黑暗的心 英文版 Heart of Darkness
约瑟夫.康拉德 Joseph Conrad
III Page 1
"I looked at him, lost in astonishment. There he was before me, in motley,as though he had absconded from a troupe of mimes, enthusiastic, fabulous.His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and altogether bewildering.He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed,how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain--why he did not instantly disappear. `I went a little farther,'he said, `then still a little farther--till I had gone so far that Idon't know how I'll ever get back. Never mind. Plenty time.I can manage. You take Kurtz away quick--quick--I tell you.'The glamour of youth enveloped his particolored rags, his destitution,his loneliness, the essential desolation of his futile wanderings.For months--for years--his life hadn't been worth a day's purchase;and there he was gallantly, thoughtlessly alive, to all appearanceindestructible solely by the virtue of his few years and of hisunreflecting audacity. I was seduced into something like admiration--like envy. Glamour urged him on, glamour kept him unscathed.He surely wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathein and to push on through. His need was to exist, and to move onwardsat the greatest possible risk, and with a maximum of privation.If the absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventurehad ever ruled a human being, it ruled this be-patched youth.I almost envied him the possession of this modest and clear flame.It seemed to have consumed all thought of self so completely, that,even while he was talking to you, you forgot that it was he--the manbefore your eyes--who had gone through these things. I did not envyhim his devotion to Kurtz, though. He had not meditated over it.It came to him, and he accepted it with a sort of eager fatalism.I must say that to me it appeared about the most dangerous thingin every way he had come upon so far.
"They had come together unavoidably, like two ships becalmed neareach other, and lay rubbing sides at last. I suppose Kurtz wantedan audience, because on a certain occasion, when encamped in the forest,they had talked all night, or more probably Kurtz had talked.`We talked of everything,' he said, quite transported at the recollection.`I forgot there was such a thing as sleep. The night did not seemto last an hour. Everything! Everything! . . . Of love too.'`Ah, he talked to you of love!' I said, much amused. `It isn'twhat you think,' he cried, almost passionately. `It was in general.He made me see things--things.'
"He threw his arms up. We were on deck at the time, and the headmanof my wood-cutters, lounging near by, turned upon him his heavy andglittering eyes. I looked around, and I don't know why, but I assureyou that never, never before, did this land, this river, this jungle,the very arch of this blazing sky, appear to me so hopeless and so dark,so impenetrable to human thought, so pitiless to human weakness.`And, ever since, you have been with him, of course?' I said.
"On the contrary. It appears their intercourse had been very muchbroken by various causes. He had, as he informed me proudly,managed to nurse Kurtz through two illnesses (he alluded to it as youwould to some risky feat), but as a rule Kurtz wandered alone,far in the depths of the forest. `Very often coming to this station,I had to wait days and days before he would turn up,' he said.`Ah, it was worth waiting for!--sometimes.' `What washe doing? exploring or what?' I asked. `Oh yes, of course;'he had discovered lots of villages, a lake too--he did not knowexactly in what direction; it was dangerous to inquire too much--but mostly his expeditions had been for ivory. `But he had nogoods to trade with by that time,' I objected. `There's a goodlot of cartridges left even yet,' he answered, looking away.`To speak plainly, he raided the country,' I said. He nodded.`Not alone, surely!' He muttered something about the villagesround that lake. `Kurtz got the tribe to follow him, did he?'I suggested. He fidgeted a little. `They adored him,' he said.The tone of these words was so extraordinary that I looked athim searchingly. It was curious to see his mingled eagernessand reluctance to speak of Kurtz. The man filled his life,occupied his thoughts, swayed his emotions. `What can you expect?'he burst out; `he came to them with thunder and lightning, you know--and they had never seen anything like it--and very terrible.He could be very terrible. You can't judge Mr. Kurtz as you wouldan ordinary man. No, no, no! Now--just to give you an idea--I don't mind telling you, he wanted to shoot me too one day--but I don't judge him.' `Shoot you!' I cried. `What for?'`Well, I had a small lot of ivory the chief of that villagenear my house gave me. You see I used to shoot gamefor them. Well, he wanted it, and wouldn't hear reason.He declared he would shoot me unless I gave him the ivoryand then cleared out of the country, because he could do so,and had a fancy for it, and there was nothing on earthto prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased.And it was true too. I gave him the ivory. What did I care!But I didn't clear out. No, no. I couldn't leave him.I had to be careful, of course, till we got friendlyagain for a time. He had his second illness then.Afterwards I had to keep out of the way; but I didn't mind.He was living for the most part in those villages on the lake.When he came down to the river, sometimes he would take to me,and sometimes it was better for me to be careful. This man sufferedtoo much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't get away.When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while therewas time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes,and then he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt;disappear for weeks; forget himself amongst these people--forget himself--you know.' `Why! he's mad,' I said.He protested indignantly. Mr. Kurtz couldn't be mad.If I had heard him talk, only two days ago, I wouldn't darehint at such a thing. . . . I had taken up my binocularswhile we talked and was looking at the shore, sweeping the limitof the forest at each side and at the back of the house.The consciousness of there being people in that bush, so silent,so quiet--as silent and quiet as the ruined house on the hill--made me uneasy. There was no sign on the face of natureof this amazing tale that was not so much told as suggestedto me in desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs,in interrupted phrases, in hints ending in deep sighs.The woods were unmoved, like a mask--heavy, like the closed doorof a prison--they looked with their air of hidden knowledge,of patient expectation, of unapproachable silence.The Russian was explaining to me that it was only latelythat Mr. Kurtz had come down to the river, bringing alongwith him all the fighting men of that lake tribe. He had beenabsent for several months--getting himself adored, I suppose--and had come down unexpectedly, with the intention to all appearanceof making a raid either across the river or down stream.Evidently the appetite for more ivory had got the better of the--what shall I say?--less material aspirations. However he had got muchworse suddenly. `I heard he was lying helpless, and so I came up--took my chance,' said the Russian. `Oh, he is bad, very bad.'I directed my glass to the house. There were no signs of life,but there was the ruined roof, the long mud wall peeping abovethe grass, with three little square window-holes, no two of thesame size; all this brought within reach of my hand, as it were.And then I made a brusque movement, and one of the remainingposts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass.You remember I told you I had been struck at the distance by certainattempts at ornamentation, rather remarkable in the ruinous aspectof the place. Now I had suddenly a nearer view, and its firstresult was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow.Then I went carefully from post to post with my glass, and I sawmy mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic;they were expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbing--food for thought and also for the vultures if there had beenany looking down from the sky; but at all events for suchants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole.They would have been even more impressive, those heads onthe stakes, if their faces had not been turned to the house.Only one, the first I had made out, was facing my way.I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back Ihad given was really nothing but a movement of surprise.I had expected to see a knob of wood there, you know.I returned deliberately to the first I had seen--and thereit was, black, dried, sunken, with closed eyelids,--a headthat seemed to sleep at the top of that pole, and, with theshrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line of the teeth,was smiling too, smiling continuously at some endless and jocosedream of that eternal slumber.
"I am not disclosing any trade secrets. In fact the manager saidafterwards that Mr. Kurtz's methods had ruined the district.I have no opinion on that point, but I want you clearly to understandthat there was nothing exactly profitable in these heads being there.They only showed that Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint in the gratificationof his various lusts, that there was something wanting in him--some small matter which, when the pressing need arose,could not be found under his magnificent eloquence.Whether he knew of this deficiency himself I can't say.I think the knowledge came to him at last--only at the very last.But the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on hima terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think ithad whispered to him things about himself which he did not know,things of which he had no conception till he took counsel with thisgreat solitude--and the whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating.It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core.. . . I put down the glass, and the head that had appeared nearenough to be spoken to seemed at once to have leaped away from meinto inaccessible distance.
"The admirer of Mr. Kurtz was a bit crestfallen. In a hurried,indistinct voice he began to assure me he had not dared totake these--say, symbols--down. He was not afraid of the natives;they would not stir till Mr. Kurtz gave the word. His ascendencywas extraordinary. The camps of these people surrounded the place,and the chiefs came every day to see him. They would crawl.. . . `I don't want to know anything of the ceremonies usedwhen approaching Mr. Kurtz,' I shouted. Curious, this feelingthat came over me that such details would be more intolerablethan those heads drying on the stakes under Mr. Kurtz's windows.After all, that was only a savage sight, while I seemed at one boundto have been transported into some lightless region of subtle horrors,where pure, uncomplicated savagery was a positive relief,being something that had a right to exist--obviously--in the sunshine. The young man looked at me with surprise.I suppose it did not occur to him Mr. Kurtz was no idol of mine.He forgot I hadn't heard any of these splendid monologues on,what was it? on love, justice, conduct of life--or what not.If it had come to crawling before Mr. Kurtz, he crawled as much as theveriest savage of them all. I had no idea of the conditions, he said:these heads were the heads of rebels. I shocked him excessivelyby laughing. Rebels! What would be the next definition I was to hear?There had been enemies, criminals, workers--and these were rebels.Those rebellious heads looked very subdued to me on their sticks.`You don't know how such a life tries a man like Kurtz,' cried Kurtz'slast disciple. `Well, and you?' I said. `I! I! I am a simple man.I have no great thoughts. I want nothing from anybody.How can you compare me to . . .?' His feelings were too much for speech,and suddenly he broke down. `I don't understand,' he groaned.`I've been doing my best to keep him alive, and that's enough.I had no hand in all this. I have no abilities. There hasn't beena drop of medicine or a mouthful of invalid food for months here.He was shamefully abandoned. A man like this, with such ideas.Shamefully! Shamefully! I--I-- haven't slept for the last ten nights.. . .'
"His voice lost itself in the calm of the evening. The long shadowsof the forest had slipped down hill while we talked, had gonefar beyond the ruined hovel, beyond the symbolic row of stakes.All this was in the gloom, while we down there were yet in the sunshine,and the stretch of the river abreast of the clearing glitteredin a still and dazzling splendor, with a murky and over-shadowedbend above and below. Not a living soul was seen on the shore.The bushes did not rustle.
"Suddenly round the corner of the house a group of men appeared,as though they had come up from the ground. They waded waist-deepin the grass, in a compact body, bearing an improvised stretcherin their midst. Instantly, in the emptiness of the landscape, a cryarose whose shrillness pierced the still air like a sharp arrow flyingstraight to the very heart of the land; and, as if by enchantment,streams of human beings--of naked human beings--with spears in their hands,with bows, with shields, with wild glances and savage movements,were poured into the clearing by the dark-faced and pensive forest.The bushes shook, the grass swayed for a time, and then everythingstood still in attentive immobility.
"`Now, if he does not say the right thing to them we are alldone for,' said the Russian at my elbow. The knot of menwith the stretcher had stopped too, half-way to the steamer,as if petrified. I saw the man on the stretcher sit up,lank and with an uplifted arm, above the shoulders of the bearers.`Let us hope that the man who can talk so well of love in generalwill find some particular reason to spare us this time,' I said.I resented bitterly the absurd danger of our situation, as if to be atthe mercy of that atrocious phantom had been a dishonoring necessity.I could not hear a sound, but through my glasses I saw the thinarm extended commandingly, the lower jaw moving, the eyes ofthat apparition shining darkly far in its bony head that noddedwith grotesque jerks. Kurtz--Kurtz--that means short in German--don't it? Well, the name was as true as everything elsein his life--and death. He looked at least seven feet long.His covering had fallen off, and his body emerged from itpitiful and appalling as from a winding-sheet. I could seethe cage of his ribs all astir, the bones of his arm waving.It was as though an animated image of death carved out of oldivory had been shaking its hand with menaces at a motionlesscrowd of men made of dark and glittering bronze. I saw himopen his mouth wide--it gave him a weirdly voracious aspect,as though he had wanted to swallow all the air, all the earth,all the men before him. A deep voice reached me faintly.He must have been shouting. He fell back suddenly.The stretcher shook as the bearers staggered forward again,and almost at the same time I noticed that the crowd of savageswas vanishing without any perceptible movement of retreat,as if the forest that had ejected these beings so suddenly haddrawn them in again as the breath is drawn in a long aspiration.
"Some of the pilgrims behind the stretcher carried his arms--two shot-guns, a heavy rifle, and a light revolver-carbine--the thunderbolts of that pitiful Jupiter. The manager bent over himmurmuring as he walked beside his head. They laid him down in oneof the little cabins--just a room for a bed-place and a camp-stoolor two, you know. We had brought his belated correspondence,and a lot of torn envelopes and open letters littered his bed.His hand roamed feebly amongst these papers. I was struck bythe fire of his eyes and the composed languor of his expression.It was not so much the exhaustion of disease. He did not seem in pain.This shadow looked satiated and calm, as though for the moment ithad had its fill of all the emotions.
"He rustled one of the letters, and looking straight in my face said,`I am glad.' Somebody had been writing to him about me.These special recommendations were turning up again.The volume of tone he emitted without effort, almost withoutthe trouble of moving his lips, amazed me. A voice! a voice!It was grave, profound, vibrating, while the man did not seemcapable of a whisper. However, he had enough strength in him--factitious no doubt--to very nearly make an end of us, as youshall hear directly.
"The manager appeared silently in the doorway; I steppedout at once and he drew the curtain after me. The Russian,eyed curiously by the pilgrims, was staring at the shore.I followed the direction of his glance.
exhaustion of disease. He did not seem in pain.This shadow looked satiated and calm, as though for the moment ithad had its fill of all the .
"Dark human shapes could be made out in the distance,flitting indistinctly against the gloomy border of the forest,and near the river two bronze figures, leaning on tall spears,stood in the sunlight under fantastic headdresses of spotted skins,warlike and still in statuesque repose. And from right to leftalong the lighted shore moved a wild and gorgeous apparitionof a woman.
"She walked with measured steps, draped in striped andfringed cloths, treading the earth proudly, with a slight jingleand flash of barbarous ornaments. She carried her head high;her hair was done in the shape of a helmet; she had brassleggings to the knee, brass wire gauntlets to the elbow,a crimson spot on her tawny cheek, innumerable necklaces of glassbeads on her neck; bizarre things, charms, gifts of witch-men,that hung about her, glittered and trembled at every step.She must have had the value of several elephant tusks upon her.She was savage and superb, wild-eyed and magnificent; there wassomething ominous and stately in her deliberate progress.And in the hush that had fallen suddenly upon the wholesorrowful land, the immense wilderness, the colossal body ofthe fecund and mysterious life seemed to look at her, pensive,as though it had been looking at the image of its own tenebrousand passionate soul.
"She came abreast of the steamer, stood still, and faced us.Her long shadow fell to the water's edge. Her face had a tragicand fierce aspect of wild sorrow and of dumb pain mingledwith the fear of some struggling, half-shaped resolve.She stood looking at us without a stir and like the wildernessitself, with an air of brooding over an inscrutable purpose.A whole minute passed, and then she made a step forward.There was a low jingle, a glint of yellow metal, a sway offringed draperies, and she stopped as if her heart had failed her.The young fellow by my side growled. The pilgrims murmuredat my back. She looked at us all as if her life had dependedupon the unswerving steadiness of her glance. Suddenly sheopened her bared arms and threw them up rigid above her head,as though in an uncontrollable desire to touch the sky, and atthe same time the swift shadows darted out on the earth, swept aroundon the river, gathering the steamer into a shadowy embrace.A formidable silence hung over the scene.