-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джозеф Конрад
-
- Сердце тьмы
-
- Стр. 27/33
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
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
mass
of
bodies
.
'
Do
n't
!
do
n't
you
frighten
them
away
,
'
cried
some
one
on
deck
disconsolately
.
I
pulled
the
string
time
after
time
.
They
broke
and
ran
,
they
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
though
they
had
been
shot
dead
.
Only
the
barbarous
and
superb
woman
did
not
so
much
as
flinch
,
and
stretched
tragically
her
bare
arms
after
us
over
the
sombre
and
glittering
river
.
"
And
then
that
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
the
sea
with
twice
the
speed
of
our
upward
progress
;
and
Kurtz
's
life
was
running
swiftly
,
too
,
ebbing
,
ebbing
out
of
his
heart
into
the
sea
of
inexorable
time
.
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
well
as
could
be
wished
.
I
saw
the
time
approaching
when
I
would
be
left
alone
of
the
party
of
'
unsound
method
.
'
The
pilgrims
looked
upon
me
with
disfavour
.
I
was
,
so
to
speak
,
numbered
with
the
dead
.
It
is
strange
how
I
accepted
this
unforeseen
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
were
haunted
by
shadowy
images
now
--
images
of
wealth
and
fame
revolving
obsequiously
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
frequented
the
bedside
of
the
hollow
sham
,
whose
fate
it
was
to
be
buried
presently
in
the
mould
of
primeval
earth
.
But
both
the
diabolic
love
and
the
unearthly
hate
of
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
your
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
their
multitude
of
secular
trees
looking
patiently
after
this
grimy
fragment
of
another
world
,
the
forerunner
of
change
,
of
conquest
,
of
trade
,
of
massacres
,
of
blessings
.
I
looked
ahead
--
piloting
.
'
Close
the
shutter
,
'
said
Kurtz
suddenly
one
day
;
'
I
ca
n'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
together
with
a
shoe-string
.
'
Keep
this
for
me
,
'
he
said
.
'
This
noxious
fool
'
(
meaning
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
withdrew
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
the
papers
and
meant
to
do
so
again
,
'
for
the
furthering
of
my
ideas
.
It
's
a
duty
.
'
"
His
was
an
impenetrable
darkness
.
I
looked
at
him
as
you
peer
down
at
a
man
who
is
lying
at
the
bottom
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
cylinders
,
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
--
things
I
abominate
,
because
I
do
n'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
.
