Heart of Darkness Read online

no idea how effective such a . . . a . . . faculty

  can be. He had no genius for organizing, for initiative,

  or for order even. That was evident in such things as

  the deplorable state of the station. He had no learn-

  ing, and no intelligence. His position had come to him

  -- why? Perhaps because he was never ill . . . He

  had served three terms of three years out there . . .

  Because triumphant health in the general rout of con-

  stitutions 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 one could gather from his casual talk. He origi-

  nated nothing, he could keep the routine going --

  that's all. But he was great. He was great by this little

  thing 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 made

  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 en-

  trails.' 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 seal 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 sat was the

  first place -- the rest were nowhere. One felt this to be

  his unalterable conviction. He was neither civil nor

  uncivil. He was quiet. He allowed his 'boy' -- an over-

  fed 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. There had been so many delays already that

  he did not know who was dead and who was alive, and

  how they got on -- and so on, and so on. He paid no

  attention to my explanation, and, playing with a stick

  of sealing-wax, repeated several times that the situa-

  tion was 'very grave, very grave.' There were ru-

  mours that a very 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 under-

  stand his anxiety. He was, he said, 'very, very uneasy.'

  Certainly he fidgeted on his chair a good deal, ex-

  claimed, 'Ah, Mr. Kurtz!' broke the stick of sealing-

  wax and seemed dumfounded by the accident. Next

  thing he wanted to know 'how long it would take to'

  . . I interrupted him again. Being hungry, you

  know, and kept on my feet too, I was getting savage.

  'How can I tell?' I said. 'I haven't even seen the

  wreck yet -- some months, no doubt.' All this talk

  seemed 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

  verandah) 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 work the next day, turning, so to speak,

  my back on that station. In that way only 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 their 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 they 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. And 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 into 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 moustaches 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 said he had caused the fire in some way; be that

  as it may, he was screeching most horribly. I saw him,

  later, for several days, sitting in a bit of shade looking

  very sick and trying to recover himself: afterwards he

  arose and went 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 heard the name of Kurtz pro-

  nounced, then the words, 'take advantage of this un-

  fortunate 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 struck a match, and I

  perceived that this young aristocrat had not only a

  silver-mounted 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 was hung up in tro-

  phies. 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 anywhere in the station,

  and he could not make bricks without something, I

  don't know what -- straw maybe. Anyway, 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 creation perhaps. How-

  ever, 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 backbiting and intriguing against

  each other in a foolish kind of way. There was an air

  of plotting about that station, but nothing came of it,

  of course. It was as unreal as everything else -- as the

  philanthropic pretence of the whole concern, as their

  talk, as their government, as their show of work. The

  only real feeling 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 each 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 straight 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 chari-

  table of saints into a kick.

  "I had no idea why he wanted to be sociable, but as

  we chatted in there it suddenly ocurred to me the

  fellow was trying to get at something -- in fact, pump-

  ing me. He alluded constantly to Europe, to the peo-

  ple I was supposed to know there -- putting leading

  questions as to my acquaintances in the sepulchral city,

  and so on. His little eyes glittered like mica discs --

  with curiosity -- though he tried to keep up a bit of

  superciliousness. At first I was astonished, but 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 was very pretty

  to see how he baffled himself, for in truth my body was

  full only of chills, 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. Then I noticed a small

  sketch in oils, on a panel, representing a woman,

  draped and blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch. The

  background was sombre -- almost black. The move-

  ment 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 an

  empty 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 obliged,' 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 else. We want,' he began to declaim sud-

  denly, 'for the guidance of the cause intrusted to us by

  Europe, so to speak, higher intelligence, wide sympa-

  thies, a singleness of purpose.' 'Who says that?' I

  asked. 'Lots of them,' he replied. 'Some even write

  that; and so he comes here, a special being, as you

  ought to know.' 'Why ought I to know?' I inter-

  rupted, really surprised. He paid no attention. 'Yes.

  Today he is chief of the best station, next year he will

  be assistant-manager, two years more and . . . but I

  daresay 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 recom-

  mended you. Oh, don't say no. I've my own eyes to

  trust.' Light dawned upon me. My dear aunt's influ-

  ential acquaintances were producing an unexpected

  effect upon that young man. I nearly burst into a

  laugh. 'Do you read the Company's confidential cor-

  respondence?' I asked. He hadn't a word to say. It

  was great fun. 'When Mr. Kurtz,' I continued, se-

  verely, 'is General Manager, you won't have the op-

  portunity.'

  "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 sound of hissing; steam ascended in the

  moonlight, the beaten nigger groaned somewhere.

  'What a row the brute makes!' said the indefatigable

  man with the moustaches, appearing near us. 'Serve

  him right. Transgression -- punishment -- bang! Piti-

  less, pitiless. That's the only way. This will prevent

  all conflagrations for the future. I was just telling the

  manager . . .' He noticed my companion, and be-

  came crestfallen all at once. 'Not in bed yet,' he said,

  with a kind of servile heartiness; 'it's so natural. Ha!

  Danger -- agitation.' He vanished. I went on to the

  riverside, and the other followed me. I heard a scath-

  ing murmur at my ear, 'Heap of muffs -- go to.' The

  pilgrims could be seen in knots gesticulating, discuss-

  ing. 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 mys-

  tery, 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 felt 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. Kurtz long before I can have

  that pleasure. I wouldn't like him to get a false idea
/>
  of my disposition....'

  "I let him run on, this papier-mache Mephistophe-

  les, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke

  my forefinger 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 com-

  ing of that Kurtz had upset them both 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 some big river

  animal. The smell of mud, of primeval mud, by Jove!

  was in my nostrils, the high stillness of primeval for-

  est was before my eyes; there were shiny patches on

  the black creek. The moon had spread over every-

  thing 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 sombre gap glittering, glitter-

  ing, as it flowed broadly by without a murmur. All

  this was great, expectant, mute, while the man jab-

  bered about himself. I wondered whether the stillness

  on the face of the immensity looking at us two were

  meant as an appeal or as a menace. What were we who

  had strayed 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 was 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 once a Scotch

  sailmaker who was certain, dead sure, there were peo-

  ple in Mars. If you asked him for some idea how they

  looked and behaved, he would get shy and 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

  lie. You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not

  because I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply

  because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a

  flavour of mortality in lies which is exactly what I

  hate and detest in the world -- what I want to forget.

  It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something

  rotten 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 influ-

  ence in Europe. I became in an instant as much of a

  pretence 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 just a word for me. I did

  not see the man in the name any more than you

  do. Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you

  see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you

  a dream -- making a vain attempt, because no relation

  of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that com-

  mingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in

  a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being

  captured by the incredible which is of the very essence

  of dreams...."

  He was silent for a while.

  ". . . No, it is impossible; it is impossible to con-

  vey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's ex-

  istence -- that which makes its truth, its meaning its

  subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We

  live, as we dream alone...."

  He paused again again 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 not 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 clue to the faint uneasi-

  ness inspired by this narrative that seemed 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 about the powers

  that were behind me. I did! And there was nothing