Heart of Darkness
Heart of Darkness
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watch for more words on my lips, I went on, ‘It was
impossible not to—’
‘‘Love him,’ she finished eagerly, silencing me into an
appalled dumbness. ‘How true! how true! But when you
think that no one knew him so well as I! I had all his
noble confidence. I knew him best.’
‘‘You knew him best,’ I repeated. And perhaps she did.
But with every word spoken the room was growing
darker, and only her forehead, smooth and white,
remained illumined by the inextinguishable light of belief
and love.
‘‘You were his friend,’ she went on. ‘His friend,’ she
repeated, a little louder. ‘You must have been, if he had
given you this, and sent you to me. I feel I can speak to
you—and oh! I must speak. I want you—you who have
heard his last words— to know I have been worthy of
him. … It is not pride. … Yes! I am proud to know I
understood him better than any one on earth— he told
me so himself. And since his mother died I have had no
one— no one—to—to—’
‘I listened. The darkness deepened. I was not even sure
whether he had given me the right bundle. I rather suspect
he wanted me to take care of another batch of his papers
which, after his death, I saw the manager examining under
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the lamp. And the girl talked, easing her pain in the
certitude of my sympathy; she talked as thirsty men drink.
I had heard that her engagement with Kurtz had been
disapproved by her people. He wasn’t rich enough or
something. And indeed I don’t know whether he had not
been a pauper all his life. He had given me some reason to
infer that it was his impatience of comparative poverty that
drove him out there.
‘‘… Who was not his friend who had heard him speak
once?’ she was saying. ‘He drew men towards him by
what was best in them.’ She looked at me with intensity.
‘It is the gift of the great,’ she went on, and the sound of
her low voice seemed to have the accompaniment of all
the other sounds, full of mystery, desolation, and sorrow, I
had ever heard—the ripple of the river, the soughing of
the trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of the crowds,
the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afar,
the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshold
of an eternal darkness. ‘But you have heard him! You
know!’ she cried.
‘‘Yes, I know,’ I said with something like despair in my
heart, but bowing my head before the faith that was in
her, before that great and saving illusion that shone with
an unearthly glow in the darkness, in the triumphant
Heart of Darkness
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darkness from which I could not have defended her—
from which I could not even defend myself.
‘‘What a loss to me—to us!’—she corrected herself
with beautiful generosity; then added in a murmur, ‘To
the world.’ By the last gleams of twilight I could see the
glitter of her eyes, full of tears—of tears that would not
fall.
‘‘I have been very happy—very fortunate—very
proud,’ she went on. ‘Too fortunate. Too happy for a
little while. And now I am unhappy for—for life.’
‘She stood up; her fair hair seemed to catch all the
remaining light in a glimmer of gold. I rose, too.
‘‘And of all this,’ she went on mournfully, ‘of all his
promise, and of all his greatness, of his generous mind, of
his noble heart, nothing remains—nothing but a memory.
You and I—’
‘‘We shall always remember him,’ I said hastily.
‘‘No!’ she cried. ‘It is impossible that all this should be
lost— that such a life should be sacrificed to leave
nothing—but sorrow. You know what vast plans he had. I
knew of them, too—I could not perhaps understand—but
others knew of them. Something must remain. His words,
at least, have not died.’
‘‘His words will remain,’ I said.
Heart of Darkness
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‘‘And his example,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Men
looked up to him— his goodness shone in every act. His
example—’
‘‘True,’ I said; ‘his example, too. Yes, his example. I
forgot that.’
‘But I do not. I cannot—I cannot believe—not yet. I
cannot believe that I shall never see him again, that
nobody will see him again, never, never, never.’
‘She put out her arms as if after a retreating figure,
stretching them back and with clasped pale hands across
the fading and narrow sheen of the window. Never see
him! I saw him clearly enough then. I shall see this
eloquent phantom as long as I live, and I shall see her, too,
a tragic and familiar Shade, resembling in this gesture
another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless
charms, stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the
infernal stream, the stream of darkness. She said suddenly
very low, ‘He died as he lived.’
‘‘His end,’ said I, with dull anger stirring in me, ‘was in
every way worthy of his life.’
‘‘And I was not with him,’ she murmured. My anger
subsided before a feeling of infinite pity.
‘‘Everything that could be done—’ I mumbled.
Heart of Darkness
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‘‘Ah, but I believed in him more than any one on
earth—more than his own mother, more than—himself.
He needed me! Me! I would have treasured every sigh,
every word, every sign, every glance.’
‘I felt like a chill grip on my chest. ‘Don’t,’ I said, in a
muffled voice.
‘‘Forgive me. I—I have mourned so long in silence—in
silence…. You were with him—to the last? I think of his
loneliness. Nobody near to understand him as I would
have understood. Perhaps no one to hear. …’
‘‘To the very end,’ I said, shakily. ‘I heard his very last
words….’ I stopped in a fright.
‘‘Repeat them,’ she murmured in a heart-broken tone.
‘I want—I want—something—something—to—to live
with.’
‘I was on the point of crying at her, ‘Don’t you hear
them?’ The dusk was repeating them in a persistent
whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell
menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. ‘The
horror! The horror!’
‘‘His last word—to live with,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t you
understand I loved him—I loved him—I loved him!’
‘I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.
‘‘The last word he pronounced was—your name.’
Heart of Darkness
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‘I heard a light sigh and then my heart stood still,
stopped dead short by an exulting and terrible cry, by the
cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain. ‘I
knew it—I was sure!’ … She knew. She was sure. I heard
her weeping; she had hidden her face in her hands. It
seemed to me that the house would collapse before I
could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head.
But nothing happened. The heavens do not fall for such a
trifle. Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered
Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn’t he said he
wanted only justice? But I couldn’t. I could not tell her. It
would have been too dark—too dark altogether….’
Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent, in
the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a
time. ‘We have lost the first of the ebb,’ said the Director
suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a
black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to
the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an
overcast sky— seemed to lead into the heart of an
immense darkness.
157 of 162
watch for more words on my lips, I went on, ‘It was
impossible not to—’
‘‘Love him,’ she finished eagerly, silencing me into an
appalled dumbness. ‘How true! how true! But when you
think that no one knew him so well as I! I had all his
noble confidence. I knew him best.’
‘‘You knew him best,’ I repeated. And perhaps she did.
But with every word spoken the room was growing
darker, and only her forehead, smooth and white,
remained illumined by the inextinguishable light of belief
and love.
‘‘You were his friend,’ she went on. ‘His friend,’ she
repeated, a little louder. ‘You must have been, if he had
given you this, and sent you to me. I feel I can speak to
you—and oh! I must speak. I want you—you who have
heard his last words— to know I have been worthy of
him. … It is not pride. … Yes! I am proud to know I
understood him better than any one on earth— he told
me so himself. And since his mother died I have had no
one— no one—to—to—’
‘I listened. The darkness deepened. I was not even sure
whether he had given me the right bundle. I rather suspect
he wanted me to take care of another batch of his papers
which, after his death, I saw the manager examining under
Heart of Darkness
158 of 162
the lamp. And the girl talked, easing her pain in the
certitude of my sympathy; she talked as thirsty men drink.
I had heard that her engagement with Kurtz had been
disapproved by her people. He wasn’t rich enough or
something. And indeed I don’t know whether he had not
been a pauper all his life. He had given me some reason to
infer that it was his impatience of comparative poverty that
drove him out there.
‘‘… Who was not his friend who had heard him speak
once?’ she was saying. ‘He drew men towards him by
what was best in them.’ She looked at me with intensity.
‘It is the gift of the great,’ she went on, and the sound of
her low voice seemed to have the accompaniment of all
the other sounds, full of mystery, desolation, and sorrow, I
had ever heard—the ripple of the river, the soughing of
the trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of the crowds,
the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afar,
the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshold
of an eternal darkness. ‘But you have heard him! You
know!’ she cried.
‘‘Yes, I know,’ I said with something like despair in my
heart, but bowing my head before the faith that was in
her, before that great and saving illusion that shone with
an unearthly glow in the darkness, in the triumphant
Heart of Darkness
159 of 162
darkness from which I could not have defended her—
from which I could not even defend myself.
‘‘What a loss to me—to us!’—she corrected herself
with beautiful generosity; then added in a murmur, ‘To
the world.’ By the last gleams of twilight I could see the
glitter of her eyes, full of tears—of tears that would not
fall.
‘‘I have been very happy—very fortunate—very
proud,’ she went on. ‘Too fortunate. Too happy for a
little while. And now I am unhappy for—for life.’
‘She stood up; her fair hair seemed to catch all the
remaining light in a glimmer of gold. I rose, too.
‘‘And of all this,’ she went on mournfully, ‘of all his
promise, and of all his greatness, of his generous mind, of
his noble heart, nothing remains—nothing but a memory.
You and I—’
‘‘We shall always remember him,’ I said hastily.
‘‘No!’ she cried. ‘It is impossible that all this should be
lost— that such a life should be sacrificed to leave
nothing—but sorrow. You know what vast plans he had. I
knew of them, too—I could not perhaps understand—but
others knew of them. Something must remain. His words,
at least, have not died.’
‘‘His words will remain,’ I said.
Heart of Darkness
160 of 162
‘‘And his example,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Men
looked up to him— his goodness shone in every act. His
example—’
‘‘True,’ I said; ‘his example, too. Yes, his example. I
forgot that.’
‘But I do not. I cannot—I cannot believe—not yet. I
cannot believe that I shall never see him again, that
nobody will see him again, never, never, never.’
‘She put out her arms as if after a retreating figure,
stretching them back and with clasped pale hands across
the fading and narrow sheen of the window. Never see
him! I saw him clearly enough then. I shall see this
eloquent phantom as long as I live, and I shall see her, too,
a tragic and familiar Shade, resembling in this gesture
another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless
charms, stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the
infernal stream, the stream of darkness. She said suddenly
very low, ‘He died as he lived.’
‘‘His end,’ said I, with dull anger stirring in me, ‘was in
every way worthy of his life.’
‘‘And I was not with him,’ she murmured. My anger
subsided before a feeling of infinite pity.
‘‘Everything that could be done—’ I mumbled.
Heart of Darkness
161 of 162
‘‘Ah, but I believed in him more than any one on
earth—more than his own mother, more than—himself.
He needed me! Me! I would have treasured every sigh,
every word, every sign, every glance.’
‘I felt like a chill grip on my chest. ‘Don’t,’ I said, in a
muffled voice.
‘‘Forgive me. I—I have mourned so long in silence—in
silence…. You were with him—to the last? I think of his
loneliness. Nobody near to understand him as I would
have understood. Perhaps no one to hear. …’
‘‘To the very end,’ I said, shakily. ‘I heard his very last
words….’ I stopped in a fright.
‘‘Repeat them,’ she murmured in a heart-broken tone.
‘I want—I want—something—something—to—to live
with.’
‘I was on the point of crying at her, ‘Don’t you hear
them?’ The dusk was repeating them in a persistent
whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell
menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. ‘The
horror! The horror!’
‘‘His last word—to live with,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t you
understand I loved him—I loved him—I loved him!’
‘I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.
‘‘The last word he pronounced was—your name.’
Heart of Darkness
162 of 162
‘I heard a light sigh and then my heart stood still,
stopped dead short by an exulting and terrible cry, by the
cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain. ‘I
knew it—I was sure!’ … She knew. She was sure. I heard
her weeping; she had hidden her face in her hands. It
seemed to me that the house would collapse before I
could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head.
But nothing happened. The heavens do not fall for such a
trifle. Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered
Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn’t he said he
wanted only justice? But I couldn’t. I could not tell her. It
would have been too dark—too dark altogether….’
Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent, in
the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a
time. ‘We have lost the first of the ebb,’ said the Director
suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a
black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to
the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an
overcast sky— seemed to lead into the heart of an
immense darkness.
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