of a heart--the heart of a conquering darkness. It was a moment=
of
triumph for the wilderness, an invading and vengeful rush which, it seemed =
to
me, I would have to keep back alone for the salvation of another soul. And =
the
memory of what I had heard him say afar there, with the horned shapes stirr=
ing
at my back, in the glow of fires, within the patient woods, those broken
phrases came back to me, were heard again in their ominous and terrifying
simplicity. I remembered his abject pleading, his abject threats, the colos=
sal
scale of his vile desires, the meanness, the torment, the tempestuous angui=
sh of
his soul. And later on I seemed to see his collected languid manner, when he
said one day, 'This lot of ivory now is really mine. The Company did not pay
for it. I collected it myself at a very great personal risk. I am afraid th=
ey
will try to claim it as theirs though. H'm. It is a difficult case. What do=
you
think I ought to do--resist? Eh? I want no more than justice.' . . . He wan=
ted
no more than justice--no more than justice. I rang the bell before a mahoga=
ny
door on the first floor, and while I waited he seemed to stare at me out of=
the
glassy panel--stare with that wide and immense stare embracing, condemning,
loathing all the universe. I seemed to hear the whispered cry, 'The horror!=
The
horror!'
"The dusk was
falling. I had to wait in a lofty drawing-room with three long windows from
floor to ceiling that were like three luminous and bedraped columns. The be=
nt
gilt legs and backs of the furniture shone in indistinct curves. The tall
marble fireplace had a cold and monumental whiteness. A grand piano stood
massively in a corner, with dark gleams on the flat surfaces like a somber =
and
polished sarcophagus. A high door opened--closed. I rose.
"She came
forward, all in black, with a pale head, floating towards me in the dusk. S=
he
was in mourning. It was more than a year since his death, more than a year
since the news came; she seemed as though she would remember and mourn for
ever. She took both my hands in hers and murmured, 'I had heard you were
coming.' I noticed she was not very young--I mean not girlish. She had a ma=
ture
capacity for fidelity, for belief, for suffering. The room seemed to have g=
rown
darker, as if all the sad light of the cloudy evening had taken refuge on h=
er
forehead. This fair hair, this pale visage, this pure brow, seemed surround=
ed
by an ashy halo from which the dark eyes looked out at me. Their glance was=
guileless,
profound, confident, and trustful. She carried her sorrowful head as though=
she
were proud of that sorrow, as though she would say, 'I--I alone know how to
mourn for him as he deserves. But while we were still shaking hands, such a
look of awful desolation came upon her face that I perceived she was one of
those creatures that are not the playthings of Time. For her he had died on=
ly
yesterday. And, by Jove! the impression was so powerful that for me too he
seemed to have died only yesterday--nay, this very minute. I saw her and hi=
m in
the same instant of time--his death and her sorrow--I saw her sorrow in the
very moment of his death. Do you understand? I saw them together--I heard t=
hem
together. She had said, with a deep catch of the breath, 'I have survived;'
while my strained ears seemed to hear distinctly, mingled with her tone of
despairing regret, the summing-up whisper of his eternal condemnation. I as=
ked
myself what I was doing there, with a sensation of panic in my heart as tho=
ugh
I had blundered into a place of cruel and absurd mysteries not fit for a hu=
man
being to behold. She motioned me to a chair. We sat down. I laid the packet
gently on the little table, and she put her hand over it. . . . 'You knew h=
im
well,' she murmured, after a moment of mourning silence.
"'Intimacy g=
rows
quick out there,' I said. 'I knew him as well as it is possible for one man=
to
know another.'
"'And you
admired him,' she said. 'It was impossible to know him and not to admire hi=
m.
Was it?'
"'He was a
remarkable man,' I said, unsteadily. Then before the appealing fixity of her
gaze, that seemed to watch for more words on my lips, I went on, 'It was
impossible not to--'
"'Love him,'=
she
finished eagerly, silencing me into an appalled dumbness. 'How true! how tr=
ue!
But when you think that no one knew him so well as I! I had all his noble
confidence. I knew him best.'
"'You knew h=
im
best,' I repeated. And perhaps she did. But with every word spoken the room=
was
growing darker, and only her forehead, smooth and white, remained illumined=
by
the unextinguishable light of belief and love.
"'You were h=
is
friend,' she went on. 'His friend,' she repeated, a little louder. 'You must
have been, if he had given you this, and sent you to me. I feel I can speak=
to
you--and oh! I must speak. I want you--you who have heard his last words--to
know I have been worthy of him. . . . It is not pride. . . . Yes! I am prou=
d to
know I understood him better than anyone on earth--he told me so himself. A=
nd
since his mother died I have had no one--no one--to--to--'
"I listened.=
The
darkness deepened. I was not even sure whether he had given me the right
bundle. I rather suspect he wanted me to take care of another batch of his
papers which, after his death, I saw the manager examining under the lamp. =
And
the girl talked, easing her pain in the certitude of my sympathy; she talke=
d as
thirsty men drink. I had heard that her engagement with Kurtz had been
disapproved by her people. He wasn't rich enough or something. And indeed I
don't know whether he had not been a pauper all his life. He had given me s=
ome
reason to infer that it was his impatience of comparative poverty that drove
him out there.
"'. . . Who =
was
not his friend who had heard him speak once?' she was saying. 'He drew men
towards him by what was best in them.' She looked at me with intensity. 'It=
is
the gift of the great,' she went on, and the sound of her low voice seemed =
to
have the accompaniment of all the other sounds, full of mystery, desolation,
and sorrow, I had ever heard--the ripple of the river, the soughing of the
trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of wild crowds, the faint ring of
incomprehensible words cried from afar, the whisper of a voice speaking from
beyond the threshold of an eternal darkness. 'But you have heard him! You
know!' she cried.
"'Yes, I kno=
w,'
I said with something like despair in my heart, but bowing my head before t=
he
faith that was in her, before that great and saving illusion that shone wit=
h an
unearthly glow in the darkness, in the triumphant darkness from which I cou=
ld
not have defended her--from which I could not even defend myself.
"'What a los=
s to
me--to us!'--she corrected herself with beautiful generosity; then added in=
a
murmur, 'To the world.' By the last gleams of twilight I could see the glit=
ter
of her eyes, full of tears--of tears that would not fall.
"'I have been
very happy--very fortunate--very proud,' she went on. 'Too fortunate. Too h=
appy
for a little while. And now I am unhappy for--for life.'
"She stood u=
p;
her fair hair seemed to catch all the remaining light in a glimmer of gold.=
I
rose too.
"'And of all=
this,'
she went on, mournfully, 'of all his promise, and of all his greatness, of =
his
generous mind, of his noble heart, nothing remains--nothing but a memory. Y=
ou
and I--'
"'We shall
always remember him,' I said, hastily.
"'No!' she
cried. 'It is impossible that all this should be lost--that such a life sho=
uld
be sacrificed to leave nothing--but sorrow. You know what vast plans he had=
. I
knew of them too--I could not perhaps understand,--but others knew of them.
Something must remain. His words, at least, have not died.'
"'His words =
will
remain,' I said.
"'And his
example,' she whispered to herself. 'Men looked up to him,--his goodness sh=
one
in every act. His example--'
"'True,' I s=
aid;
'his example too. Yes, his example. I forgot that.'
"'But I do n=
ot.
I cannot--I cannot believe--not yet. I cannot believe that I shall never see
him again, that nobody will see him again, never, never, never.'
"She put out=
her
arms as if after a retreating figure, stretching them black and with clasped
pale hands across the fading and narrow sheen of the window. Never see him!=
I
saw him clearly enough then. I shall see this eloquent phantom as long as I
live, and I shall see her too, a tragic and familiar Shade, resembling in t=
his
gesture another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless charms,
stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the infernal stream, the str=
eam
of darkness. She said suddenly very low, 'He died as he lived.'
"'His end,' =
said
I, with dull anger stirring in me, 'was in every way worthy of his life.'
"'And I was =
not
with him,' she murmured. My anger subsided before a feeling of infinite pit=
y.
"'Everything
that could be done--' I mumbled.
"'Ah, but I
believed in him more than anyone on earth--more than his own mother, more
than--himself. He needed me! Me! I would have treasured every sigh, every w=
ord,
every sign, every glance.'
"I felt like=
a
chill grip on my chest. 'Don't,' I said, in a muffled voice.
"'Forgive me.
I--I--have mourned so long in silence--in silence. . . . You were with him-=
-to
the last? I think of his loneliness. Nobody near to understand him as I wou=
ld
have understood. Perhaps no one to hear. . . .'
"'To the very
end,' I said, shakily. 'I heard his very last words. . . .' I stopped in a
fright.
"'Repeat the=
m,'
she said in a heart-broken tone. 'I want--I want--something--something--to-=
-to
live with.'
"I was on the
point of crying at her, 'Don't you hear them?' The dusk was repeating them =
in a
persistent whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell menacin=
gly
like the first whisper of a rising wind. 'The horror! The horror!'
"'His last
word--to live with,' she murmured. 'Don't you understand I loved him--I lov=
ed
him--I loved him!'
"I pulled my=
self
together and spoke slowly.
"'The last w=
ord
he pronounced was--your name.'
"I heard a l=
ight
sigh, and then my heart stood still, stopped dead short by an exulting and
terrible cry, by the cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain. =
'I
knew it--I was sure!' . . . She knew. She was sure. I heard her weeping; she
had hidden her face in her hands. It seemed to me that the house would coll=
apse
before I could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head. But nothing
happened. The heavens do not fall for such a trifle. Would they have fallen=
, I
wonder, if I had rendered Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn't he s=
aid
he wanted only justice? But I couldn't. I could not tell her. It would have=
been
too dark--too dark altogether. . . ."
Marlow ceased, and
sat apart, indistinct and silent, in the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody
moved for a time. "We have lost the first of the ebb," said the
Director, suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank=
of
clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth
flowed somber under an overcast sky--seemed to lead into the heart of an
immense darkness.