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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Лорд Джим
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- Стр. 53/107
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'
This
Stein
was
a
wealthy
and
respected
merchant
.
His
"
house
"
(
because
it
was
a
house
,
Stein
&
Co.
,
and
there
was
some
sort
of
partner
who
,
as
Stein
said
,
"
looked
after
the
Moluccas
"
)
had
a
large
inter-island
business
,
with
a
lot
of
trading
posts
established
in
the
most
out-of-the-way
places
for
collecting
the
produce
.
His
wealth
and
his
respectability
were
not
exactly
the
reasons
why
I
was
anxious
to
seek
his
advice
.
I
desired
to
confide
my
difficulty
to
him
because
he
was
one
of
the
most
trustworthy
men
I
had
ever
known
.
The
gentle
light
of
a
simple
,
unwearied
,
as
it
were
,
and
intelligent
good-nature
illumined
his
long
hairless
face
.
It
had
deep
downward
folds
,
and
was
pale
as
of
a
man
who
had
always
led
a
sedentary
life
--
which
was
indeed
very
far
from
being
the
case
.
His
hair
was
thin
,
and
brushed
back
from
a
massive
and
lofty
forehead
.
One
fancied
that
at
twenty
he
must
have
looked
very
much
like
what
he
was
now
at
threescore
.
It
was
a
student
's
face
;
only
the
eyebrows
nearly
all
white
,
thick
and
bushy
,
together
with
the
resolute
searching
glance
that
came
from
under
them
,
were
not
in
accord
with
his
,
I
may
say
,
learned
appearance
.
He
was
tall
and
loose-jointed
;
his
slight
stoop
,
together
with
an
innocent
smile
,
made
him
appear
benevolently
ready
to
lend
you
his
ear
;
his
long
arms
with
pale
big
hands
had
rare
deliberate
gestures
of
a
pointing
out
,
demonstrating
kind
.
I
speak
of
him
at
length
,
because
under
this
exterior
,
and
in
conjunction
with
an
upright
and
indulgent
nature
,
this
man
possessed
an
intrepidity
of
spirit
and
a
physical
courage
that
could
have
been
called
reckless
had
it
not
been
like
a
natural
function
of
the
body
--
say
good
digestion
,
for
instance
--
completely
unconscious
of
itself
.
It
is
sometimes
said
of
a
man
that
he
carries
his
life
in
his
hand
.
Such
a
saying
would
have
been
inadequate
if
applied
to
him
;
during
the
early
part
of
his
existence
in
the
East
he
had
been
playing
ball
with
it
.
All
this
was
in
the
past
,
but
I
knew
the
story
of
his
life
and
the
origin
of
his
fortune
He
was
also
a
naturalist
of
some
distinction
,
or
perhaps
I
should
say
a
learned
collector
.
Entomology
was
his
special
study
.
His
collection
of
Buprestidae
and
Longicorns
--
beetles
all
--
horrible
miniature
monsters
,
looking
malevolent
in
death
and
immobility
,
and
his
cabinet
of
butterflies
,
beautiful
and
hovering
under
the
glass
of
cases
on
lifeless
wings
,
had
spread
his
fame
far
over
the
earth
.
The
name
of
this
merchant
,
adventurer
,
sometime
adviser
of
a
Malay
sultan
(
to
whom
he
never
alluded
otherwise
than
as
"
my
poor
Mohammed
Bonso
"
)
,
had
,
on
account
of
a
few
bushels
of
dead
insects
,
become
known
to
learned
persons
in
Europe
,
who
could
have
had
no
conception
,
and
certainly
would
not
have
cared
to
know
anything
,
of
his
life
or
character
.
I
,
who
knew
,
considered
him
an
eminently
suitable
person
to
receive
my
confidences
about
Jim
's
difficulties
as
well
as
my
own
.
'
'
Late
in
the
evening
I
entered
his
study
,
after
traversing
an
imposing
but
empty
dining-room
very
dimly
lit
.
The
house
was
silent
.
I
was
preceded
by
an
elderly
grim
Javanese
servant
in
a
sort
of
livery
of
white
jacket
and
yellow
sarong
,
who
,
after
throwing
the
door
open
,
exclaimed
low
,
"
O
master
!
"
and
stepping
aside
,
vanished
in
a
mysterious
way
as
though
he
had
been
a
ghost
only
momentarily
embodied
for
that
particular
service
.
Stein
turned
round
with
the
chair
,
and
in
the
same
movement
his
spectacles
seemed
to
get
pushed
up
on
his
forehead
.
He
welcomed
me
in
his
quiet
and
humorous
voice
.
Only
one
corner
of
the
vast
room
,
the
corner
in
which
stood
his
writing-desk
,
was
strongly
lighted
by
a
shaded
reading-lamp
,
and
the
rest
of
the
spacious
apartment
melted
into
shapeless
gloom
like
a
cavern
.
Narrow
shelves
filled
with
dark
boxes
of
uniform
shape
and
colour
ran
round
the
walls
,
not
from
floor
to
ceiling
,
but
in
a
sombre
belt
about
four
feet
broad
--
catacombs
of
beetles
.
Wooden
tablets
were
hung
above
at
irregular
intervals
.
The
light
reached
one
of
them
,
and
the
word
Coleoptera
written
in
gold
letters
glittered
mysteriously
upon
a
vast
dimness
.
The
glass
cases
containing
the
collection
of
butterflies
were
ranged
in
three
long
rows
upon
slender-legged
little
tables
.
One
of
these
cases
had
been
removed
from
its
place
and
stood
on
the
desk
,
which
was
bestrewn
with
oblong
slips
of
paper
blackened
with
minute
handwriting
.
"'
So
you
see
me
--
so
,
"
he
said
.
His
hand
hovered
over
the
case
where
a
butterfly
in
solitary
grandeur
spread
out
dark
bronze
wings
,
seven
inches
or
more
across
,
with
exquisite
white
veinings
and
a
gorgeous
border
of
yellow
spots
.
"
Only
one
specimen
like
this
they
have
in
your
London
,
and
then
--
no
more
.
To
my
small
native
town
this
my
collection
I
shall
bequeath
.
Something
of
me
.
The
best
.
"
'
He
bent
forward
in
the
chair
and
gazed
intently
,
his
chin
over
the
front
of
the
case
.
I
stood
at
his
back
.
"
Marvellous
,
"
he
whispered
,
and
seemed
to
forget
my
presence
.
His
history
was
curious
.
He
had
been
born
in
Bavaria
,
and
when
a
youth
of
twenty-two
had
taken
an
active
part
in
the
revolutionary
movement
of
1848
.
Heavily
compromised
,
he
managed
to
make
his
escape
,
and
at
first
found
a
refuge
with
a
poor
republican
watchmaker
in
Trieste
.
From
there
he
made
his
way
to
Tripoli
with
a
stock
of
cheap
watches
to
hawk
about
,
--
not
a
very
great
opening
truly
,
but
it
turned
out
lucky
enough
,
because
it
was
there
he
came
upon
a
Dutch
traveller
--
a
rather
famous
man
,
I
believe
,
but
I
do
n't
remember
his
name
.
It
was
that
naturalist
who
,
engaging
him
as
a
sort
of
assistant
,
took
him
to
the
East
.
They
travelled
in
the
Archipelago
together
and
separately
,
collecting
insects
and
birds
,
for
four
years
or
more
.
Then
the
naturalist
went
home
,
and
Stein
,
having
no
home
to
go
to
,
remained
with
an
old
trader
he
had
come
across
in
his
journeys
in
the
interior
of
Celebes
--
if
Celebes
may
be
said
to
have
an
interior
.
This
old
Scotsman
,
the
only
white
man
allowed
to
reside
in
the
country
at
the
time
,
was
a
privileged
friend
of
the
chief
ruler
of
Wajo
States
,
who
was
a
woman
.
I
often
heard
Stein
relate
how
that
chap
,
who
was
slightly
paralysed
on
one
side
,
had
introduced
him
to
the
native
court
a
short
time
before
another
stroke
carried
him
off
.
He
was
a
heavy
man
with
a
patriarchal
white
beard
,
and
of
imposing
stature
.
He
came
into
the
council-hall
where
all
the
rajahs
,
pangerans
,
and
headmen
were
assembled
,
with
the
queen
,
a
fat
wrinkled
woman
(
very
free
in
her
speech
,
Stein
said
)
,
reclining
on
a
high
couch
under
a
canopy
.
He
dragged
his
leg
,
thumping
with
his
stick
,
and
grasped
Stein
's
arm
,
leading
him
right
up
to
the
couch
.
"
Look
,
queen
,
and
you
rajahs
,
this
is
my
son
,
"
he
proclaimed
in
a
stentorian
voice
.
"
I
have
traded
with
your
fathers
,
and
when
I
die
he
shall
trade
with
you
and
your
sons
.
"
'
By
means
of
this
simple
formality
Stein
inherited
the
Scotsman
's
privileged
position
and
all
his
stock-in-trade
,
together
with
a
fortified
house
on
the
banks
of
the
only
navigable
river
in
the
country
.
Shortly
afterwards
the
old
queen
,
who
was
so
free
in
her
speech
,
died
,
and
the
country
became
disturbed
by
various
pretenders
to
the
throne
.
Stein
joined
the
party
of
a
younger
son
,
the
one
of
whom
thirty
years
later
he
never
spoke
otherwise
but
as
"
my
poor
Mohammed
Bonso
.
"
They
both
became
the
heroes
of
innumerable
exploits
;
they
had
wonderful
adventures
,
and
once
stood
a
siege
in
the
Scotsman
's
house
for
a
month
,
with
only
a
score
of
followers
against
a
whole
army
.
I
believe
the
natives
talk
of
that
war
to
this
day
.
Meantime
,
it
seems
,
Stein
never
failed
to
annex
on
his
own
account
every
butterfly
or
beetle
he
could
lay
hands
on
.
After
some
eight
years
of
war
,
negotiations
,
false
truces
,
sudden
outbreaks
,
reconciliation
,
treachery
,
and
so
on
,
and
just
as
peace
seemed
at
last
permanently
established
,
his
"
poor
Mohammed
Bonso
"
was
assassinated
at
the
gate
of
his
own
royal
residence
while
dismounting
in
the
highest
spirits
on
his
return
from
a
successful
deer-hunt
.
This
event
rendered
Stein
's
position
extremely
insecure
,
but
he
would
have
stayed
perhaps
had
it
not
been
that
a
short
time
afterwards
he
lost
Mohammed
's
sister
(
"
my
dear
wife
the
princess
,
"
he
used
to
say
solemnly
)
,
by
whom
he
had
had
a
daughter
--
mother
and
child
both
dying
within
three
days
of
each
other
from
some
infectious
fever
.
He
left
the
country
,
which
this
cruel
loss
had
made
unbearable
to
him
.
Thus
ended
the
first
and
adventurous
part
of
his
existence
.
What
followed
was
so
different
that
,
but
for
the
reality
of
sorrow
which
remained
with
him
,
this
strange
past
must
have
resembled
a
dream
.
He
had
a
little
money
;
he
started
life
afresh
,
and
in
the
course
of
years
acquired
a
considerable
fortune
.
