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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Лорд Джим
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- Стр. 80/107
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For
a
moment
I
had
a
view
of
a
world
that
seemed
to
wear
a
vast
and
dismal
aspect
of
disorder
,
while
,
in
truth
,
thanks
to
our
unwearied
efforts
,
it
is
as
sunny
as
arrangement
of
small
conveniences
as
the
mind
of
man
can
conceive
.
But
still
--
it
was
only
a
moment
:
I
went
back
into
my
shell
directly
.
One
must
--
do
n't
you
know
?
--
though
I
seemed
to
have
lost
all
my
words
in
the
chaos
of
dark
thoughts
I
had
contemplated
for
a
second
or
two
beyond
the
pale
.
These
came
back
,
too
,
very
soon
,
for
words
also
belong
to
the
sheltering
conception
of
light
and
order
which
is
our
refuge
.
I
had
them
ready
at
my
disposal
before
she
whispered
softly
,
"
He
swore
he
would
never
leave
me
,
when
we
stood
there
alone
!
He
swore
to
me
!
"
...
"
And
it
is
possible
that
you
--
you
!
do
not
believe
him
?
"
I
asked
,
sincerely
reproachful
,
genuinely
shocked
.
Why
could
n't
she
believe
?
Wherefore
this
craving
for
incertitude
,
this
clinging
to
fear
,
as
if
incertitude
and
fear
had
been
the
safeguards
of
her
love
.
It
was
monstrous
.
She
should
have
made
for
herself
a
shelter
of
inexpugnable
peace
out
of
that
honest
affection
.
She
had
not
the
knowledge
--
not
the
skill
perhaps
.
The
night
had
come
on
apace
;
it
had
grown
pitch-dark
where
we
were
,
so
that
without
stirring
she
had
faded
like
the
intangible
form
of
a
wistful
and
perverse
spirit
.
And
suddenly
I
heard
her
quiet
whisper
again
,
"
Other
men
had
sworn
the
same
thing
.
"
It
was
like
a
meditative
comment
on
some
thoughts
full
of
sadness
,
of
awe
.
And
she
added
,
still
lower
if
possible
,
"
My
father
did
.
"
She
paused
the
time
to
draw
an
inaudible
breath
.
"
Her
father
too
.
"
...
These
were
the
things
she
knew
!
At
once
I
said
,
"
Ah
!
but
he
is
not
like
that
.
"
This
,
it
seemed
,
she
did
not
intend
to
dispute
;
but
after
a
time
the
strange
still
whisper
wandering
dreamily
in
the
air
stole
into
my
ears
.
"
Why
is
he
different
?
Is
he
better
?
Is
he
...
"
"
Upon
my
word
of
honour
,
"
I
broke
in
,
"
I
believe
he
is
.
"
We
subdued
our
tones
to
a
mysterious
pitch
.
Amongst
the
huts
of
Jim
's
workmen
(
they
were
mostly
liberated
slaves
from
the
Sherif
's
stockade
)
somebody
started
a
shrill
,
drawling
song
.
Across
the
river
a
big
fire
(
at
Doramin
's
,
I
think
)
made
a
glowing
ball
,
completely
isolated
in
the
night
.
"
Is
he
more
true
?
"
she
murmured
.
"
Yes
,
"
I
said
.
"
More
true
than
any
other
man
,
"
she
repeated
in
lingering
accents
.
"
Nobody
here
,
"
I
said
,
"
would
dream
of
doubting
his
word
--
nobody
would
dare
--
except
you
.
"
'
I
think
she
made
a
movement
at
this
.
"
More
brave
,
"
she
went
on
in
a
changed
tone
.
"
Fear
will
never
drive
him
away
from
you
,
"
I
said
a
little
nervously
.
The
song
stopped
short
on
a
shrill
note
,
and
was
succeeded
by
several
voices
talking
in
the
distance
.
Jim
's
voice
too
.
I
was
struck
by
her
silence
.
"
What
has
he
been
telling
you
?
He
has
been
telling
you
something
?
"
I
asked
.
There
was
no
answer
.
"
What
is
it
he
told
you
?
"
I
insisted
.
"'
Do
you
think
I
can
tell
you
?
How
am
I
to
know
?
How
am
I
to
understand
?
"
she
cried
at
last
.
There
was
a
stir
.
I
believe
she
was
wringing
her
hands
.
"
There
is
something
he
can
never
forget
.
"
"'
So
much
the
better
for
you
,
"
I
said
gloomily
.
"'
What
is
it
?
What
is
it
?
"
She
put
an
extraordinary
force
of
appeal
into
her
supplicating
tone
.
"
He
says
he
had
been
afraid
.
How
can
I
believe
this
?
Am
I
a
mad
woman
to
believe
this
?
You
all
remember
something
!
You
all
go
back
to
it
.
What
is
it
?
You
tell
me
!
What
is
this
thing
?
Is
it
alive
?
--
is
it
dead
?
I
hate
it
.
It
is
cruel
.
Has
it
got
a
face
and
a
voice
--
this
calamity
?
Will
he
see
it
--
will
he
hear
it
?
In
his
sleep
perhaps
when
he
can
not
see
me
--
and
then
arise
and
go
.
Ah
!
I
shall
never
forgive
him
.
My
mother
had
forgiven
--
but
I
,
never
!
Will
it
be
a
sign
--
a
call
?
"
'
It
was
a
wonderful
experience
.
She
mistrusted
his
very
slumbers
--
and
she
seemed
to
think
I
could
tell
her
why
!
Thus
a
poor
mortal
seduced
by
the
charm
of
an
apparition
might
have
tried
to
wring
from
another
ghost
the
tremendous
secret
of
the
claim
the
other
world
holds
over
a
disembodied
soul
astray
amongst
the
passions
of
this
earth
.
The
very
ground
on
which
I
stood
seemed
to
melt
under
my
feet
.
And
it
was
so
simple
too
;
but
if
the
spirits
evoked
by
our
fears
and
our
unrest
have
ever
to
vouch
for
each
other
's
constancy
before
the
forlorn
magicians
that
we
are
,
then
I
--
I
alone
of
us
dwellers
in
the
flesh
--
have
shuddered
in
the
hopeless
chill
of
such
a
task
.
A
sign
,
a
call
!
How
telling
in
its
expression
was
her
ignorance
.
A
few
words
!
How
she
came
to
know
them
,
how
she
came
to
pronounce
them
,
I
ca
n't
imagine
.
Women
find
their
inspiration
in
the
stress
of
moments
that
for
us
are
merely
awful
,
absurd
,
or
futile
.
To
discover
that
she
had
a
voice
at
all
was
enough
to
strike
awe
into
the
heart
.
Had
a
spurned
stone
cried
out
in
pain
it
could
not
have
appeared
a
greater
and
more
pitiful
miracle
.
These
few
sounds
wandering
in
the
dark
had
made
their
two
benighted
lives
tragic
to
my
mind
.
It
was
impossible
to
make
her
understand
.
I
chafed
silently
at
my
impotence
.
And
Jim
,
too
--
poor
devil
!
Who
would
need
him
?
Who
would
remember
him
?
He
had
what
he
wanted
.
His
very
existence
probably
had
been
forgotten
by
this
time
.
They
had
mastered
their
fates
.
They
were
tragic
.
'
Her
immobility
before
me
was
clearly
expectant
,
and
my
part
was
to
speak
for
my
brother
from
the
realm
of
forgetful
shade
.
I
was
deeply
moved
at
my
responsibility
and
at
her
distress
.
I
would
have
given
anything
for
the
power
to
soothe
her
frail
soul
,
tormenting
itself
in
its
invincible
ignorance
like
a
small
bird
beating
about
the
cruel
wires
of
a
cage
.
Nothing
easier
than
to
say
,
Have
no
fear
!
Nothing
more
difficult
.
How
does
one
kill
fear
,
I
wonder
?
How
do
you
shoot
a
spectre
through
the
heart
,
slash
off
its
spectral
head
,
take
it
by
its
spectral
throat
?
It
is
an
enterprise
you
rush
into
while
you
dream
,
and
are
glad
to
make
your
escape
with
wet
hair
and
every
limb
shaking
.
The
bullet
is
not
run
,
the
blade
not
forged
,
the
man
not
born
;
even
the
winged
words
of
truth
drop
at
your
feet
like
lumps
of
lead
.
