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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Сердце тьмы
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- Стр. 15/33
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"
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
uproar
.
Ugly
.
Yes
,
it
was
ugly
enough
;
but
if
you
were
man
enough
you
would
admit
to
yourself
that
there
ywas
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
it
,
all
the
past
as
well
as
all
the
future
.
What
was
there
after
all
?
Joy
,
fear
,
sorrow
,
devotion
,
valour
,
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
shore
.
He
must
meet
that
truth
with
his
own
true
stuff
--
with
his
own
inborn
strength
.
Principles
wo
n't
do
.
Acquisitions
,
clothes
,
pretty
rags
--
rags
that
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
have
a
voice
,
too
,
and
for
good
or
evil
mine
is
the
speech
that
can
not
be
silenced
.
Of
course
,
a
fool
,
what
with
sheer
fright
and
fine
sentiments
,
is
always
safe
.
Who
's
that
grunting
?
You
wonder
I
did
n't
go
ashore
for
a
howl
and
a
dance
?
Well
,
no
--
I
did
n'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
watch
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
man
.
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
me
,
and
,
upon
my
word
,
to
look
at
him
was
as
edifying
as
seeing
a
dog
in
a
parody
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
patterns
,
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
was
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
fearfully
(
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
wood-pile
.
This
was
unexpected
.
We
came
to
the
bank
,
and
on
the
stack
of
firewood
found
a
flat
piece
of
board
with
some
faded
pencil-writing
on
it
.
When
deciphered
it
said
:
'
Wood
for
you
.
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
been
meant
for
the
place
where
it
could
be
only
found
after
approach
.
Something
was
wrong
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
hung
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
reposed
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
the
back
had
been
lovingly
stitched
afresh
with
white
cotton
thread
,
which
looked
clean
yet
.
It
was
an
extraordinary
find
.
Its
title
was
,
AN
INQUIRY
INTO
SOME
POINTS
OF
SEAMANSHIP
,
by
a
man
Towser
,
Towson
--
some
such
name
--
Master
in
his
Majesty
's
Navy
.
The
matter
looked
dreary
reading
enough
,
with
illustrative
diagrams
and
repulsive
tables
of
figures
,
and
the
copy
was
sixty
years
old
.
I
handled
this
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
than
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
sensation
of
having
come
upon
something
unmistakably
real
.
Such
a
book
being
there
was
wonderful
enough
;
but
still
more
astounding
were
the
notes
pencilled
in
the
margin
,
and
plainly
referring
to
the
text
.
I
could
n'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
riverside
.
I
slipped
the
book
into
my
pocket
.
I
assure
you
to
leave
off
reading
was
like
tearing
myself
away
from
the
shelter
of
an
old
and
solid
friendship
.
"
I
started
the
lame
engine
ahead
.
'
It
must
be
this
miserable
trader-this
intruder
,
'
exclaimed
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
that
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
moment
.
It
was
like
watching
the
last
flickers
of
a
life
.
But
still
we
crawled
.
Sometimes
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
action
of
mine
,
would
be
a
mere
futility
.
What
did
it
matter
what
any
one
knew
or
ignored
?
What
did
it
matter
who
was
manager
?
One
gets
sometimes
such
a
flash
of
insight
.
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
being
very
low
already
,
to
wait
where
we
were
till
next
morning
.
Moreover
,
he
pointed
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
.
