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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20150-8.txt b/20150-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0793ccd --- /dev/null +++ b/20150-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3867 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Notes on My Books, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Notes on My Books + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: December 20, 2006 [EBook #20150] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON MY BOOKS *** + + + + +Produced by Janet Blenkinship and also, thanks to Michael +Kerwin of Occidental College for supplying images of the +missing pages from the book I had in hand, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + This "O-P Book" Is an Authorized Reprint of the Original Edition, + Produced by Microfilm-Xerography by University Microfilms, Inc., Ann + Arbor, Michigan, 1966 + + + + + NOTES ON MY BOOKS + + BY + JOSEPH CONRAD + + + + + GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + MCMXXI + + COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + + + +NOTES ON MY BOOKS + + + + +ALMAYER'S FOLLY + + +I am informed that in criticizing that literature which preys on +strange people and prowls in far-off countries, under the shade of +palms, in the unsheltered glare of sunbeaten beaches, amongst honest +cannibals and the more sophisticated pioneers of our glorious virtues, a +lady--distinguished in the world of letters--summed up her disapproval +of it by saying that the tales it produced were "de-civilized." And in +that sentence not only the tales but, I apprehend, the strange people +and the far-off countries also, are finally condemned in a verdict of +contemptuous dislike. + +A woman's judgment: intuitive, clever, expressed with felicitous +charm--infallible. A judgment that has nothing to do with justice. The +critic and the judge seems to think that in those distant lands all joy +is a yell and a war dance, all pathos is a howl and a ghastly grin of +filed teeth, and that the solution of all problems is found in the +barrel of a revolver or on the point of an assegai. And yet it is not +so. But the erring magistrate may plead in excuse the misleading nature +of the evidence. + +The picture of life, there as here, is drawn with the same elaboration +of detail, coloured with the same tints. Only in the cruel serenity of +the sky, under the merciless brilliance of the sun, the dazzled eye +misses the delicate detail, sees only the strong outlines, while the +colours, in the steady light, seem crude and-without shadow. +Nevertheless it is the same picture. + +And there is a bond between us and that humanity so far away. I am +speaking here of men and women--not of the charming and graceful +phantoms that move about in our mud and smoke and are softly luminous +with the radiance of all our virtues; that are possessed of all +refinements, of all sensibilities, of all wisdom--but, being only +phantoms, possess no heart. + +The sympathies of those are (probably) with the immortals: with the +angels above or the devils below. I am content to sympathize with +common mortals, no matter where they live; in houses or in tents, in the +streets under a fog, or in the forests behind the dark line of dismal +mangroves that fringe the vast solitude of the sea. For, their +land--like ours--lies under the inscrutable eyes of the Most High. Their +hearts--like ours--must endure the load of the gifts from Heaven: the +curse of facts and the blessing of illusions, the bitterness of our +wisdom and the deceptive consolation of our folly. + + J. C. + + 1895. + + + + +AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS + + +"An Outcast of the Islands" is my second novel in the absolute sense of +the word; second in conception, second in execution, second as it were +in its essence. There was no hesitation, half-formed plan, vague idea, +or the vaguest reverie of anything else between it and "Almayer's +Folly." The only doubt I suffered from, after the publication of +"Almayer's Folly," was whether I should write another line for print. +Those days, now grown so dim, had their poignant moments. Neither in my +mind nor in my heart had I then given up the sea. In truth I was +clinging to it desperately, all the more desperately because, against my +will, I could not help feeling that there was something changed in my +relation to it. "Almayer's Folly" had been finished and done with. The +mood itself was gone. But it had left the memory of an experience that, +both in thought and emotion, was unconnected with the sea, and I suppose +that part of my moral being which is rooted in consistency was badly +shaken. I was a victim of contrary stresses which produced a state of +immobility. I gave myself up to indolence. Since it was impossible for +me to face both ways I had elected to face nothing. The discovery of new +values in life is a very chaotic experience; there is a tremendous +amount of jostling and confusion and a momentary feeling of darkness. I +let my spirit float supine over that chaos. + +A phrase of Edward Garnett's is, as a matter of fact, responsible for +this book. The first of the friends I made for myself by my pen it was +but natural that he should be the recipient, at that time, of my +confidences. One evening when we had dined together and he had listened +to the account of my perplexities (I fear he must have been growing a +little tired of them) he pointed out that there was no need to determine +my future absolutely. Then he added: "You have the style, you have the +temperament; why not write another?" I believe that as far as one man +may wish to influence another man's life Edward Garnett had a great +desire that I should go on writing. At that time, and I may say, ever +afterwards, he was always very patient and gentle with me. What strikes +me most, however, in the phrase quoted above which was offered to me in +a tone of detachment is not its gentleness but its effective wisdom. Had +he said, "Why not go on writing," it is very probable he would have +scared me away from pen and ink for ever; but there was nothing either +to frighten one or arouse one's antagonism in the mere suggestion to +"write another." And thus a dead point in the revolution of my affairs +was insidiously got over. The word "another" did it. At about eleven +o'clock of a nice London night, Edward and I walked along interminable +streets talking of many things, and I remember that on getting home I +sat down and wrote about half a page of "An Outcast of the Islands" +before I slept. This was committing myself definitely, I won't say to +another life, but to another book. There is apparently something in my +character which will not allow me to abandon for good any piece of work +I have begun. I have laid aside many beginnings. I have laid them aside +with sorrow, with disgust, with rage, with melancholy and even with +self-contempt; but even at the worst I had an uneasy consciousness that +I would have to go back to them. + +"An Outcast of the Islands" belongs to those novels of mine that were +never laid aside; and though it brought me the qualification of "exotic +writer" I don't think the charge was at all justified. For the life of +me I don't see that there is the slightest exotic spirit in the +conception or style of that novel. It is certainly the most _tropical_ +of my eastern tales. The mere scenery got a great hold on me as I went +on, perhaps because (I may just as well confess that) the story itself +was never very near my heart. It engaged my imagination much more than +my affection. As to my feeling for Willems it was but the regard one +cannot help having for one's own creation. Obviously I could not be +indifferent to a man on whose head I had brought so much evil simply by +imagining him such as he appears in the novel--and that, too, on a very +slight foundation. + +The man who suggested Willems to me was not particularly interesting in +himself. My interest was aroused by his dependent position, his strange, +dubious status of a mistrusted, disliked, worn-out European living on +the reluctant toleration of that Settlement hidden in the heart of the +forest-land, up that sombre stream which our ship was the only white +men's ship to visit. With his hollow, clean-shaved cheeks, a heavy grey +moustache and eyes without any expression whatever, clad always in a +spotless sleeping suit much befrogged in front, which left his lean neck +wholly uncovered, and with his bare feet in a pair of straw slippers, he +wandered silently amongst the houses in daylight, almost as dumb as an +animal and apparently much more homeless. I don't know what he did with +himself at night. He must have had a place, a hut, a palm-leaf shed, +some sort of hovel where he kept his razor and his change of sleeping +suits. An air of futile mystery hung over him, something not exactly +dark but obviously ugly. The only definite statement I could extract +from anybody was that it was he who had "brought the Arabs into the +river." That must have happened many years before. But how did he bring +them into the river? He could hardly have done it in his arms like a lot +of kittens. I knew that Almayer founded the chronology of all his +misfortunes on the date of that fateful advent; and yet the very first +time we dined with Almayer there was Willems sitting at table with us in +the manner of the skeleton at the feast, obviously shunned by everybody, +never addressed by any one, and for all recognition of his existence +getting now and then from Almayer a venomous glance which I observed +with great surprise. In the course of the whole evening he ventured one +single remark which I didn't catch because his articulation was +imperfect, as of a man who had forgotten how to speak. I was the only +person who seemed aware of the sound. Willems subsided. Presently he +retired, pointedly unnoticed--into the forest maybe? Its immensity was +there, within three hundred yards of the verandah, ready to swallow up +anything. Almayer conversing with my captain did not stop talking while +he glared angrily at the retreating back. Didn't that fellow bring the +Arabs into the river! Nevertheless Willems turned up next morning on +Almayer's verandah. From the bridge of the steamer I could see plainly +these two, breakfasting together, tête à tête and, I suppose, in dead +silence, one with his air of being no longer interested in this world +and the other raising his eyes now and then with intense dislike. + +It was clear that in those days Willems lived on Almayer's charity. Yet +on returning two months later to Sambir I heard that he had gone on an +expedition up the river in charge of a steam-launch belonging to the +Arabs, to make some discovery or other. On account of the strange +reluctance that everyone manifested to talk about Willems it was +impossible for me to get at the rights of that transaction. Moreover, I +was a newcomer, the youngest of the company, and, I suspect, not judged +quite fit as yet for a full confidence. I was not much concerned about +that exclusion. The faint suggestion of plots and mysteries pertaining +to all matters touching Almayer's affairs amused me vastly. Almayer was +obviously very much affected. I believe he missed Willems immensely. He +wore an air of sinister preoccupation and talked confidentially with my +captain. I could catch only snatches of mumbled sentences. Then one +morning as I came along the deck to take my place at the breakfast table +Almayer checked himself in his low-toned discourse. My captain's face +was perfectly impenetrable. There was a moment of profound silence and +then as if unable to contain himself Almayer burst out in a loud vicious +tone: + +"One thing's certain; if he finds anything worth having up there they +will poison him like a dog." + +Disconnected though it was, that phrase, as food for thought, was +distinctly worth hearing. We left the river three days afterwards and I +never returned to Sambir; but whatever happened to the protagonist of my +Willems nobody can deny that I have recorded for him a less squalid +fate. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + +NIGGER OF THE 'NARCISSUS' + +TO MY READERS IN AMERICA + + +From that evening when James Wait joined the ship--late for the muster +of the crew--to the moment when he left us in the open sea, shrouded in +sailcloth, through the open port, I had much to do with him. He was in +my watch. A negro in a British forecastle is a lonely being. He has no +chums. Yet James Wait, afraid of death and making her his accomplice, +was an impostor of some character--mastering our compassion, scornful of +our sentimentalism, triumphing over our suspicions. + +But in the book he is nothing; he is merely the centre of the ship's +collective psychology and the pivot of the action. Yet he, who in the +family circle and amongst my friends is familiarly referred to as the +Nigger, remains very precious to me. For the book written round him is +not the sort of thing that can be attempted more than once in a +life-time. It is the book by which, not as a novelist perhaps, but as an +artist striving for the utmost sincerity of expression, I am willing to +stand or fall. Its pages are the tribute of my unalterable and profound +affection for the ships, the seamen, the winds and the great sea--the +moulders of my youth, the companions of the best years of my life. + +After writing the last words of that book, in the revulsion of feeling +before the accomplished task, I understood that I had done with the sea, +and that henceforth I had to be a writer. And almost without laying down +the pen I wrote a preface, trying to express the spirit in which I was +entering on the task of my new life. That preface on advice (which I now +think was wrong) was never published with the book. But the late W. E. +Henley, who had the courage at that time (1897) to serialize my "Nigger" +in the _New Review_ judged it worthy to be printed as an afterword at +the end of the last instalment of the tale. + +I am glad that this book which means so much to me is coming out again, +under its proper title of "The Nigger of the _Narcissus_" and under the +auspices of my good friends and publishers Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. +into the light of publicity. + +Half the span of a generation has passed since W. E. Henley, after +reading two chapters, sent me a verbal message: "Tell Conrad that if +the rest is up to the sample it shall certainly come out in the _New +Review_." The most gratifying recollection of my writer's life! + +And here is the Suppressed Preface. + + JOSEPH CONRAD. + + 1914. + + + + +PREFACE + + +A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should +carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be defined as +a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the +visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, +underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in +its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and +in the facts of life what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and +essential--their one illuminating and convincing quality--the very truth +of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, +seeks the truth and makes his appeal. Impressed by the aspect of the +world the thinker plunges into ideas, the scientist into facts--whence, +presently, emerging, they make their appeal to those qualities of our +being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. They +speak authoritatively to our common-sense, to our intelligence, to our +desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our +prejudices, sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism--but always to +our credulity. And their words are heard with reverence, for their +concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and +the proper care of our bodies, with the attainment of our ambitions, +with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious +aims. + +It is otherwise with the artist. + +Confronted by the same enigmatical spectacle the artist descends within +himself, and in that lonely region of stress and strife, if he be +deserving and fortunate, he finds the terms of his appeal. His appeal is +made to our less obvious capacities: to that part of our nature which, +because of the warlike conditions of existence, is necessarily kept out +of sight within the more resisting and hard qualities--like the +vulnerable body within a steel armour. His appeal is less loud, more +profound, less distinct, more stirring--and sooner forgotten. Yet its +effect endures for ever. The changing wisdom of successive generations +discards ideas, questions facts, demolishes theories. But the artist +appeals to that part of our being which is not dependent on wisdom; to +that in us which is a gift and not an acquisition--and, therefore, more +permanently enduring. He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, +to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and +beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all +creation--and to the subtle but invincible conviction of solidarity that +knits together the loneliness of innumerable hearts, to the solidarity +in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in +fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together all +humanity--the dead to the living and the living to the unborn. + +It is only some such train of thought, or rather of feeling, that can in +a measure explain the aim of the attempt, made in the tale which +follows, to present an unrestful episode in the obscure lives of a few +individuals out of all the disregarded multitude of the bewildered, the +simple and the voiceless. For, if any part of truth dwells in the belief +confessed above, it becomes evident that there is not a place of +splendour or a dark corner of the earth that does not deserve, if only a +passing glance of wonder and pity. The motive, then, may be held to +justify the matter of the work; but this preface, which is simply an +avowal of endeavour, cannot end here--for the avowal is not yet +complete. + +Fiction--if it at all aspires to be art--appeals to temperament. And in +truth it must be, like painting, like music, like all art, the appeal of +one temperament to all the other innumerable temperaments whose subtle +and resistless power endows passing events with their true meaning, and +creates the moral, the emotional atmosphere of the place and time. Such +an appeal to be effective must be an impression conveyed through the +senses; and, in fact, it cannot be made in any other way, because +temperament, whether individual or collective, is not amenable to +persuasion. All art, therefore, appeals primarily to the senses, and the +artistic aim when expressing itself in written words must also make its +appeal through the senses, if its high desire is to reach the secret +spring of responsive emotions. It must strenuously aspire to the +plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic +suggestiveness of music--which is the art of arts. And it is only +through complete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blending of form +and substance; it is only through an unremitting never-discouraged care +for the shape and ring of sentences that an approach can be made to +plasticity, to colour, and that the light of magic suggestiveness may be +brought to play for an evanescent instant over the commonplace surface +of words: of the old, old words, worn thin, defaced by ages of careless +usage. + +The sincere endeavour to accomplish that creative task, to go as far on +that road as his strength will carry him, to go undeterred by faltering, +weariness or reproach, is the only valid justification for the worker in +prose. And if his conscience is clear, his answer to those who in the +fulness of a wisdom which looks for immediate profit, demand +specifically to be edified, consoled, amused; who demand to be promptly +improved, or encouraged, or frightened, or shocked, or charmed, must run +thus:--My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the +written word to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to +make you _see_. That--and no more, and it is everything. If I succeed, +you shall find there according to your deserts: encouragement, +consolation, fear, charm--all you demand--and, perhaps, also that +glimpse of truth for which you have forgotten to ask. + +To snatch in a moment of courage, from the remorseless rush of time, a +passing phase of life, is only the beginning of the task. The task +approached in tenderness and faith is to hold up unquestioningly, +without choice and without fear, the rescued fragment before all eyes in +the light of a sincere mood. It is to show its vibration, its colour, +its form; and through its movement, its form, and its colour, reveal the +substance of its truth--disclose its inspiring secret: the stress and +passion within the core of each convincing moment. In a single-minded +attempt of that kind, if one be deserving and fortunate, one may +perchance attain to such clearness of sincerity that at last the +presented vision of regret or pity, of terror or mirth, shall awaken in +the hearts of the beholders that feeling of unavoidable solidarity; of +the solidarity in mysterious origin, in toil, in joy, in hope, in +uncertain fate, which binds men to each other and all mankind to the +visible world. + +It is evident that he who, rightly or wrongly, holds by the convictions +expressed above cannot be faithful to any one of the temporary formulas +of his craft. The enduring part of them--the truth which each only +imperfectly veils--should abide with him as the most precious of his +possessions, but they all: Realism, Romanticism, Naturalism, even the +unofficial sentimentalism (which, like the poor, is exceedingly +difficult to get rid of), all these gods must, after a short period of +fellowship, abandon him--even on the very threshold of the temple--to +the stammerings of his conscience and to the outspoken consciousness of +the difficulties of his work. In that uneasy solitude the supreme cry of +Art for Art, itself, loses the exciting ring of its apparent immorality. +It sounds far off. It has ceased to be a cry, and is heard only as a +whisper, often incomprehensible, but at times and faintly encouraging. + +Sometimes, stretched at ease in the shade of a roadside tree, we watch +the motions of a labourer in a distant field, and after a time begin to +wonder languidly as to what the fellow may be at. We watch the movements +of his body, the waving of his arms, we see him bend down, stand up, +hesitate, begin again. It may add to the charm of an idle hour to be +told the purpose of his exertions. If we know he is trying to lift a +stone, to dig a ditch, to uproot a stump, we look with a more real +interest at his efforts; we are disposed to condone the jar of his +agitation upon the restfulness of the landscape; and even, if in a +brotherly frame of mind, we may bring ourselves to forgive his failure. +We understood his object, and, after all, the fellow has tried, and +perhaps he had not the strength--and perhaps he had not the knowledge. +We forgive, go on our way--and forget. + +And so it is with the workman of art. Art is long and life is short, and +success is very far off. And thus, doubtful of strength to travel so +far, we talk a little about the aim--the aim of art, which, like life +itself, is inspiring, difficult--obscured by mists. It is not in the +clear logic of a triumphant conclusion; it is not in the unveiling of +one of those heartless secrets which are called the Laws of Nature. It +is not less great, but only more difficult. + +To arrest, for the space of a breath, the hands busy about the work of +the earth, and compel men entranced by the sight of distant goals to +glance for a moment at the surrounding vision of form and colour, of +sunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look, for a sigh, for a +smile--such is the aim, difficult and evanescent, and reserved only for +a very few to achieve. But sometimes, by the deserving and the +fortunate, even that task is accomplished. And when it is +accomplished--behold!--all the truth of life is there: a moment of +vision, a sigh, a smile--and the return to an eternal rest. + + J. C. + + 1897. + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + + +Of the five stories in this volume The Lagoon, the last in order, is the +earliest in date. It is the first short story I ever wrote and marks, in +a manner of speaking, the end of my first phase, the Malayan phase with +its special subject and its verbal suggestions. Conceived in the same +mood which produced "Almayer's Folly" and "An Outcast of the Islands," +it is told in the same breath (with what was left of it, that is, after +the end of "An Outcast"), seen with the same vision rendered in the same +method--if such a thing as method did exist then in my conscious +relation to this new adventure of writing for print. I doubt it very +much. One does one's work first and theorizes about it afterwards. It is +a very amusing and egotistical occupation of no use whatever to any one +and just as likely as not to lead to false conclusions. + +Anybody can see that between the last paragraph of "An Outcast" and the +first of The Lagoon there has been no change of pen, figuratively +speaking. It happens also to be literally true. It was the same pen: a +common steel pen. Having been charged with a certain lack of emotional +faculty I am glad to be able to say that on one occasion at least I did +give way to a sentimental impulse. I thought the pen had been a good pen +and that it had done enough for me, and so, with the idea of keeping it +for a sort of memento on which I could look later with tender eyes, I +put it into my waistcoat pocket. Afterwards it used to turn up in all +sorts of places, at the bottom of small drawers, among my studs in +cardboard boxes, till at last it found permanent rest in a large wooden +bowl containing some loose keys, bits of sealing wax, bits of string, +small broken chains, a few buttons, and similar minute wreckage that +washes out of a man's life into such receptacles. I would catch sight of +it from time to time with a distinct feeling of satisfaction till, one +day, I perceived with horror that there were two old pens in there. How +the other pen found its way into the bowl instead of the fireplace or +waste-paper basket I can't imagine, but there the two were, lying side +by side, both encrusted with ink and completely undistinguishable from +each other. It was very distressing, but being determined not to share +my sentiment between two pens or run the risk of sentimentalizing over a +mere stranger, I threw them both out of the window into a flower +bed--which strikes me now as a poetical grave for the remnants of one's +past. + +But the tale remained. It was first fixed in print in the _Cornhill +Magazine_, being my first appearance in a serial of any kind; and I have +lived long enough to see it most agreeably guyed by Mr. Max Beerbohm in +a volume of parodies entitled "A Christmas Garland," where I found +myself in very good company. I was immensely gratified. I began to +believe in my public existence. I have much to thank The Lagoon for. + +My next effort in short story writing was a departure--I mean a +departure from the Malay Archipelago. Without premeditation, without +sorrow, without rejoicing and almost without noticing it, I stepped into +the very different atmosphere of An Outpost of Progress. I found there a +different moral attitude. I seemed able to capture new reactions, new +suggestions, and even new rhythms for my paragraphs. For a moment I +fancied myself a new man--a most exciting illusion. It clung to me for +some time, monstrous, half conviction and half hope as to its body with +an iridescent tail of dreams and with a changeable head like a plastic +mask. It was only later that I perceived that in common with the rest of +men nothing could deliver me from my fatal consistency. We cannot escape +from ourselves. + +An Outpost of Progress is the lightest part of the loot I carried off +from Central Africa, the main portion being of course The Heart of +Darkness. Other men have found a lot of quite different things there and +I have the comfortable conviction that what I took would not have been +of much use to anybody else. And it must be said that it was but a very +small amount of plunder. All of it could go into one's breast pocket +when folded neatly. As for the story itself it is true enough in its +essentials. The sustained invention of a really telling lie demands a +talent which I do not possess. + +The Idiots is such an obviously derivative piece of work that it is +impossible for me to say anything about it here. The suggestion of it +was not mental but visual: the actual idiots. It was after an interval +of long groping amongst vague impulses and hesitations which ended in +the production of "The Nigger" that I turned to my third short story in +the order of time, the first in this volume: Karain: A Memory. + +Reading it after many years Karain produced on me the effect of +something seen through a pair of glasses from a rather advantageous +position. In that story I had not gone back to the Archipelago, I had +only turned for another look at it. I admit that I was absorbed by the +distant view, so absorbed that I didn't notice then that the _motif_ of +the story is almost identical with the _motif_ of The Lagoon. However, +the idea at the back is very different; but the story is mainly made +memorable to me by the fact that it was my first contribution to +_Blackwood's Magazine_ and that it led to my personal acquaintance with +Mr. William Blackwood whose guarded appreciation I felt nevertheless to +be genuine, and prized accordingly. Karain was begun on a sudden impulse +only three days after I wrote the last line of "The Nigger," and the +recollection of its difficulties is mixed up with the worries of the +unfinished Return, the last pages of which I took up again at the time; +the only instance in my life when I made an attempt to write with both +hands at once as it were. + +Indeed my innermost feeling, now, is that The Return is a left-handed +production. Looking through that story lately I had the material +impression of sitting under a large and expensive umbrella in the loud +drumming of a furious rain-shower. It was very distracting. In the +general uproar one could hear every individual drop strike on the stout +and distended silk. Mentally, the reading rendered me dumb for the +remainder of the day, not exactly with astonishment but with a sort of +dismal wonder. I don't want to talk disrespectfully of any pages of +mine. Psychologically there were no doubt good reasons for my attempt; +and it was worth while, if only to see of what excesses I was capable in +that sort of virtuosity. In this connection I should like to confess my +surprise on finding that notwithstanding all its apparatus of analysis +the story consists for the most part of physical impressions; +impressions of sound and sight, railway station, streets, a trotting +horse, reflections in mirrors and so on, rendered as if for their own +sake and combined with a sublimated description of a desirable middle +class town-residence which somehow manages to produce a sinister effect. +For the rest any kind word about The Return (and there have been such +words said at different times) awakens in me the liveliest gratitude, +for I know how much the writing of that fantasy has cost me in sheer +toil, in temper and in disillusion. + + J. C. + + + + +LORD JIM + + +When this novel first appeared in book form a notion got about that I +had been bolted away with. Some reviewers maintained that the work +starting as a short story had got beyond the writer's control. One or +two discovered internal evidence of the fact, which seemed to amuse +them. They pointed out the limitations of the narrative form. They +argued that no man could have been expected to talk all that time, and +other men to listen so long. It was not, they said, very credible. + +After thinking it over for something like sixteen years I am not so sure +about that. Men have been known, both in tropics and in the temperate +zone, to sit up half the night "swapping yarns." This, however, is but +one yarn, yet with interruptions affording some measure of relief; and +in regard to the listeners' endurance, the postulate must be accepted +that the story _was_ interesting. It is the necessary preliminary +assumption. If I hadn't believed that it _was_ interesting I could never +have begun to write it. As to the mere physical possibility we all know +that some speeches in Parliament have taken nearer six than three hours +in delivery; whereas all that part of the book which is Marlow's +narrative can be read through aloud, I should say, in less than three +hours. Besides--though I have kept strictly all such insignificant +details out of the tale--we may presume that there must have been +refreshments on that night, a glass of mineral water of some sort to +help the narrator on. + +But, seriously, the truth of the matter is, that my first thought was of +a short story, concerned only with the pilgrim ship episode; nothing +more. And that was a legitimate conception. After writing a few pages, +however, I became for some reason discontented and I laid them aside for +a time. I didn't take them out of the drawer till the late Mr. William +Blackwood suggested I should give something again to his magazine. + +It was only then that I perceived that the pilgrim ship episode was a +good starting-point for a free and wandering tale; that it was an event, +too, which could conceivably colour the whole "sentiment of existence" +in a simple and sensitive character. But all these preliminary moods and +stirrings of spirit were rather obscure at the time, and they do not +appear clearer to me now after the lapse of so many years. + +The few pages I had laid aside were not without their weight in the +choice of subject. But the whole was re-written deliberately. When I +sat down to it I knew it would be a long book, though I didn't foresee +that it would spread itself over thirteen numbers of _Maga_. + +I have been asked at times whether this was not the book of mine I liked +best. I am a great foe to favouritism in public life, in private life, +and even in the delicate relationship of an author to his works. As a +matter of principle I will have no favourites; but I don't go so far as +to feel grieved and annoyed by the preference some people give to my +"Lord Jim." I won't even say that I "fail to understand...." No! But +once I had occasion to be puzzled and surprised. + +A friend of mine returning from Italy had talked with a lady there who +did not like the book. I regretted that, of course, but what surprised +me was the ground of her dislike. "You know," she said, "it is all so +morbid." + +The pronouncement gave me food for an hour's anxious thought. Finally I +arrived at the conclusion that, making due allowances for the subject +itself being rather foreign to women's normal sensibilities, the lady +could not have been an Italian. I wonder whether she was European at +all? In any case, no Latin temperament would have perceived anything +morbid in the acute consciousness of lost honour. Such a consciousness +may be wrong, or it may be right, or it may be condemned as artificial; +and, perhaps, my Jim is not a type of wide commonness. But I can safely +assure my readers that he is not the product of coldly perverted +thinking. He's not a figure of Northern Mists either. One sunny morning +in the commonplace surroundings of an Eastern roadstead, I saw his form +pass by--appealing--significant--under a cloud--perfectly silent. Which +is as it should be. It was for me, with all the sympathy of which I was +capable, to seek fit words for his meaning. He was "one of us." + + J. C. + + June, 1917. + + + + +YOUTH + + +The three stories in this volume lay no claim to unity of artistic +purpose. The only bond between them is that of the time in which they +were written. They belong to the period immediately following the +publication of "The Nigger of the _Narcissus_," and preceding the first +conception of "Nostromo," two books which, it seems to me, stand apart +and by themselves in the body of my work. It is also the period during +which I contributed to _Maga_; a period dominated by "Lord Jim" and +associated in my grateful memory with the late Mr. William Blackwood's +encouraging and helpful kindness. + +"Youth" was not my first contribution to _Maga_. It was the second. But +that story marks the first appearance in the world of the man Marlow, +with whom my relations have grown very intimate in the course of years. +The origins of that gentleman (nobody as far as I know had ever hinted +that he was anything but that)--his origins have been the subject of +some literary speculation of, I am glad to say, a friendly nature. + +One would think that I am the proper person to throw a light on the +matter; but in truth I find that it isn't so easy. It is pleasant to +remember that nobody had charged him with fraudulent purposes or looked +down on him as a charlatan; but apart from that he was supposed to be +all sorts of things: a clever screen, a mere device, a "personator," a +familiar spirit, a whispering "dæmon." I myself have been suspected of +a meditated plan for his capture. + +That is not so. I made no plans. The man Marlow and I came together in +the casual manner of those health-resort acquaintances which sometimes +ripen into friendships. This one has ripened. For all his assertiveness +in matters of opinion he is not an intrusive person. He haunts my hours +of solitude, when, in silence, we lay our heads together in great +comfort and harmony; but as we part at the end of a tale I am never sure +that it may not be for the last time. Yet I don't think that either of +us would care much to survive the other. In his case, at any rate, his +occupation would be gone and he would suffer from that extinction, +because I suspect him of some vanity. I don't mean vanity in the +Solomonian sense. Of all my people he's the one that has never been a +vexation to my spirit. A most discreet, understanding man.... + +Even before appearing in book-form "Youth" was very well received. It +lies on me to confess at last, and this is as good a place for it as +another, that I have been all my life--all my two lives--the spoiled +adopted child of Great Britain and even of the Empire; for it was +Australia that gave me my first command. I break out into this +declaration not because of a lurking tendency to megalomania, but, on +the contrary, as a man who has no very notable illusions about himself. +I follow the instinct of vain-glory and humility natural to all mankind. +For it can hardly be denied that it is not their own deserts that men +are most proud of, but rather of their prodigious luck, of their +marvellous fortune: of that in their lives for which thanks and +sacrifices must be offered on the altars of the inscrutable gods. + +Heart of Darkness also received a certain amount of notice from the +first; and of its origins this much may be said: it is well known that +curious men go prying into all sorts of places (where they have no +business) and come out of them with all kinds of spoil. This story, and +one other, not in this volume, are all the spoil I brought out from the +centre of Africa, where, really, I had no sort of business. More +ambitious in its scope and longer in the telling, Heart of Darkness is +quite as authentic in fundamentals as Youth. It is, obviously, written +in another mood. I won't characterize the mood precisely, but anybody +can see that it is anything but the mood of wistful regret, of +reminiscent tenderness. + +One more remark may be added. Youth is a feat of memory. It is a record +of experience; but that experience, in its facts, in its inwardness and +in its outward colouring, begins and ends in myself. Heart of Darkness +is experience, too; but it is experience pushed a little (and only very +little) beyond the actual facts of the case for the perfectly +legitimate, I believe, purpose of bringing it home to the minds and +bosoms of the readers. There it was no longer a matter of sincere +colouring. It was like another art altogether. That sombre theme had to +be given a sinister resonance, a tonality of its own, a continued +vibration that, I hoped, would hang in the air and dwell on the ear +after the last note had been struck. + +After saying so much there remains the last tale of the book, still +untouched. The End of the Tether is a story of sea-life in a rather +special way; and the most intimate thing I can say of it is this: that +having lived that life fully, amongst its men, its thoughts and +sensations, I have found it possible, without the slightest misgiving, +in all sincerity of heart and peace of conscience, to conceive the +existence of Captain Whalley's personality and to relate the manner of +his end. This statement acquires some force from the circumstance that +the pages of that story--a fair half of the book--are also the product +of experience. That experience belongs (like "Youth's") to the time +before I ever thought of putting pen to paper. As to its "reality" that +is for the readers to determine. One had to pick up one's facts here and +there. More skill would have made them more real and the whole +composition more interesting. But here we are approaching the veiled +region of artistic values which it would be improper and indeed +dangerous for me to enter. I have looked over the proofs, have corrected +a misprint or two, have changed a word or two--and that's all. It is not +very likely that I shall ever read The End of the Tether again. No more +need be said. It accords best with my feelings to part from Captain +Whalley in affectionate silence. + + J. C. + + 1917. + + + + +TYPHOON + + +The main characteristic of this volume consists in this, that all the +stories composing it belong not only to the same period but have been +written one after another in the order in which they appear in the book. + +The period is that which follows on my connection with _Blackwood's +Magazine_. I had just finished writing The End of the Tether and was +casting about for some subject which could be developed in a shorter +form than the tales in the volume of "Youth" when the instance of a +steamship full of returning coolies from Singapore to some port in +northern China occurred to my recollection. Years before I had heard it +being talked about in the East as a recent occurrence. It was for us +merely one subject of conversation amongst many others of the kind. Men +earning their bread in any very specialized occupation will talk shop, +not only because it is the most vital interest of their lives but also +because they have not much knowledge of other subjects. They have never +had the time to get acquainted with them. Life, for most of us, is not +so much a hard as an exacting taskmaster. + +I never met anybody personally concerned in this affair, the interest of +which for us was, of course, not the bad weather but the extraordinary +complication brought into the ship's life at a moment of exceptional +stress by the human element below her deck. Neither was the story itself +ever enlarged upon in my hearing. In that company each of us could +imagine easily what the whole thing was like. The financial difficulty +of it, presenting also a human problem, was solved by a mind much too +simple to be perplexed by anything in the world except men's idle talk +for which it was not adapted. + +From the first the mere anecdote, the mere statement I might say, that +such a thing had happened on the high seas, appeared to me a sufficient +subject for meditation. Yet it was but a bit of a sea yarn after all. I +felt that to bring out its deeper significance which was quite apparent +to me, something other, something more was required; a leading motive +that would harmonize all these violent noises, and a point of view that +would put all that elemental fury into its proper place. + +What was needed of course was Captain MacWhirr. Directly I perceived him +I could see that he was the man for the situation. I don't mean to say +that I ever saw Captain MacWhirr in the flesh, or had ever come in +contact with his literal mind and his dauntless temperament. MacWhirr is +not an acquaintance of a few hours, or a few weeks, or a few months. He +is the product of twenty years of life. My own life. Conscious invention +had little to do with him. If it is true that Captain MacWhirr never +walked and breathed on this earth (which I find for my part extremely +difficult to believe) I can also assure my readers that he is perfectly +authentic. I may venture to assert the same of every aspect of the +story, while I confess that the particular typhoon of the tale was not a +typhoon of my actual experience. + +At its first appearance "Typhoon," the story, was classed by some +critics as a deliberately intended storm-piece. Others picked out +MacWhirr, in whom they perceived a definite symbolic intention. Neither +was exclusively my intention. Both the typhoon and Captain MacWhirr +presented themselves to me as the necessities of the deep conviction +with which I approached the subject of the story. It was their +opportunity. It was also my opportunity, and it would be vain to +discourse about what I made of it in a handful of pages, since the +pages themselves are here, between the covers of this volume, to speak +for themselves. + +This is a belated reflection. If it had occurred to me before it would +have perhaps done away with the existence of this Author's Note; for, +indeed, the same remark applies to every story in this volume. None of +them are stories of experience in the absolute sense of the word. +Experience in them is but the canvas of the attempted picture. Each of +them has its more than one intention. With each the question is what the +writer has done with his opportunity; and each answers the question for +itself in words which, if I may say so without undue solemnity, were +written with a conscientious regard for the truth of my own sensations. +And each of those stories, to mean something, must justify itself in its +own way to the conscience of each successive reader. + +Falk--the second story in the volume--offended the delicacy of one +critic at least by certain peculiarities of its subject. But what is the +subject of Falk? I personally do not feel so very certain about it. He +who reads must find out for himself. My intention in writing Falk was +not to shock anybody. As in most of my writings I insist not on the +events but on their effect upon the persons in the tale. But in +everything I have written there is always one invariable intention, and +that is to capture the reader's attention, by securing his interest and +enlisting his sympathies for the matter in hand, whatever it may be, +within the limits of the visible world and within the boundaries of +human emotions. + +I may safely say that Falk is absolutely true to my experience of +certain straightforward characters combining a perfectly natural +ruthlessness with a certain amount of moral delicacy. Falk obeys the law +of self-preservation without the slightest misgivings as to right, but +at a crucial turn of that ruthlessly preserved life he will not +condescend to dodge the truth. As he is presented as sensitive enough to +be affected permanently by a certain unusual experience, that experience +had to be set by me before the reader vividly; but it is not the subject +of the tale. If we go by mere facts then the subject is Falk's attempt +to get married; in which the narrator of the tale finds himself +unexpectedly involved both on its ruthless and its delicate side. + +Falk shares with one other of my stories (The Return in the "Tales of +Unrest" volume) the distinction of never having been serialized. I think +the copy was shown to the editor of some magazine who rejected it +indignantly on the sole ground that "the girl never says anything." This +is perfectly true. From first to last Hermann's niece utters no word in +the tale--and it is not because she is dumb, but for the simple reason +that whenever she happens to come under the observation of the narrator +she has either no occasion or is too profoundly moved to speak. The +editor, who obviously had read the story, might have perceived that for +himself. Apparently he did not, and I refrained from pointing out the +impossibility to him because, since he did not venture to say that "the +girl" did not live, I felt no concern at his indignation. + +All the other stories were serialized. "Typhoon" appeared in the early +numbers of the _Pall Mall Magazine_, then under the direction of the +late Mr. Halkett. It was on that occasion too, that I saw for the first +time my conceptions rendered by an artist in another medium. Mr. Maurice +Greiffenhagen knew how to combine in his illustrations the effect of +his own most distinguished personal vision with an absolute fidelity to +the inspiration of the writer. Amy Foster was published in _The +Illustrated London News_ with a fine drawing of Amy on her day out +giving tea to the children at her home in a hat with a big feather. +To-morrow appeared first in the _Pall Mall Magazine_. Of that story I +will only say that it struck many people by its adaptability to the +stage and that I was induced to dramatize it under the title of "One Day +More"; up to the present my only effort in that direction. I may also +add that each of the four stories on their appearance in book form was +picked out on various grounds as the "best of the lot" by different +critics, who reviewed the volume with a warmth of appreciation and +understanding, a sympathetic insight and a friendliness of expression +for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + +NOSTROMO + + +"Nostromo" is the most anxiously meditated of the longer novels which +belong to the period following upon the publication of the "Typhoon" +volume of short stories. + +I don't mean to say that I became then conscious of any impending change +in my mentality and in my attitude towards the tasks of my writing life. +And perhaps there was never any change, except in that mysterious, +extraneous thing which has nothing to do with the theories of art; a +subtle change in the nature of the inspiration; a phenomenon for which I +can not in any way be held responsible. What, however, did cause me some +concern was that after finishing the last story of the "Typhoon" volume +it seemed somehow that there was nothing more in the world to write +about. + +This so strangely negative but disturbing mood lasted some little time; +and then, as with many of my longer stories, the first hint for +"Nostromo" came to me in the shape of a vagrant anecdote completely +destitute of valuable details. + +As a matter of fact in 1875 or '6, when very young, in the West Indies +or rather in the Gulf of Mexico, for my contacts with land were short, +few, and fleeting, I heard the story of some man who was supposed to +have stolen single-handed a whole lighter-full of silver, somewhere on +the Tierra Firme seaboard during the troubles of a revolution. + +On the face of it this was something of a feat. But I heard no details, +and having no particular interest in crime _qua_ crime I was not likely +to keep that one in my mind. And I forgot it till twenty-six or seven +years afterwards I came upon the very thing in a shabby volume picked up +outside a second-hand book-shop. It was the life story of an American +seaman written by himself with the assistance of a journalist. In the +course of his wanderings that American sailor worked for some months on +board a schooner, the master and owner of which was the thief of whom I +had heard in my very young days. I have no doubt of that because there +could hardly have been two exploits of the peculiar kind in the same +part of the world and both connected with a South American revolution. + +The fellow had actually managed to steal a lighter with silver, and +this, it seems only because he was implicitly trusted by his employers, +who must have been singularly poor judges of character. In the sailor's +story he is represented as an unmitigated rascal, a small cheat, +stupidly ferocious, morose, of mean appearance, and altogether unworthy +of the greatness this opportunity had thrust upon him. What was +interesting was that he would boast of it openly. + +He used to say: "People think I make a lot of money in this schooner of +mine. But that is nothing. I don't care for that. Now and then I go away +quietly and lift a bar of silver. I must get rich slowly--you +understand." + +There was also another curious point about the man. Once in the course +of some quarrel the sailor threatened him: "What's to prevent me +reporting ashore what you have told me about that silver?" + +The cynical ruffian was not alarmed in the least. He actually laughed. +"You fool, if you dare talk like that on shore about me you will get a +knife stuck in your back. Every man, woman, and child in that port is my +friend. And who's to prove the lighter wasn't sunk? I didn't show you +where the silver is hidden. Did I? So you know nothing. And suppose I +lied? Eh?" + +Ultimately the sailor, disgusted with the sordid meanness of that +impenitent thief, deserted from the schooner. The whole episode takes +about three pages of his autobiography. Nothing to speak of; but as I +looked them over, the curious confirmation of the few casual words heard +in my early youth evoked the memories of that distant time when +everything was so fresh, so surprising, so venturesome, so interesting; +bits of strange coasts under the stars, shadows of hills in the +sunshine, men's passions in the dusk, gossip half-forgotten, faces grown +dim.... Perhaps, perhaps, there still was in the world something to +write about. Yet I did not see anything at first in the mere story. A +rascal steals a large parcel of a valuable commodity--so people say. +It's either true or untrue; and in any case it has no value in itself. +To invent a circumstantial account of the robbery did not appeal to me, +because my talents not running that way I did not think that the game +was worth the candle. It was only when it dawned upon me that the +purloiner of the treasure need not necessarily be a confirmed rogue, +that he could be even a man of character, an actor and possibly a victim +in the changing scenes of a revolution, it was only then that I had the +first vision of a twilight country which was to become the province of +Sulaco, with its high shadowy Sierra and its misty Campo for mute +witnesses of events flowing from the passions of men short-sighted in +good and evil. + +Such are in very truth the obscure origins of "Nostromo"--the book. From +that moment, I suppose, it had to be. Yet even then I hesitate, as if +warned by the instinct of self-preservation from venturing on a distant +and toilsome journey into a land full of intrigues and revolutions. But +it had to be done. + +It took the best part of the years 1903-4 to do; with many intervals of +renewed hesitation, lest I should lose myself in the ever-enlarging +vistas opening before me as I progressed deeper in my knowledge of the +country. Often, also, when I had thought myself to a standstill over the +tangled-up affairs of the Republic, I would, figuratively speaking, pack +my bag, rush away from Sulaco for a change of air and write a few pages +of "The Mirror of the Sea." But generally, as I've said before, my +sojourn on the Continent of Latin America, famed for its hospitality, +lasted for about two years. On my return I found (speaking somewhat in +the style of Captain Gulliver) my family all well, my wife heartily +glad to learn that the fuss was all over, and our small boy considerably +grown during my absence. + +My principal authority for the history of Costaguana is, of course, my +venerated friend, the late Don José Avellanos, Minister to the Courts of +England and Spain, etc., etc., in his impartial and eloquent "History of +Fifty Years of Misrule." That work was never published--the reader will +discover why--and I am in fact the only person in the world possessed of +its contents. I have mastered them in not a few hours of earnest +meditation, and I hope that my accuracy will be trusted. In justice to +myself, and to allay the fears of prospective readers, I beg to point +out that the few historical allusions are never dragged in for the sake +of parading my unique erudition, but that each of them is closely +related to actuality; either throwing a light on the nature of current +events or affecting directly the fortunes of the people of whom I speak. + +As to their own histories I have tried to set them down, Aristocracy and +People, men and women, Latin and Anglo-Saxon, bandit and politician, +with as cool a hand as was possible in the heat and clash of my own +conflicting emotions. And after all this is also the story of their +conflicts. It is for the reader to say how far they are deserving of +interest in their actions and in the secret purposes of their hearts +revealed in the bitter necessities of the time. I confess that, for me, +that time is the time of firm friendships and unforgotten hospitalities. +And in my gratitude I must mention here Mrs. Gould, "the first lady of +Sulaco," whom we may safely leave to the secret devotion of Dr. +Monygham, and Charles Gould, the Idealist-creator of Material Interests +whom we must leave to his Mine--from which there is no escape in this +world. + +About Nostromo, the second of the two racially and socially contrasted +men, both captured by the silver of the San Tomé Mine, I feel bound to +say something more. + +I did not hesitate to make that central figure an Italian. First of all +the thing is perfectly credible: Italians were swarming into the +Occidental Province at the time, as anybody who will read further can +see; and secondly, there was no one who could stand so well by the side +of Giorgio Viola the Garibaldino, the Idealist of the old, humanitarian +revolutions. For myself I needed there a man of the People as free as +possible from his class-conventions and all settled modes of thinking. +This is not a side snarl at conventions. My reasons were not moral but +artistic. Had he been an Anglo-Saxon he would have tried to get into +local politics. But Nostromo does not aspire to be a leader in a +personal game. He does not want to raise himself above the mass. He is +content to feel himself a power--within the People. + +But mainly Nostromo is what he is because I received the inspiration for +him in my early days from a Mediterranean sailor. Those who have read +certain pages of mine will see at once what I mean when I say that +Dominic, the padrone of the _Tremolino_, might under given circumstances +have been a Nostromo. At any rate Dominic would have understood the +younger man perfectly--if scornfully. He and I were engaged together in +a rather absurd adventure, but the absurdity does not matter. It is a +real satisfaction to think that in my very young days there must, after +all, have been something in me worthy to command that man's half-bitter +fidelity, his half-ironic devotion. Many of Nostromo's speeches I have +heard first in Dominic's voice. His hand on the tiller and his fearless +eyes roaming the horizon from within the monkish hood shadowing his +face, he would utter the usual exordium of his remorseless wisdom: "Vous +autres gentilhommes!" in a caustic tone that hangs on my ear yet. Like +Nostromo! "You hombres finos!" Very much like Nostromo. But Dominic the +Corsican nursed a certain pride of ancestry from which my Nostromo is +free; for Nostromo's lineage had to be more ancient still. He is a man +with the weight of countless generations behind him and no parentage to +boast of.... Like the People. + +In his firm grip on the earth he inherits, in his improvidence and +generosity, in his lavishness with his gifts, in his manly vanity, in +the obscure sense of his greatness and in his faithful devotion with +something despairing as well as desperate in its impulses, he is a Man +of the People, their very own unenvious force, disdaining to lead but +ruling from within. Years afterwards, grown older as the famous Captain +Fidanza, with a stake in the country, going about his many affairs +followed by respectful glances in the modernized streets of Sulaco, +calling on the widow of the cargador, attending the Lodge, listening in +unmoved silence to anarchist speeches at the meeting, the enigmatical +patron of the new revolutionary agitation, the trusted, the wealthy +comrade Fidanza with the knowledge of his moral ruin locked up in his +breast, he remains essentially a man of the People. In his mingled love +and scorn of life and in the bewildered conviction of having been +betrayed, of dying betrayed he hardly knows by what or by whom, he is +still of the People, their undoubted Great Man--with a private history +of his own. + +One more figure of those stirring times I would like to mention: and +that is Antonia Avellanos--the "beautiful Antonia." Whether she is a +possible variation of Latin-American girlhood I wouldn't dare to affirm. +But, for me, she _is_. Always a little in the background by the side of +her father (my venerated friend) I hope she has yet relief enough to +make intelligible what I am going to say. Of all the people who had seen +with me the birth of the Occidental Republic, she is the only one who +has kept in my memory the aspect of continued life. Antonia the +Aristocrat and Nostromo the Man of the People are the artisans of the +New Era, the true creators of the New State; he by his legendary and +daring feat, she, like a woman, simply by the force of what she is: the +only being capable of inspiring a sincere passion in the heart of a +trifler. + +If anything could induce me to revisit Sulaco (I should hate to see all +these changes) it would be Antonia. And the true reason for that--why +not be frank about it?--the true reason is that I have modelled her on +my first love. How we, a band of tallish school-boys, the chums of her +two brothers, how we used to look up to that girl just out of the +schoolroom herself, as the standard-bearer of a faith to which we all +were born but which she alone knew how to hold aloft with an unflinching +hope! She had perhaps more glow and less serenity in her soul than +Antonia, but she was an uncompromising Puritan of patriotism with no +taint of the slightest worldliness in her thoughts. I was not the only +one in love with her; but it was I who had to hear oftenest her scathing +criticism of my levities--very much like poor Decoud--or stand the brunt +of her austere, unanswerable invective. She did not quite +understand--but never mind. That afternoon when I came in, a shrinking +yet defiant sinner, to say the final good-bye I received a hand-squeeze +that made my heart leap and saw a tear that took my breath away. She was +softened at the last as though she had suddenly perceived (we were such +children still!) that I was really going away for good, going very far +away--even as far as Sulaco, lying unknown, hidden from our eyes in the +darkness of the Placid Gulf. + +That's why I long sometimes for another glimpse of the "beautiful +Antonia" (or can it be the Other?) moving in the dimness of the great +cathedral, saying a short prayer at the tomb of the first and last +Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco, standing absorbed in filial devotion +before the monument of Don José Avellanos, and, with a lingering, +tender, faithful glance at the medallion-memorial to Martin Decoud, +going out serenely into the sunshine of the Plaza with her upright +carriage and her white head; a relic of the past disregarded by men +awaiting impatiently the Dawns of other New Eras, the coming of more +Revolutions. + +But this is the idlest of dreams; for I did understand perfectly well at +the time that the moment the breath left the body of the Magnificent +Capataz, the Man of the People, freed at last from the toils of love and +wealth, there was nothing more for me to do in Sulaco. + + J. C. + + October, 1917. + + + + +MIRROR OF THE SEA + + +Less perhaps than any other book written by me, or anybody else, does +this volume require a Preface. Yet since all the others including even +the "Personal Record", which is but a fragment of biography, are to have +their Author's Notes, I cannot possibly leave this one without, lest a +false impression of indifference or weariness should be created. I can +see only too well that it is not going to be an easy task. +Necessity--the mother of invention--being even unthinkable in this case, +I do not know what to invent in the way of discourse; and necessity +being also the greatest possible incentive to exertion I don't even know +how to begin to exert myself. Here too the natural inclination comes in. +I have been all my life averse from exertion. + +Under these discouraging circumstances I am, however, bound to proceed +from a sense of duty. This Note is a thing promised. In less than a +minute's time by a few incautious words I entered into a bond which has +lain on my heart heavily ever since. + +For, this book is a very intimate revelation; and what that is revealing +can a few more pages add to some three hundred others of most sincere +disclosures? I have attempted here to lay bare with the unreserve of a +last hour's confession the terms of my relation with the sea, which +beginning mysteriously, like any great passion the inscrutable Gods send +to mortals, went on unreasoning and invincible, surviving the test of +disillusion, defying the disenchantment that lurks in every day of a +strenuous life; went on full of love's delight and love's anguish, +facing them in open-eyed exultation, without bitterness and without +repining, from the first hour to the last. + +Subjugated but never unmanned I surrendered my being to that passion +which various and great like life itself had also its periods of +wonderful serenity which even a fickle mistress can give sometimes on +her soothed breast, full of wiles, full of fury, and yet capable of an +enchanting sweetness. And if anybody suggest that this must be the lyric +illusion of an old, romantic heart, I can answer that for twenty years I +had lived like a hermit with my passion! Beyond the line of the sea +horizon the world for me did not exist as assuredly as it does not exist +for the mystics who take refuge on the tops of high mountains. I am +speaking now of that innermost life, containing the best and the worst +that can happen to us in the temperamental depths of our being, where a +man indeed must live alone but need not give up all hope of holding +converse with his kind. + +This perhaps is enough for me to say on this particular occasion about +these, my parting words, about this, my last mood in my great passion +for the sea. I call it great because it was great to me. Others may call +it a foolish infatuation. Those words have been applied to every love +story. But whatever it may be the fact remains that it was something too +great for words. + +This is what I always felt vaguely; and therefore the following pages +rest like a true confession on matters of fact which to a friendly and +charitable person may convey the inner truth of almost a life-time. From +sixteen to thirty-six cannot be called an age, yet it is a pretty long +stretch of that sort of experience which teaches a man slowly to see and +feel. It is for me a distinct period; and when I emerged from it into +another air, as it were, and said to myself: "Now I must speak of these +things or remain unknown to the end of my days," it was with the +ineradicable hope, that accompanies one through solitude as well as +through a crowd, of ultimately, some day, at some moment, making myself +understood. + +And I have been! I have been understood as completely as it is possible +to be understood in this, our world, which seems to be mostly composed +of riddles. There have been things said about this book which have moved +me profoundly; the more profoundly because they were uttered by men +whose occupation was avowedly to understand, and analyze, and +expound--in a word, by literary critics. They spoke out according to +their conscience, and some of them said things that made me feel both +glad and sorry of ever having entered upon my confession. Dimly or +clearly, they perceived the character of my intention and ended by +judging me worthy to have made the attempt. They saw it was of a +revealing character, but in some cases they thought that the revelation +was not complete. + +One of them said: "In reading these chapters one is always hoping for +the revelation; but the personality is never quite revealed. We can only +say that this thing happened to Mr. Conrad, that he knew such a man and +that thus life passed him leaving those memories. They are the records +of the events of his life, not in every instance striking or decisive +events but rather those haphazard events which for no definite reason +impress themselves upon the mind and recur in memory long afterward as +symbols of one knows not what sacred ritual taking place behind the +veil." + +To this I can only say that this book written in perfect sincerity holds +back nothing--unless the mere bodily presence of the writer. Within +these pages I make a full confession not of my sins but of my emotions. +It is the best tribute my piety can offer to the ultimate shapers of my +character, convictions, and, in a sense, destiny--to the imperishable +sea, to the ships that are no more and to the simple men who have had +their day. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + +THE SECRET AGENT + + +The origin of "The Secret Agent": subject, treatment, artistic purpose +and every other motive that may induce an author to take up his pen, +can, I believe, be traced to a period of mental and emotional reaction. + +The actual facts are that I began this book impulsively and wrote it +continuously. When in due course it was bound and delivered to the +public gaze I found myself reproved for having produced it at all. Some +of the admonitions were severe, others had a sorrowful note. I have not +got them textually before me but I remember perfectly the general +argument, which was very simple; and also my surprise at its nature. All +this sounds a very old story now! And yet it is not such a long time +ago. I must conclude that I had still preserved much of my pristine +innocence in the year 1907. It seems to me now that even an artless +person might have foreseen that some criticisms would be based on the +ground of sordid surroundings and the moral squalor of the tale. + +That, of course, is a serious objection. It was not universal. In fact, +it seems ungracious to remember so little reproof amongst so much +intelligent and sympathetic appreciation; and I trust that the readers +of this Preface will not hasten to put it down to wounded vanity of a +natural disposition to ingratitude. I suggest that a charitable heart +could very well ascribe my choice to natural modesty. Yet it isn't +exactly modesty that makes me select reproof for the illustration of my +case. No, it isn't exactly modesty. I am not at all certain that I am +modest; but those who have read so far through my work will credit me +with enough decency, tact, savoir faire, what you will, to prevent me +from making a song for my own glory out of the words of other people. +No! The true motive of my selection lies in quite a different trait. I +have always had a propensity to justify my action. Not to defend. To +justify. Not to insist that I was right but simply to explain that there +was no perverse intention, no secret scorn for the natural sensibilities +of mankind at the bottom of my impulses. + +That kind of weakness is dangerous only so far that it exposes one to +the risk of becoming a bore; for the world generally is not interested +in the motives of any overt act but in its consequences. Man may smile +and smile but he is not an investigating animal. He loves the obvious. +He shrinks from explanations. Yet I will go on with mine. It's obvious +that I need not have written that book. I was under no necessity to deal +with that subject; using the word subject both in the sense of the tale +itself and in the larger one of a special manifestation in the life of +mankind. This I fully admit. But the thought of elaborating mere +ugliness in order to shock, or even simply to surprise my readers by a +change of front, has never entered my head. In making this statement I +expect to be believed, not only on the evidence of my general character +but also for the reason, which anybody can see, that the whole treatment +of the tale, its inspiring indignation and underlying pity and contempt, +prove my detachment from the squalor and sordidness which lie simply in +the outward circumstances of the setting. + +The inception of "The Secret Agent" followed immediately on a two +years' period of intense absorption in the task of writing that remote +novel, "Nostromo," with its far off Latin-American atmosphere; and the +profoundly personal "Mirror of the Sea." The first an intense creative +effort on what I suppose will always remain my largest canvas, the +second an unreserved attempt to unveil for a moment the profounder +intimacies of the sea and the formative influences of nearly half my +life-time. It was a period, too, in which my sense of the truth of +things was attended by a very intense imaginative and emotional +readiness which, all genuine and faithful to facts as it was, yet made +me feel (the task once done) as if I were left behind, aimless amongst +mere husks of sensations and lost in a world of other, of inferior, +values. + +I don't know whether I really felt that I wanted a change, change in my +imagination, in my vision and in my mental attitude. I rather think that +a change in the fundamental mood had already stolen over me unawares. I +don't remember anything definite happening. With "The Mirror of the Sea" +finished in the full consciousness that I had dealt honestly with myself +and my readers in every line of that book, I gave myself up to a not +unhappy pause. Then, while I was yet standing still, as it were, and +certainly not thinking of going out of my way to look for anything ugly, +the subject of "The Secret Agent"--I mean the tale--came to me in the +shape of a few words uttered by a friend in a casual conversation about +anarchists or rather anarchist activities; how brought about I don't +remember now. + +I remember, however, remarking on the criminal futility of the whole +thing, doctrine, action, mentality; and on the contemptible aspect of +the half-crazy pose as of a brazen cheat exploiting the poignant +miseries and passionate credulities of a mankind always so tragically +eager for self-destruction. That was what made for me its philosophical +pretences so unpardonable. Presently, passing to particular instances, +we recalled the already old story of the attempt to blow up the +Greenwich Observatory; a blood-stained inanity of so fatuous a kind that +it was impossible to fathom its origin by any reasonable or even +unreasonable process of thought. For perverse unreason has its own +logical processes. But that outrage could not be laid hold of mentally +in any sort of way, so that one remained faced by the fact of a man +blown to bits for nothing even most remotely resembling an idea, +anarchistic or other. As to the outer wall of the Observatory it did not +show as much as the faintest crack. + +I pointed all this out to my friend who remained silent for a while and +then remarked in his characteristically casual and omniscient manner: +"Oh, that fellow was half on idiot. His sister committed suicide +afterwards." These were absolutely the only words that passed between +us; for extreme surprise at this unexpected piece of information kept me +dumb for a moment and he began at once to talk of something else. It +never occurred to me later to ask how he arrived at his knowledge. I am +sure that if he had seen once in his life the back of an anarchist that +must have been the whole extent of his connection with the underworld. +He was, however, a man who liked to talk with all sorts of people, and +he may have gathered those illuminating facts at second or third hand, +from a crossing-sweeper, from a retired police officer, from some vague +man in his club, or even, perhaps, from a Minister of State met at some +public or private reception. + +Of the illuminating quality there could be no doubt whatever. One felt +like walking out of a forest on to a plain--there was not much to see +but one had plenty of light. No, there was not much to see and, frankly, +for a considerable time I didn't even attempt to perceive anything. It +was only the illuminating impression that remained. It remained +satisfactory but in a passive way. Then, about a week later, I came upon +a book which as far as I know had never attained any prominence, the +rather summary recollections of an Assistant Commissioner of Police, an +obviously able man with a strong religious strain in his character who +was appointed to his post at the time of the dynamite outrages in +London, away back in the eighties. The book was fairly interesting, very +discreet of course; and I have by now forgotten the bulk of its +contents. It contained no revelations, it ran over the surface +agreeably, and that was all. I won't even try to explain why I should +have been arrested by a little passage of about seven lines, in which +the author (I believe his name was Anderson) reproduced a short dialogue +held in the Lobby of the House of Commons after some unexpected +anarchist outrage, with the Home Secretary. I think it was Sir William +Harcourt then. He was very much irritated and the official was very +apologetic. The phrase, amongst the three which passed between them, +that struck me most was Sir W. Harcourt's angry sally: "All that's very +well. But your idea of secrecy over there seems to consist of keeping +the Home Secretary in the dark." Characteristic enough of Sir W. +Harcourt's temper but not much in itself. There must have been, however, +some sort of atmosphere in the whole incident because all of a sudden I +felt myself stimulated. And then ensued in my mind what a student of +chemistry would best understand from the analogy of the addition of the +tiniest little drop of the right kind, precipitating the process of +crystallization in a test tube containing some colourless solution. + +It was at first for me a mental change, disturbing a quieted-down +imagination, in which strange forms, sharp in outline but imperfectly +apprehended, appeared and claimed attention as crystals will do by their +bizarre and unexpected shapes. One fell to musing before the +phenomenon--even of the past: of South America, a continent of crude +sunshine and brutal revolutions, of the sea, the vast expanse of salt +waters, the mirror of heaven's frowns and smiles, the reflector of the +world's light. Then the vision of an enormous town presented itself, of +a monstrous town more populous than some continents and in its man-made +might as if indifferent to heaven's frowns and smiles; a cruel devourer +of the world's light. There was room enough there to place any story, +depth enough there for any passion, variety enough there for any +setting, darkness enough to bury five millions of lives. + +Irresistibly the town became the background for the ensuing period of +deep and tentative meditations. Endless vistas opened before me in +various directions. It would take years to find the right way! It seemed +to take years!... Slowly the dawning conviction of Mrs. Verloc's +maternal passion grew up to a flame between me and that background, +tingeing it with its secret ardour and receiving from it in exchange +some of its own sombre colouring. At last the story of Winnie Verloc +stood out complete from the days of her childhood to the end, +unproportioned as yet, with everything still on the first plan, as it +were; but ready now to be dealt with. It was a matter of about three +days. + +_This_ book is _that_ story, reduced to manageable proportions, its +whole course suggested and centred round the absurd cruelty of the +Greenwich Park explosion. I had there a task I will not say arduous but +of the most absorbing difficulty. But it had to be done. It was a +necessity. The figures grouped about Mrs. Verloc and related directly or +indirectly to her tragic suspicion that "life doesn't stand much looking +into," are the outcome of that very necessity. Personally I have never +had any doubt of the reality of Mrs. Verloc's story; but it had to be +disengaged from its obscurity in that immense town, it had to be made +credible, I don't mean so much as to her soul but as to her +surroundings, not so much as to her psychology but as to her humanity. +For the surroundings hints were not lacking. I had to fight hard to keep +at arms-length the memories of my solitary and nocturnal walks all over +London in my early days, lest they should rush in and overwhelm each +page of the story as these emerged one after another from a mood as +serious in feeling and thought as any in which I ever wrote a line. In +that respect I really think that "The Secret Agent" is a perfectly +genuine piece of work. Even the purely artistic purpose, that of +applying an ironic method to a subject of that kind, was formulated with +deliberation and in the earnest belief that ironic treatment alone would +enable me to say all I felt I would have to say in scorn as well as in +pity. It is one of the minor satisfactions of my writing life that +having taken that resolve I did manage, it seems to me, to carry it +right through to the end. As to the personages whom the absolute +necessity of the case--Mrs. Verloc's case--brings out in front of the +London background, from them, too, I obtained those little satisfactions +which really count for so much against the mass of oppressive doubts +that haunt so persistently on every attempt at creative work. For +instance, of Mr. Vladimir himself (who was fair game for a caricatural +presentation) I was gratified to hear that an experienced man of the +world had said "that Conrad must have been in touch with that sphere or +else has an excellent intuition of things," because Mr. Vladimir was +"not only possible in detail but quite right in essentials." Then a +visitor from America informed me that all sorts of revolutionary +refugees in New York would have it that the book was written by somebody +who knew a lot about them. This seemed to me a very high compliment, +considering that, as a matter of hard fact, I had seen even less of +their kind than the omniscient friend who gave me the first suggestion +for the novel. I have no doubt, however, that there had been moments +during the writing of the book when I was an extreme revolutionist, I +won't say more convinced than they but certainly cherishing a more +concentrated purpose than any of them had ever done in the whole course +of his life. I don't say this to boast. I was simply attending to my +business. In the matter of all my books I have always attended to my +business. I have attended to it with complete self-surrender. And this +statement, too, is not a boast. I could not have done otherwise. It +would have bored me too much to make-believe. + +The suggestions for certain personages of the tale, both law-abiding and +lawless, came from various sources which, perhaps, here and there, some +reader may have recognized. They are not very recondite. But I am not +concerned here to legitimize any of those people, and even as to my +general view of the moral reactions as between the criminal and the +police all I will venture to say is that it seems to me to be at least +arguable. + +The twelve years that have elapsed since the publication of the book +have not changed my attitude. I do not regret having written it. Lately, +circumstances, which have nothing to do with the general tenor of this +Preface, have compelled me to strip this tale of the literary robe of +indignant scorn it has cost me so much to fit on it decently, years ago. +I have been forced, so to speak, to look upon its bare bones. I confess +that it makes a grisly skeleton. But still I will submit that telling +Winnie Verloc's story to its anarchistic end of utter desolation, +madness and despair, and telling it as I have told it here, I have not +intended to commit gratuitous outrage on the feelings of mankind. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +A SET OF SIX + + +The six stories in this volume are the result of some three or four +years of occasional work. The dates of their writing are far apart, +their origins are various. None of them are connected directly with +personal experiences. In all of them the facts are inherently true, by +which I mean that they are not only possible but that they have actually +happened. For instance, the last story in the volume the one I call +Pathetic, whose first title is Il Conde (mis-spelt by-the-by) is an +almost verbatim transcript of the tale told me by a very charming old +gentleman whom I met in Italy. I don't mean to say it is only that. +Anybody can see that it is something more than a verbatim report, but +where he left off and where I began must be left to the acute +discrimination of the reader who may be interested in the problem. I +don't mean to say that the problem is worth the trouble. What I am +certain of, however, is that it is not to be solved, for I am not at all +clear about it myself by this time. All I can say is that the +personality of the narrator was extremely suggestive quite apart from +the story he was telling me. I heard a few years ago that he had died +far away from his beloved Naples where that "abominable adventure" did +really happen to him. + +Thus the genealogy of Il Conde is simple. It is not the case with the +other stories. Various strains contributed to their composition, and the +nature of many of those I have forgotten, not having the habit of making +notes either before or after the fact. I mean the fact of writing a +story. What I remember best about Caspar Ruiz is that it was written, or +at any rate begun, within a month of finishing "Nostromo," but apart +from the locality, and that a pretty wide one (all the South American +Continent), the novel and the story have nothing in common, neither +mood, nor intention and, certainly, not the style. The manner for the +most part is that of General Santierra, and that old warrior, I note +with satisfaction, is very true to himself all through. Looking now +dispassionately at the various ways in which this story could have been +presented I can't honestly think the General superfluous. It is he, an +old man talking of the days of his youth, who characterizes the whole +narrative and gives it an air of actuality which I doubt whether I could +have achieved without his help. In the mere writing his existence of +course was of no help at all, because the whole thing had to be +carefully kept within the frame of his simple mind. But all this is but +a laborious searching of memories. My present feeling is that the story +could not have been told otherwise. The hint for Gaspar Ruiz, the man, I +found in a book by Captain Basil Hall, R. N., who was for some time, +between the years 1824 and 1828, senior officer of a small British +Squadron on the West Coast of South America. His book published in the +thirties obtained a certain celebrity and I suppose is to be found still +in some libraries. The curious who may be mistrusting my imagination are +referred to that printed document, Vol. II, I forget the page, but it is +somewhere not far from the end. Another document connected with this +story is a letter of a biting and ironic kind from a friend then in +Burma, passing certain strictures upon "the gentleman with the gun on +his back" which I do not intend to make accessible to the public. Yet +the gun episode did really happen, or at least I am bound to believe it +because I remember it, described in an extremely matter-of-fact tone, in +some book I read in my boyhood; and I am not going to discard the +beliefs of my boyhood for anybody on earth. + +The Brute, which is the only sea-story in the volume, is, like Il Conde, +associated with a direct narrative and based on a suggestion gathered on +warm human lips. I will not disclose the real name of the criminal ship +but the first I heard of her homicidal habits was from the late Captain +Blake, commanding a London ship in which I served in 1884 as Second +Officer. Captain Blake was, of all my commanders, the one I remember +with the greatest affection. I have sketched in his personality, without +however mentioning his name, in the first paper of "The Mirror of the +Sea." In his young days he had had a personal experience of the brute +and it is perhaps for that reason that I have put the story into the +mouth of a young man and made of it what the reader will see. The +existence of the brute was a fact. The end of the brute as related in +the story is also a fact, well-known at the time though it really +happened to another ship, of great beauty of form and of blameless +character, which certainly deserved a better fate. I have unscrupulously +adapted it to the needs of my story thinking that I had there something +in the nature of poetical justice. I hope that little villainy will not +cast a shadow upon the general honesty of my proceedings as a writer of +tales. + +Of The Informer and The Anarchist I will say next to nothing. The +pedigree of these tales is hopelessly complicated and not worth +disentangling at this distance of time. I found them and here they are. +The discriminating reader will guess that I have found them within my +mind; but how they or their elements came in there I have forgotten for +the most part; and for the rest I really don't see why I should give +myself away more than I have done already. + +It remains for me only now to mention The Duel, the longest story in the +book. That story attained the dignity of publication all by itself in a +small illustrated volume, under the title, "The Point of Honour." That +was many years ago. It has been since reinstated in its proper place, +which is the place it occupies in this volume, in all the subsequent +editions of my work. Its pedigree is extremely simple. It springs from a +ten-line paragraph in a small provincial paper published in the South of +France. That paragraph, occasioned by a duel with a fatal ending between +two well-known Parisian personalities, referred for some reason or +other to the "well-known fact" of two officers in Napoleon's Grand Army +having fought a series of duels in the midst of great wars and on some +futile pretext. The pretext was never disclosed. I had therefore to +invent it; and I think that, given the character of the two officers +which I had to invent, too, I have made it sufficiently convincing by +the mere force of its absurdity. The truth is that in my mind the story +is nothing but a serious and even earnest attempt at a bit of historical +fiction. I had heard in my boyhood a good deal of the great Napoleonic +legend. I had a genuine feeling that I would find myself at home in it, +and The Duel is the result of that feeling, or, if the reader prefers, +of that presumption. Personally I have no qualms of conscience about +this piece of work. The story might have been better told of course. All +one's work might have been better done; but this is the sort of +reflection a worker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every +one of his conceptions to remain for ever a private vision, an +evanescent reverie. How many of those visions have I seen vanish in my +time! This one, however, has remained, a testimony, if you like, to my +courage or a proof of my rashness. What I care to remember best is the +testimony of some French readers who volunteered the opinion that in +those hundred pages or so I had managed to render "wonderfully" the +spirit of the whole epoch. Exaggeration of kindness no doubt; but even +so I hug it still to my breast, because in truth that is exactly what I +was trying to capture in my small net: the Spirit of the Epoch--never +purely militarist in the long clash of arms, youthful, almost childlike +in its exaltation of sentiment--naïvely heroic in its faith. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +UNDER WESTERN EYES + + +It must be admitted that by the mere force of circumstances "Under +Western Eyes" has become already a sort of historical novel dealing with +the past. + +This reflection bears entirely upon the events of the tale; but being as +a whole an attempt to render not so much the political state as the +psychology of Russia itself, I venture to hope that it has not lost all +its interest. I am encouraged in this flattering belief by noticing +that in many articles on Russian affairs of the present day reference is +made to certain sayings and opinions uttered in the pages that follow, +in a manner testifying to the clearness of my vision and the correctness +of my judgment. I need not say that in writing this novel I had no other +object in view than to express imaginatively the general truth which +underlies its action, together with my honest convictions as to the +moral complexion of certain facts more or less known to the whole world. + +As to the actual creation I may say that when I began to write I had a +distinct conception of the first part only, with the three figures of +Haldin, Razumov, and Councillor Mikulin, defined exactly in my mind. It +was only after I had finished writing the first part that the whole +story revealed itself to me in its tragic character and in the march of +its events as unavoidable and sufficiently ample in its outline to give +free play to my creative instinct and to the dramatic possibilities of +the subject. + +The course of action need not be explained. It has suggested itself more +as a matter of feeling than a matter of thinking. It is the result not +of a special experience but of general knowledge, fortified by earnest +meditation. My greatest anxiety was in being able to strike and sustain +the note of scrupulous fairness. The obligation of absolute fairness was +imposed on me historically and hereditarily, by the peculiar experience +of race and family, and, in addition, by my primary conviction that +truth alone is the justification of any fiction which can make the least +claim to the quality of art or may hope to take its place in the culture +of men and women of its time. I had never been called before to a +greater effort of detachment: detachment from all passions, prejudices +and even from personal memories. "Under Western Eyes" on its first +appearance in England was a failure with the public, perhaps because of +that very detachment. I obtained my reward some six years later when I +first heard that the book had found universal recognition in Russia and +had been re-published there in many editions. + +The various figures playing their part in the story also owe their +existence to no special experience but to the general knowledge of the +condition of Russia and of the moral and emotional reactions of the +Russian temperament to the pressure of tyrannical lawlessness, which, in +general human terms, could be reduced to the formula of senseless +desperation provoked by senseless tyranny. What I was concerned with +mainly was the aspect, the character, and the fate of the individuals as +they appeared to the Western Eyes of the old teacher of languages. He +himself has been much criticized; but I will not at this late hour +undertake to justify his existence. He was useful to me and therefore I +think that he must be useful to the reader both in the way of comment +and by the part he plays in the development of the story. In my desire +to produce the effect of actuality it seemed to me indispensable to have +an eye-witness of the transactions in Geneva. I needed also a +sympathetic friend for Miss Haldin, who otherwise would have been too +much alone and unsupported to be perfectly credible. She would have had +no one to whom she could give a glimpse of her idealistic faith, of her +great heart, and of her simple emotions. + +Razumov is treated sympathetically. Why should he not be? He is an +ordinary young man, with a healthy capacity for work and sane +ambitions. He has an average conscience. If he is slightly abnormal it +is only in his sensitiveness to his position. Being nobody's child he +feels rather more keenly than another would that he is a Russian--or he +is nothing. He is perfectly right in looking on all Russia as his +heritage. The sanguinary futility of the crimes and the sacrifices +seething in that amorphous mass envelops and crushes him. But I don't +think that in his distraction he is ever monstrous. Nobody is exhibited +as a monster here--neither the simple-minded Tekla nor the wrong-headed +Sophia Antonovna. Peter Ivanovitch and Madame de S. are fair game. They +are the apes of a sinister jungle and are treated as their grimaces +deserve. As to Nikita--nicknamed Necator--he is the perfect flower of +the terroristic wilderness. What troubled me most in dealing with him +was not his monstrosity but his banality. He has been exhibited to the +public eye for years in so-called "disclosures" in newspaper articles, +in secret histories, in sensational novels. + +The most terrifying reflection (I am speaking now for myself) is that +all these people are not the product of the exceptional but of the +general--of the normality of their place, and time, and race. The +ferocity and imbecility of an autocratic rule rejecting all legality and +in fact basing itself upon complete moral anarchism provokes the no less +imbecile and atrocious answer of a purely Utopian revolutionism +encompassing destruction by the first means to hand, in the strange +conviction that a fundamental change of hearts must follow the downfall +of any given human institutions. These people are unable to see that all +they can effect is merely a change of names. The oppressors and the +oppressed are all Russians together; and the world is brought once more +face to face with the truth of the saying that the tiger cannot change +his stripes nor the leopard his spots. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +A PERSONAL RECORD + + +The re-issue of this book in a new form does not, strictly speaking, +require another Preface. But since this is distinctly a place for +personal remarks I take the opportunity to refer in this Author's Note +to two points arising from certain statements about myself I have +noticed of late in the press. + +One of them bears upon the question of language. I have always felt +myself looked upon somewhat in the light of a phenomenon, a position +which outside the circus world cannot be regarded as desirable. It needs +a special temperament for one to derive much gratification from the fact +of being able to do freakish things intentionally, and, as it were, from +mere vanity. + +The fact of my not writing in my native language has been of course +commented upon frequently in reviews and notices of my various works and +in the more extended critical articles. I suppose that was unavoidable; +and indeed these comments were of the most flattering kind to one's +vanity. But in that matter I have no vanity that could be flattered. I +could not have it. The first object of this Note is to disclaim any +merit there might have been in an act of deliberate volition. + +The impression of my having exercised a choice between the two +languages, French and English, both foreign to me, has got abroad +somehow. That impression is erroneous. It originated, I believe, in an +article written by Sir Hugh Clifford and published in the year '98, I +think, of the last century. Some time before, Sir Hugh Clifford came to +see me. He is, if not the first, then one of the first two friends I +made for myself by my work, the other being Mr. Cunninghame Graham, who, +characteristically enough, had been captivated by my story An Outpost of +Progress. These friendships which have endured to this day I count +amongst my precious possessions. + +Mr. Hugh Clifford (he was not decorated then) had just published his +first volume of Malay sketches. I was naturally delighted to see him and +infinitely gratified by the kind things he found to say about my first +books and some of my early short stories, the action of which is placed +in the Malay Archipelago. I remember that after saying many things which +ought to have made me blush to the roots of my hair with outraged +modesty, he ended by telling me with the uncompromising yet kindly +firmness of a man accustomed to speak unpalatable truths even to +Oriental potentates (for their own good of course) that as a matter of +fact I didn't know anything about Malays. I was perfectly aware of +this. I have never pretended to any such knowledge, and I was moved--I +wonder to this day at my impertinence--to retort: "Of course I don't +know anything about Malays. If I knew only one hundredth part of what +you and Frank Swettenham know of Malays I would make everybody sit up." +He went on looking kindly (but firmly) at me and then we both burst out +laughing. In the course of that most welcome visit twenty years ago, +which I remember so well, we talked of many things; the characteristics +of various languages was one of them, and it is on that day that my +friend carried away with him the impression that I had exercised a +deliberate choice between French and English. Later, when moved by his +friendship (no empty word to him) to write a study in the _North +American Review_ on Joseph Conrad he conveyed that impression to the +public. + +This misapprehension, for it is nothing else, was no doubt my fault. I +must have expressed myself badly in the course of a friendly and +intimate talk when one doesn't watch one's phrases carefully. My +recollection of what I meant to say is: that _had I been under the +necessity_ of making a choice between the two, and though I knew French +fairly well and was familiar with it from infancy, I would have been +afraid to attempt expression in a language so perfectly "crystallized." +This, I believe, was the word I used. And then we passed to other +matters. I had to tell him a little about myself; and what he told me of +his work in the East, his own particular East of which I had but the +mistiest, short glimpse, was of the most absorbing interest. The present +Governor of Nigeria may not remember that conversation as well as I do, +but I am sure that he will not mind this, what in diplomatic language is +called "rectification" of a statement made to him by an obscure writer +his generous sympathy had prompted him to seek out and make his friend. + +The truth of the matter is that my faculty to write in English is as +natural as any other aptitude with which I might have been born. I have +a strange and overpowering feeling that it had always been an inherent +part of myself. English was for me neither a matter of choice nor +adoption. The merest idea of choice had never entered my head. And as +to adoption--well, yes, there was adoption; but it was I who was adopted +by the genius of the language, which directly I came out of the +stammering stage made me its own so completely that its very idioms I +truly believe had a direct action on my temperament and fashioned my +still plastic character. + +It was a very intimate action and for that very reason it is too +mysterious to explain. The task would be as impossible as trying to +explain love at first sight. There was something in this conjunction of +exulting, almost physical recognition, the same sort of emotional +surrender and the same pride of possession, all united in the wonder of +a great discovery; but there was on it none of that shadow of dreadful +doubt that falls on the very flame of our perishable passions. One knew +very well that this was for ever. + +A matter of discovery and not of inheritance, that very inferiority of +the title makes the faculty still more precious, lays the possessor +under a lifelong obligation to remain worthy of his great fortune. But +it seems to me that all this sounds as if I were trying to explain--a +task which I have just pronounced to be impossible. If in action we may +admit with awe that the Impossible recedes before men's indomitable +spirit, the Impossible in matters of analysis will always make a stand +at some point or other. All I can claim after all those years of devoted +practice, with the accumulated anguish of its doubts, imperfections and +falterings in my heart, is the right to be believed when I say that if I +had not written in English I would not have written at all. + +The other remark which I wish to make here is also a rectification but +of a less direct kind. It has nothing to do with the medium of +expression. It bears on the matter of my authorship in another way. It +is not for me to criticize my judges, the more so because I always felt +that I was receiving more than justice at their hands. But it seems to +me that their unfailingly interested sympathy has ascribed to racial and +historical influences much, of what, I believe, appertains simply to the +individual. Nothing is more foreign than what in the literary world is +called Sclavonism, to the Polish temperament with its tradition of +self-government, its chivalrous view of moral restraints and an +exaggerated respect for individual rights: not to mention the important +fact that the whole Polish mentality, Western in complexion, had +received its training from Italy and France and, historically, had +always remained, even in religious matters, in sympathy with the most +liberal currents of European thought. An impartial view of humanity in +all its degrees of splendour and misery together with a special regard +for the rights of the unprivileged of this earth, not on any mystic +ground but on the ground of simple fellowship and honourable +reciprocity of services, was the dominant characteristic of the +mental and moral atmosphere of the houses which sheltered my hazardous +childhood:--matters of calm and deep conviction both lasting and +consistent, and removed as far as possible from that humanitarianism +that seems to be merely a matter of crazy nerves or a morbid conscience. + +One of the most sympathetic of my critics tried to account for certain +characteristics of my work by the fact of my being, in his own words, +"the son of a Revolutionist." No epithet could be more inapplicable to a +man with such a strong sense of responsibility in the region of ideas +and action and so indifferent to the promptings of personal ambition as +my father. Why the description "revolutionary" should have been applied +all through Europe to the Polish risings of 1831 and 1863 I really +cannot understand. These risings were purely revolts against foreign +domination. The Russians themselves called them "rebellions," which, +from their point of view, was the exact truth. Amongst the men concerned +in the preliminaries of the 1863 movement my father was no more +revolutionary than the others, in the sense of working for the +subversion of any social or political scheme of existence. He was simply +a patriot in the sense of a man who believing in the spirituality of a +national existence could not bear to see that spirit enslaved. + +Called out publicly in a kindly attempt to justify the work of the son, +that figure of my past cannot be dismissed without a few more words. As +a child of course I knew very little of my father's activities, for I +was not quite twelve when he died. What I saw with my own eyes was the +public funeral, the cleared streets, the hushed crowds; but I understood +perfectly well that this was a manifestation of the national spirit +seizing a worthy occasion. That bareheaded mass of work people, youths +of the University, women at the windows, school-boys on the pavement, +could have known nothing positive about him except the fame of his +fidelity to the one guiding emotion in their hearts. I had nothing but +that knowledge myself; and this great silent demonstration seemed to me +the most natural tribute in the world--not to the man but to the Idea. + +What had impressed me much more intimately was the burning of his +manuscripts a fortnight or so before his death. It was done under his +own superintendence. I happened to go into his room a little earlier +than usual that evening, and remaining unnoticed stayed to watch the +nursing-sister feeding the blaze in the fireplace. My father sat in a +deep armchair propped up with pillows. This is the last time I saw him +out of bed. His aspect was to me not so much that of a man desperately +ill, as mortally weary--a vanquished man. That act of destruction +affected me profoundly by its air of surrender. Not before death, +however. To a man of such strong faith death could not have been an +enemy. + +For many years I believed that every scrap of his writings had been +burnt, but in July of 1914 the Librarian of the University of Cracow +calling on me during our short visit to Poland, mentioned the existence +of a few manuscripts of my father and especially of a series of letters +written before and during his exile to his most intimate friend who had +sent them to the University for preservation. I went to the Library at +once, but had only time then for a mere glance. I intended to come back +next day and arrange for copies being made of the whole correspondence. +But next day there was war. So perhaps I shall never know now what he +wrote to his most intimate friend in the time of his domestic happiness, +of his new paternity, of his strong hopes--and later, in the hours of +disillusion, bereavement and gloom. + +I had also imagined him to be completely forgotten forty-five years +after his death. But this was not the case. Some young men of letters +had discovered him, mostly as a remarkable translator of Shakespeare, +Victor Hugo and Alfred de Vigny, to whose drama _Chatterton_, translated +by himself, he had written an eloquent Preface defending the poet's deep +humanity and his ideal of noble stoicism. The political side of his life +was being recalled too; for some men of his time, his co-workers in the +task of keeping the national spirit firm in the hope of an independent +future, had been in their old age publishing their memoirs, where the +part he played was for the first time publicly disclosed to the world. I +learned then of things in his life I never knew before, things which +outside the group of the initiated could have been known to no living +being except my mother. It was thus that from a volume of posthumous +memoirs dealing with those bitter years I learned the fact that the +first inception of the secret National Committee intended primarily to +organize moral resistance to the augmented pressure of Russianism arose +on my father's initiative, and that its first meetings were held in our +Warsaw house, of which all I remember distinctly is one room, white and +crimson, probably the drawing room. In one of its walls there was the +loftiest of all archways. Where it led to remains a mystery, but to this +day I cannot get rid of the belief that all this was of enormous +proportions, and that the people appearing and disappearing in that +immense space were beyond the usual stature of mankind as I got to know +it in later life. Amongst them I remember my mother, a more familiar +figure than the others, dressed in the black of the national mourning +worn in defiance of ferocious police regulations. I have also preserved +from that particular time the awe of her mysterious gravity which, +indeed, was by no means smileless. For I remember her smiles, too. +Perhaps for me she could always find a smile. She was young then, +certainly not thirty yet. She died four years later in exile. + +In the pages which follow I mentioned her visit to her brother's house +about a year before her death. I also speak a little of my father as I +remember him in the years following what was for him the deadly blow of +her loss. And now, having been again evoked in answer to the words of a +friendly critic, these Shades may be allowed to return to their place of +rest where their forms in life linger yet, dim but poignant, and +awaiting the moment when their haunting reality, their last trace on +earth, shall pass for ever with me out of the world. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + + +A FAMILIAR PREFACE + +A PERSONAL RECORD + + +As a general rule we do not want much encouragement to talk about +ourselves; yet this little book is the result of a friendly suggestion, +and even of a little friendly pressure. I defended myself with some +spirit; but, with characteristic tenacity, the friendly voice insisted, +"You know, you really must." + +It was not an argument, but I submitted at once. If one must!... + +You perceive the force of a word. He who wants to persuade should put +his trust not in the right argument, but in the right word. The power of +sound has always been greater than the power of sense. I don't say this +by way of disparagement. It is better for mankind to be impressionable +than reflective. Nothing humanely great--great, I mean, as affecting a +whole mass of lives--has come from reflection. On the other hand, you +cannot fail to see the power of mere words; such words as Glory, for +instance, or Pity. I won't mention any more. They are not far to seek. +Shouted with perseverance, with ardour, with conviction, these two by +their sound alone have set whole nations in motion and upheaved the +dry, hard ground on which rests our whole social fabric. There's +"virtue" for you if you like!... Of course the accent must be attended +to. The right accent. That's very important. The capacious lung, the +thundering or the tender vocal chords. Don't talk to me of your +Archimedes' lever. He was an absent-minded person with a mathematical +imagination. Mathematics commands all my respect, but I have no use for +engines. Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the +world. + +What a dream for a writer! Because written words have their accent, too. +Yes! Let me only find the right word! Surely it must be lying somewhere +among the wreckage of all the plaints and all the exultations poured out +aloud since the first day when hope, the undying, came down on earth. It +may be there, close by, disregarded, invisible, quite at hand. But it's +no good. I believe there are men who can lay hold of a needle in a +pottle of hay at the first try. For myself, I have never had such luck. + +And then there is that accent. Another difficulty. For who is going to +tell whether the accent is right or wrong till the word is shouted, and +fails to be heard, perhaps, and goes down-wind, leaving the world +unmoved? Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a sage and +something of a literary man. He jotted down on ivory tablets thoughts, +maxims, reflections which chance has preserved for the edification of +posterity. Among other sayings--I am quoting from memory--I remember +this solemn admonition: "Let all thy words have the accent of heroic +truth." The accent of heroic truth! This is very fine, but I am thinking +that it is an easy matter for an austere emperor to jot down grandiose +advice. Most of the working truths on this earth are humble, not heroic; +and there have been times in the history of mankind when the accents of +heroic truth have moved it to nothing but derision. + +Nobody will expect to find between the covers of this little book words +of extraordinary potency or accents of irresistible heroism. However +humiliating for my self-esteem, I must confess that the counsels of +Marcus Aurelius are not for me. They are more fit for a moralist than +for an artist. Truth of a modest sort I can promise you, and also +sincerity. That complete, praiseworthy sincerity which, while it +delivers one into the hands of one's enemies, is as likely as not to +embroil one with one's friends. + +"Embroil" is perhaps too strong an expression. I can't imagine among +either my enemies or my friends a being so hard up for something to do +as to quarrel with me. "To disappoint one's friends" would be nearer the +mark. Most, almost all, friendships of the writing period of my life +have come to me through my books; and I know that a novelist lives in +his work. He stands there, the only reality in an invented world, among +imaginary things, happenings, and people. Writing about them, he is only +writing about himself. But the disclosure is not complete. He remains, +to a certain extent, a figure behind the veil; a suspected rather than a +seen presence--a movement and a voice behind the draperies of fiction. +In these personal notes there is no such veil. And I cannot help +thinking of a passage in the "Imitation of Christ" where the ascetic +author, who knew life so profoundly, says that "there are persons +esteemed on their reputation who by showing themselves destroy the +opinion one had of them." This is the danger incurred by an author of +fiction who sets out to talk about himself without disguise. + +While these reminiscent pages were appearing serially I was remonstrated +with for bad economy; as if such writing were a form of self-indulgence +wasting the substance of future volumes. It seems that I am not +sufficiently literary. Indeed, a man who never wrote a line for print +till he was thirty-six cannot bring himself to look upon his existence +and his experience, upon the sum of his thoughts, sensations, and +emotions, upon his memories and his regrets, and the whole possession of +his past, as only so much material for his hands. Once before, some +three years ago, when I published "The Mirror of the Sea," a volume of +impressions and memories, the same remarks were made to me. Practical +remarks. But, truth to say, I have never understood the kind of thrift +they recommend. I wanted to pay my tribute to the sea, its ships and its +men, to whom I remain indebted for so much which has gone to make me +what I am. That seemed to me the only shape in which I could offer it to +their shades. There could not be a question in my mind of anything else. +It is quite possible that I am a bad economist; but it is certain that +I am incorrigible. + +Having matured in the surroundings and under the special conditions of +sea life, I have a special piety towards that form of my past; for its +impressions were vivid, its appeal direct, its demands such as could be +responded to with the natural elation of youth and strength equal to the +call. There was nothing in them to perplex a young conscience. Having +broken away from my origins under a storm of blame from every quarter +which had the merest shadow of right to voice an opinion, removed by +great distances from such natural affections as were still left to me, +and even estranged, in a measure, from them by the totally +unintelligible character of the life which had seduced me so +mysteriously from my allegiance, I may safely say that through the blind +force of circumstances the sea was to be all my world and the merchant +service my only home for a long succession of years. No wonder, then, +that in my two exclusively sea books--"The Nigger of the _Narcissus_," +and "The Mirror of the Sea" (and in the few short sea stories like +"Youth" and "Typhoon")--I have tried with an almost filial regard to +render the vibration of life in the great world of waters, in the hearts +of the simple men who have for ages traversed its solitudes, and also +that something sentient which seems to dwell in ships--the creatures of +their hands and the objects of their care. + +One's literary life must turn frequently for sustenance to memories and +seek discourse with the shades, unless one has made up one's mind to +write only in order to reprove mankind for what it is, or praise it for +what it is not, or--generally--to teach it how to behave. Being neither +quarrelsome, nor a flatterer, nor a sage, I have done none of these +things, and I am prepared to put up serenely with the insignificance +which attaches to persons who are not meddlesome in some way or other. +But resignation is not indifference. I would not like to be left +standing as a mere spectator on the bank of the great stream carrying +onward so many lives. I would fain claim for myself the faculty of so +much insight as can be expressed in a voice of sympathy and compassion. + +It seems to me that in one, at least, authoritative quarter of criticism +I am suspected of a certain unemotional, grim acceptance of facts--of +what the French would call _sécheresse du c[oe]ur_. Fifteen years of +unbroken silence before praise or blame testify sufficiently to my +respect for criticism, that fine flower of personal expression in the +garden of letters. But this is more of a personal matter, reaching the +man behind the work, and therefore it may be alluded to in a volume +which is a personal note in the margin of the public page. Not that I +feel hurt in the least. The charge--if it amounted to a charge at +all--was made in the most considerate terms; in a tone of regret. + +My answer is that if it be true that every novel contains an element of +autobiography--and this can hardly be denied, since the creator can only +express himself in his creation--then there are some of us to whom an +open display of sentiment is repugnant. I would not unduly praise the +virtue of restraint. It is often merely temperamental. But it is not +always a sign of coldness. It may be pride. There can be nothing more +humiliating than to see the shaft of one's emotion miss the mark of +either laughter or tears. Nothing more humiliating! And this for the +reason that should the mark be missed, should the open display of +emotion fail to move, then it must perish unavoidably in disgust or +contempt. No artist can be reproached for shrinking from a risk which +only fools run to meet and only genius dare confront with impunity. In a +task which mainly consists in laying one's soul more or less bare to the +world, a regard for decency, even at the cost of success, is but the +regard for one's own dignity which is inseparably united with the +dignity of one's work. + +And then--it is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on this +earth. The comic, when it is human, soon takes upon itself a face of +pain; and some of our griefs (some only, not all, for it is the capacity +for suffering which makes man august in the eyes of men) have their +source in weaknesses which must be recognized with smiling compassion as +the common inheritance of us all. Joy and sorrow in this world pass into +each other, mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of +life as mysterious as an overshadowed ocean, while the dazzling +brightness of supreme hopes lies far off, fascinating and still, on the +distant edge of the horizon. + +Yes! I, too, would like to hold the magic wand giving that command over +laughter and tears which is declared to be the highest achievement of +imaginative literature. Only, to be a great magician one must surrender +oneself to occult and irresponsible powers, either outside or within +one's breast. We have all heard of simple men selling their souls for +love or power to some grotesque devil. The most ordinary intelligence +can perceive without much reflection that anything of the sort is bound +to be a fool's bargain. I don't lay claim to particular wisdom because +of my dislike and distrust of such transactions. It may be my sea +training acting upon a natural disposition to keep good hold on the one +thing really mine, but the fact is that I have a positive horror of +losing even for one moving moment that full possession of myself which +is the first condition of good service. And I have carried my notion of +good service from my earlier into my later existence. I, who have never +sought in the written word anything else but a form of the Beautiful--I +have carried over that article of creed from the decks of ships to the +more circumscribed space of my desk, and by that act, I suppose, I have +become permanently imperfect in the eyes of the ineffable company of +pure esthetes. + +As in political so in literary action a man wins friends for himself +mostly by the passion of his prejudices and by the consistent narrowness +of his outlook. But I have never been able to love what was not lovable +or hate what was not hateful out of deference for some general +principle. Whether there be any courage in making this admission I know +not. After the middle turn of life's way we consider dangers and joys +with a tranquil mind. So I proceed in peace to declare that I have +always suspected in the effort to bring into play the extremities of +emotions the debasing touch of insincerity. In order to move others +deeply we must deliberately allow ourselves to be carried away beyond +the bounds of our normal sensibility--innocently enough, perhaps, and of +necessity, like an actor who raises his voice on the stage above the +pitch of natural conversation--but still we have to do that. And surely +this is no great sin. But the danger lies in the writer becoming the +victim of his own exaggeration, losing the exact notion of sincerity, +and in the end coming to despise truth itself as something too cold, too +blunt for his purpose--as, in fact, not good enough for his insistent +emotion. From laughter and tears the descent is easy to snivelling and +giggles. + +These may seem selfish considerations; but you can't, in sound morals, +condemn a man taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty. +And least of all can you condemn an artist pursuing, however humbly and +imperfectly, a creative aim. In that interior world where his thought +and his emotions go seeking for the experience of imagined adventures, +there are no policemen, no law, no pressure of circumstance or dread of +opinion to keep him within bounds. Who then is going to say Nay to his +temptations if not his conscience? + +And besides--this, remember, is the place and the moment of perfectly +open talk--I think that all ambitions are lawful except those which +climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind. All intellectual +and artistic ambitions are permissible, up to and even beyond the limit +of prudent sanity. They can hurt no one. If they are mad, then so much +the worse for the artist. Indeed, as virtue is said to be, such +ambitions are their own reward. Is it such a very mad presumption to +believe in the sovereign power of one's art, to try for other means, for +other ways of affirming this belief in the deeper appeal of one's work? +To try to go deeper is not to be insensible. An historian of hearts is +not an historian of emotions, yet he penetrates further, restrained as +he may be, since his aim is to reach the very fount of laughter and +tears. The sight of human affairs deserves admiration and pity. They are +worthy of respect, too. And he is not insensible who pays them the +undemonstrative tribute of a sigh which is not a sob, and of a smile +which is not a grin. Resignation, not mystic, not detached, but +resignation open-eyed, conscious, and informed by love, is the only one +of our feelings for which it is impossible to become a sham. + +Not that I think resignation the last word of wisdom. I am too much the +creature of my time for that. But I think that the proper wisdom is to +will what the gods will without, perhaps, being certain what their will +is--or even if they have a will of their own. And in this matter of life +and art it is not the Why that matters so much to our happiness as the +How. As the Frenchman said, "_Il y a toujours la maniere_." Very true. +Yes. There is the manner. The manner in laughter, in tears, in irony, in +indignations and enthusiasms, in judgments--and even in love. The manner +in which, as in the features and character of a human face, the inner +truth is foreshadowed for those who know how to look at their kind. + +Those who read me know my conviction that the world, the temporal world, +rests on a few very simple ideas; so simple that they must be as old as +the hills. It rests notably, among others, on the idea of Fidelity. At a +time when nothing which is not revolutionary in some way or other can +expect to attract much attention I have not been revolutionary in my +writings. The revolutionary spirit is mighty convenient in this, that it +frees one from all scruples as regards ideas. Its hard, absolute +optimism is repulsive to my mind by the menace of fanaticism and +intolerance it contains. No doubt one should smile at these things; but, +imperfect Esthete, I am no better Philosopher. All claim to special +righteousness awakens in me that scorn and danger from which a +philosophical mind should be free.... + +I fear that trying to be conversational I have only managed to be unduly +discursive. I have never been very well acquainted with the art of +conversation--that art which, I understand, is supposed to be lost now. +My young days, the days when one's habits and character are formed, have +been rather familiar with long silences. Such voices as broke into them +were anything but conversational. No. I haven't got the habit. Yet this +discursiveness is not so irrelevant to the handful of pages which +follow. They, too, have been charged with discursiveness, with disregard +of chronological order (which is in itself a crime) with +unconventionality of form (which is an impropriety). I was told severely +that the public would view with displeasure the informal character of my +recollections. "Alas!" I protested, mildly. "Could I begin with the +sacramental words, 'I was born on such a date in such a place'? The +remoteness of the locality would have robbed the statement of all +interest. I haven't lived through wonderful adventures to be related +_seriatim_. I haven't known distinguished men on whom I could pass +fatuous remarks. I haven't been mixed up with great or scandalous +affairs. This is but a bit of psychological document, and even so, I +haven't written it with a view to put forward any conclusion of my own." + +But my objector was not placated. These were good reasons for not +writing at all--not a defence of what stood written already, he said. + +I admit that almost anything, anything in the world, would serve as a +good reason for not writing at all. But since I have written them, all I +want to say in their defence is that these memories put down without any +regard for established conventions have not been thrown off without +system and purpose. They have their hope and their aim. The hope that +from the reading of these pages there may emerge at last the vision of a +personality; the man behind the books so fundamentally dissimilar as, +for instance, "Almayer's Folly" and "The Secret Agent," and yet a +coherent, justifiable personality both in its origin and in its action. +This is the hope. The immediate aim, closely associated with the hope, +is to give the record of personal memories by presenting faithfully the +feelings and sensations connected with the writing of my first book and +with my first contact with the sea. + +In the purposely mingled resonance of this double strain a friend here +and there will perhaps detect a subtle accord. + + J. C. + + + + +TWIXT LAND AND SEA + + +The only bond between these three stories is, so to speak, geographical, +for their scene, be it land, be it sea, is situated in the same region +which may be called the region of the Indian Ocean with its off-shoots +and prolongations north of the equator even as far as the Gulf of Siam. +In point of time they belong to the period immediately after the +publication of that novel with the awkward title "Under Western Eyes" +and, as far as the life of the writer is concerned, their appearance in +a volume marks a definite change in the fortunes of his fiction. For +there is no denying the fact that "Under Western Eyes" found no favour +in the public eye, whereas the novel called "Chance" which followed +"Twixt Land and Sea" was received on its first appearance by many more +readers than any other of my books. + +This volume of three tales was also well received, publicly and +privately and from a publisher's point of view. This little success was +a most timely tonic for my enfeebled bodily frame. For this may indeed +be called the book of a man's convalescence, at least as to +three-fourths of it; because the Secret Sharer, the middle story, was +written much earlier than the other two. + +For in truth the memories of "Under Western Eyes" are associated with +the memory of a severe illness which seemed to wait like a tiger in the +jungle on the turn of a path to jump on me the moment the last words of +that novel were written. The memory of an illness is very much like the +memory of a nightmare. On emerging from it in a much enfeebled state I +was inspired to direct my tottering steps towards the Indian Ocean, a +complete change of surroundings and atmosphere from the Lake of Geneva, +as nobody would deny. Begun so languidly and with such a fumbling hand +that the first twenty pages or more had to be thrown into the +waste-paper basket, A Smile of Fortune, the most purely Indian Ocean +story of the three, has ended by becoming what the reader will see. I +will only say for myself that ï have been patted on the back for it by +most unexpected people, personally unknown to me, the chief of them of +course being the editor of a popular illustrated magazine who published +it serially in one mighty instalment. Who will dare say after this that +the change of air had not been an immense success? + +The origins of the middle story, The Secret Sharer, are quite other. It +was written much earlier and was published first in _Harper's Magazine_, +during the early part, I think, of 1911. Or perhaps the latter part? My +memory on that point is hazy. The basic fact of the tale I had in my +possession for a good many years. It was in truth the common possession +of the whole fleet of merchant ships trading to India, China, and +Australia: a great company the last years of which coincided with my +first years on the wider seas. The fact itself happened on board a very +distinguished member of it, _Cutty Sark_ by name and belonging to Mr. +Willis, a notable ship-owner in his day, one of the kind (they are all +underground now) who used personally to see his ships start on their +voyages to those distant shores where they showed worthily the honoured +house-flag of their owner. I am glad I was not too late to get at +least one glimpse of Mr. Willis on a very wet and gloomy morning +watching from the pier head of the New South Dock one of his clippers +starting on a China voyage--an imposing figure of a man under the +invariable white hat so well known in the Port of London, waiting till +the head of his ship had swung down-stream before giving her a dignified +wave of a big gloved hand. For all I know it may have been the _Cutty +Sark_ herself though certainly not on that fatal voyage. I do not know +the date of the occurrence on which the scheme of The Secret Sharer is +founded; it came to light and even got into newspapers about the middle +eighties, though I had heard of it before, as it were privately, among +the officers of the great wool fleet in which my first years in deep +water were served. It came to light under circumstances dramatic enough, +I think, but which have nothing to do with my story. In the more +specially maritime part of my writings this bit of presentation may take +its place as one of my two Calm-pieces. For, if there is to be any +classification by subjects, I have done two Storm-pieces in "The Nigger +of the _Narcissus_" and in "Typhoon"; and two Calm-pieces: this one and +"The Shadow-Line," a book which belongs to a later period. + +Notwithstanding their autobiographical form the above two stories are +not the record of personal experience. Their quality, such as it is, +depends on something larger if less precise: on the character, vision +and sentiment of the first twenty independent years of my life. And the +same may be said of the Freya of the Seven Isles. I was considerably +abused for writing that story on the ground of its cruelty, both in +public prints and private letters. I remember one from a man in America +who was quite furiously angry. He told me with curses and imprecations +that I had no right to write such an abominable thing which, he said, +had gratuitously and intolerably harrowed his feelings. It was a very +interesting letter to read. Impressive too. I carried it for some days +in my pocket. Had I the right? The sincerity of the anger impressed me. +Had I the right? Had I really sinned as he said or was it only that +man's madness? Yet there was a method in his fury.... I composed in my +mind a violent reply, a reply of mild argument, a reply of lofty +detachment; but they never got on paper in the end and I have forgotten +their phrasing. The very letter of the angry man has got lost somehow; +and nothing remains now but the pages of the story which I cannot recall +and would not recall if I could. + +But I am glad to think that the two women in this book: Alice, the +sullen, passive victim of her fate, and the actively individual Freya, +so determined to be the mistress of her own destiny, must have evoked +some sympathies because of all my volumes of short stories this was the +one for which there was the greatest immediate demand. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +CHANCE + + +"Chance" is one of my novels that shortly after having been begun were +laid aside for a few months. Starting impetuously like a sanguine +oarsman setting forth in the early morning I came very soon to a fork in +the stream and found it necessary to pause and reflect seriously upon +the direction I would take. Either presented to me equal fascinations, +at least on the surface, and for that very reason my hesitation extended +over many days. I floated in the calm water of pleasant speculation, +between the diverging currents or conflicting impulses, with an +agreeable but perfectly irrational conviction that neither of those +currents would take me to destruction. My sympathies being equally +divided and the two forces being equal it is perfectly obvious that +nothing but mere chance influenced my decision in the end. It is a +mighty force that of mere chance; absolutely irresistible yet +manifesting itself often in delicate forms such for instance as the +charm, true or illusory, of a human being. It is very difficult to put +one's finger on the imponderable, but I may venture to say that it is +Flora de Barral who is really responsible for this novel which relates, +in fact, the story of her life. + +At the crucial moment of my indecision Flora de Barral passed before me, +but so swiftly that I failed at first to get hold of her. Though loth to +give her up I didn't see the way of pursuit clearly and was on the point +of becoming discouraged when my natural liking for Captain Anthony came +to my assistance. I said to myself that if that man was so determined to +embrace a "wisp of mist" the best thing for me was to join him in that +eminently practical and praiseworthy adventure. I simply followed +Captain Anthony. Each of us was bent on capturing his own dream. The +reader will be able to judge of our success. + +Captain Anthony's determination led him a long and roundabout course and +that is why this book is a long book. That the course was of my own +choosing I will not deny. A critic had remarked that if I had selected +another method of composition and taken a little more trouble the tale +could have been told in about two hundred pages. I confess I do not +perceive exactly the bearings of such criticism or even the use of such +a remark. No doubt that by selecting a certain method and taking great +pains the whole story might have been written out on a cigarette paper. +For that matter, the whole history of mankind could be written thus if +only approached with sufficient detachment. The history of men on this +earth since the beginning of ages may be resumed in one phrase of +infinite poignancy: They were born, they suffered, they died.... Yet it +is a great tale! But in the infinitely minute stories about men and +women it is my lot on earth to narrate I am not capable of such +detachment. + +What makes this book memorable to me apart from the natural sentiment +one has for one's creation is the response it provoked. The general +public responded largely, more largely perhaps than to any other book of +mine, in the only way the general public can respond, that is by buying +a certain number of copies. This gave me a considerable amount of +pleasure, because what I always feared most was drifting unconsciously +into the position of a writer for a limited coterie; a position which +would have been odious to me as throwing a doubt on the soundness of my +belief in the solidarity of all mankind in simple ideas and in sincere +emotions. Regarded as a manifestation of criticism (for it would be +outrageous to deny to the general public the possession of a critical +mind) the reception was very satisfactory. I saw that I had managed to +please a certain number of minds busy attending to their own very real +affairs. It is agreeable to think one is able to please. From the minds +whose business it is precisely to criticize such attempts to please, +this book received an amount of discussion and of a rather searching +analysis which not only satisfied that personal vanity I share with the +rest of mankind but reached my deeper feelings and aroused my gratified +interest. The undoubted sympathy informing the varied appreciations of +that book was, I love to think, a recognition of my good faith in the +pursuit of my art--the art of the novelist which a distinguished French +writer at the end of a successful career complained of as being: _Trop +difficile!_ It is indeed too arduous in the sense that the effort must +be invariably so much greater than the possible achievement. In that +sort of foredoomed task which is in its nature very lonely also, +sympathy is a precious thing. It can make the most severe criticism +welcome. To be told that better things have been expected of one may be +soothing in view of how much better things one had expected from oneself +in this art which, in these days, is no longer justified by the +assumption, somewhere and somehow, of a didactic purpose. + +I do not mean to hint that anybody had ever done me the injury (I don't +mean insult, I mean injury) of charging a single one of my pages with +didactic purpose. But every subject in the region of intellect and +emotion must have a morality of its own if it is treated at all +sincerely; and even the most artful of writers will give himself (and +his morality) away in about every third sentence. The varied shades of +moral significance which have been discovered in my writings are very +numerous. None of them, however, have provoked a hostile manifestation. +It may have happened to me to sin against taste now and then, but +apparently I have never sinned against the basic feelings and elementary +convictions which make life possible to the mass of mankind and, by +establishing a standard of judgment, set their idealism free to look for +plainer ways, for higher feelings, for deeper purposes. + +I cannot say that any particular moral complexion has been put on this +novel but I do not think that anybody had detected in it an evil +intention. And it is only for their intentions that men can be held +responsible. The ultimate effects of whatever they do are far beyond +their control. In doing this book my intention was to interest people in +my vision of things which is indissolubly allied to the style in which +it is expressed. In other words I wanted to write a certain amount of +pages in prose, which, strictly speaking, is my proper business. I have +attended to it conscientiously with the hope of being entertaining or at +least not insufferably boring to my readers. I can not sufficiently +insist upon the truth that when I sit down to write my intentions are +always blameless however deplorable the ultimate effect of the act may +turn out to be. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +WITHIN THE TIDES + + +The tales collected in this book have elicited on their appearance two +utterances in the shape of comment and one distinctly critical charge. A +reviewer observed that I liked to write of men who go to sea or live on +lonely islands untrammeled by the pressure of worldly circumstances +because such characters allowed freer play to my imagination which in +their case was only bounded by natural laws and the universal human +conventions. There is a certain truth in this remark no doubt. It is +only the suggestion of deliberate choice that misses its mark. I have +not sought for special imaginative freedom or a larger play of fancy in +my choice of characters and subjects. The nature of the knowledge, +suggestions or hints used in my imaginative work has depended directly +on the conditions of my active life. It depended more on contacts, and +very slight contacts at that, than on actual experience; because my life +as a matter of fact was far from being adventurous in itself. Even now +when I look back on it with a certain regret (who would not regret his +youth?) and positive affection, its colouring wears the sober hue of +hard work and exacting calls of duty, things which in themselves are not +much charged with a feeling of romance. If these things appeal strongly +to me even in retrospect it is, I suppose, because the romantic feeling +of reality was in me an inborn faculty, that in itself may be a curse +but when disciplined by a sense of personal responsibility and a +recognition of the hard facts of existence shared with the rest of +mankind becomes but a point of view from which the very shadows of life +appear endowed with an internal glow. And such romanticism is not a sin. +It is none the worse for the knowledge of truth. It only tries to make +the best of it, hard as it may be; and in this hardness discovers a +certain aspect of beauty. + +I am speaking here of romanticism in relation to life, not of +romanticism in relation to imaginative literature, which, in its early +days, was associated simply with mediæval subjects, or, at any rate, +with subjects sought for in a remote past. My subjects are not mediæval +and I have a natural right to them because my past is very much my own. +If their course lie out of the beaten path of organized social life, it +is, perhaps, because I myself did in a sort break away from it early in +obedience to an impulse which must have been very genuine since it has +sustained me through all the dangers of disillusion. But that origin of +my literary work was very far from giving a larger scope to my +imagination. On the contrary, the mere fact of dealing with matters +outside the general run of everyday experience laid me under the +obligation of a more scrupulous fidelity to the truth of my own +sensations. The problem was to make unfamiliar things credible. To do +that I had to create for them, to reproduce for them, to envelop them in +their proper atmosphere of actuality. This was the hardest task of all +and the most important, in view of that conscientious rendering of truth +in thought and fact which has been always my aim. + +The other utterance of the two I have alluded to above consisted in the +observation that in this volume of mine the whole was greater than its +parts. I pass it on to my readers merely remarking that if this is +really so then I must take it as a tribute to my personality since those +stories which by implication seem to hold so well together as to be +surveyed en bloc and judged as the product of a single mood, were +written at different times, under various influences and with the +deliberate intention of trying several ways of telling a tale. The hints +and suggestions for all of them had been received at various times and +in distant parts of the globe. The book received a good deal of varied +criticism, mainly quite justifiable, but in a couple of instances quite +surprising in its objections. Amongst them was the critical charge of +false realism brought against the opening story: The Planter of Malata. +I would have regarded it as serious enough if I had not discovered on +reading further that the distinguished critic was accusing me simply of +having sought to evade a happy ending out of a sort of moral cowardice, +lest I should be condemned as a superficially sentimental person. Where +(and of what sort) there are to be found in The Planter of Malata any +germs of happiness that could have fructified at the end I am at a loss +to see. Such criticism seems to miss the whole purpose and significance +of a piece of writing the primary intention of which was mainly +aesthetic; an essay in description and narrative around a given +psychological situation. Of more seriousness was the spoken criticism of +an old and valued friend who thought that in the scene near the rock, +which from the point of view of psychology is crucial, neither Felicia +Moorsom nor Geoffrey Renouard find the right things to say to each +other. I didn't argue the point at the time, for, to be candid, I didn't +feel quite satisfied with the scene myself. On re-reading it lately for +the purpose of this edition I have come to the conclusion that there is +that much truth in my friend's criticism that I have made those people a +little too explicit in their emotion and thus have destroyed to a +certain extent the characteristic illusory glamour of their +personalities. I regret this defect very much for I regard The Planter +of Malata as a nearly successful attempt at doing a very difficult thing +which I would have liked to have made as perfect as it lay in my power. +Yet considering the pitch and the tonality of the whole tale it is very +difficult to imagine what else those two people could have found to say +at that time and on that particular spot of the earth's surface. In the +mood in which they both were, and given the exceptional state of their +feelings, anything might have been said. + +The eminent critic who charged me with false realism, the outcome of +timidity, was quite wrong. I should like to ask him what he imagines +the, so to speak, lifelong embrace of Felicia Moorsom and Geoffrey +Renouard could have been like? Could it have been at all? Would it have +been credible? No! I did not shirk anything, either from timidity or +laziness. Perhaps a little mistrust of my own powers would not have been +altogether out of place in this connection. But it failed me; and I +resemble Geoffrey Renouard in so far that when once engaged in an +adventure I cannot bear the idea of turning back. The moment had +arrived for these people to disclose themselves. They had to do it. To +render a crucial point of feelings in terms of human speech is really an +impossible task. Written words can only form a sort of translation. And +if that translation happens, from want of skill or from over-anxiety, to +be too literal, the people caught in the toils of passion, instead of +disclosing themselves, which would be art, are made to give themselves +away, which is neither art nor life. Nor yet truth! At any rate not the +whole truth; for it is truth robbed of all its necessary and sympathetic +reservations and qualifications which give it its fair form, its just +proportions, its semblance of human fellowship. + +Indeed the task of the translator of passions into speech may be +pronounced "too difficult." However, with my customary impenitence I am +glad I have attempted the story with all its implications and +difficulties, including the scene by the side of the gray rock crowning +the height of Malata. But I am not so inordinately pleased with the +result as not to be able to forgive a patient reader who may find it +somewhat disappointing. + +I have left myself no space to talk about the other three stories +because I do not think that they call for detailed comment. Each of them +has its special mood and I have tried purposely to give each its special +tone and a different construction of phrase. A reviewer asked in +reference to the Inn of the Two Witches whether I ever came across a +tale called A Very Strange Bed published in _Household Words_ in 1852 or +54. I never saw a number of _Household Words_ of that decade. A bed of +the sort was discovered in an inn on the road between Rome and Naples at +the end of the 18th century. Where I picked up the information I cannot +say now but I am certain it was not in a tale. This bed is the only +"fact" of the Witches' Inn. The other two stories have considerably more +"fact" in them, derived from my own personal knowledge. + + J. C. + + 1920 + + + + +NOTE TO THE FIRST EDITION + + +The last word of this novel was written on the 29th of May, 1914. And +that last word was the single word of the title. + +Those were the times of peace. Now that the moment of publication +approaches I have been considering the discretion of altering the title +page. The word Victory, the shining and tragic goal of noble effort, +appeared too great, too august, to stand at the head of a mere novel. +There was also the possibility of falling under the suspicion of +commercial astuteness deceiving the public into the belief that the book +had something to do with war. + +Of that, however, I was not afraid very much. What influenced my +decision most were the obscure promptings of that pagan residuum of awe +and wonder which lurks still at the bottom of our old humanity. Victory +was the last word I had written in peace time. It was the last literary +thought which had occurred to me before the doors of the Temple of Janus +flying open with a crash shook the minds, the hearts, the consciences of +men all over the world. Such coincidence could not be treated lightly. +And I made up my mind to let the word stand, in the same hopeful spirit +in which some simple citizen of Old Rome would have "accepted the Omen." + +The second point on which I wish to offer a remark is the existence (in +the novel) of a person named Schomberg. + +That I believe him to be true goes without saying. I am not likely to +offer pinchbeck wares to my public consciously. Schomberg is an old +member of my company. A very subordinate personage in Lord Jim as far +back as the year 1899, he became notably active in a certain short story +of mine published in 1902. Here he appears in a still larger part, true +to life (I hope), but also true to himself. Only, in this instance, his +deeper passions come into play, and thus his grotesque psychology is +completed at last. + +I don't pretend to say that this is the entire Teutonic psychology; but +it is indubitably the psychology of a Teuton. My object in mentioning +him here is to bring out the fact that, far from being the incarnation +of recent animosities, he is the creature of my old, deep-seated and, as +it were, impartial conviction. + + J. C. + + + + +VICTORY + + +On approaching the task of writing this Note for "Victory" the first +thing I am conscious of is the actual nearness of the book, its +nearness to me personally, to the vanished mood in which it was written +and to the mixed feelings aroused by the critical notices the book +obtained when first published almost exactly a year after the beginning +of the great war. The writing of it was finished in 1914 long before the +murder of an Austrian Archduke sounded the first note of warning for a +world already full of doubts and fears. + +The contemporaneous very short Author's Note which is preserved in this +edition bears sufficient witness to the feelings with which I consented +to the publication of the book. The fact of the book having been +published in the United States early in the year made it difficult to +delay its appearance in England any longer. It came out in the +thirteenth month of the war, and my conscience was troubled by the awful +incongruity of throwing this bit of imagined drama into the welter of +reality, tragic enough in all conscience but even more cruel than tragic +and more inspiring than cruel. It seemed awfully presumptuous to think +there would be eyes to spare for those pages in a community which in the +crash of the big guns and in the din of brave words expressing the +truth of an indomitable faith could not but feel the edge of a sharp +knife at its throat. + +The unchanging Man of history is wonderfully adaptable both by his power +of endurance and in his capacity for detachment. The fact seems to be +that the play of his destiny is too great for his fears and too +mysterious for his understanding. Were the trump of the Last Judgment to +sound suddenly on a working day the musician at his piano would go on +with his performance of Beethoven's Sonata and the cobbler at his stall +stick to his last in undisturbed confidence in the virtues of the +leather. And with perfect propriety. For what are we to let ourselves be +disturbed by an angel's vengeful music too mighty for our ears and too +awful for our terrors? Thus it happens to us to be struck suddenly by +the lightning of wrath. The reader will go on reading if the book +pleases him and the critic will go on criticizing with that faculty of +detachment born perhaps from a sense of infinite littleness and which is +yet the only faculty that seems to assimilate man to the immortal gods. + +It is only when the catastrophe matches the natural obscurity of our +fate that even the best representative of the race is liable to lose his +detachment. It is very obvious that on the arrival of the gentlemanly +Mr. Jones, the single-minded Ricardo and the faithful Pedro, Heyst, the +man of universal detachment, loses his mental self-possession, that fine +attitude before the universally irremediable which wears the name of +stoicism. It is all a matter of proportion. There should have been a +remedy for that sort of thing. And yet there is no remedy. Behind this +minute instance of life's hazards Heyst sees the power of blind destiny. +Besides, Heyst in his fine detachment had lost the habit of asserting +himself. I don't mean the courage of self-assertion, either moral or +physical, but the mere way of it, the trick of the thing, the readiness +of mind and the turn of the hand that come without reflection and lead +the man to excellence in life, in art, in crime, in virtue and for the +matter of that, even in love. Thinking is the great enemy of perfection. +The habit of profound reflection, I am compelled to say, is the most +pernicious of all the habits formed by the civilized man. + +But I wouldn't be suspected even remotely of making fun of Axel Heyst. +I have always liked him. The flesh and blood individual who stands +behind the infinitely more familiar figure of the book I remember as a +mysterious Swede right enough. Whether he was a baron, too, I am not so +certain. He himself never laid a claim to that distinction. His +detachment was too great to make any claims big or small on one's +credulity. I will not say where I met him because I fear to give my +readers a wrong impression, since a marked incongruity between a man and +his surroundings is often a very misleading circumstance. We became very +friendly for a time and I would not like to expose him to unpleasant +suspicions though, personally, I am sure he would have been indifferent +to suspicions as he was indifferent to all the other disadvantages of +life. He was not the whole Heyst of course; he is only the physical and +moral foundation of my Heyst laid on the ground of a short acquaintance. +That it was short is certainly not my fault for he had charmed me by the +mere amenity of his detachment which, in this case, I cannot help +thinking he had carried to excess. He went away from his rooms without +leaving a trace. I wondered where he had gone to--but now I know. He +vanished from my ken only to drift into this adventure that, +unavoidable, waited for him in a world which he persisted in looking +upon as a malevolent shadow spinning in the sunlight. Often in the +course of years an expressed sentiment, the particular sense of a phrase +heard casually, would recall him to my mind so that I have fastened on +to him many words heard on other men's lips and belonging to other men's +less perfect, less pathetic moods. + +The same observation will apply _mutatis mutandis_ to Mr. Jones, who is +built on a much slenderer connection. Mr. Jones (or whatever his name +was) did not drift away from me. He turned his back on me and walked out +of the room. It was in a little hotel in the Island of St. Thomas in the +West Indies (in the year '75) where we found him one hot afternoon +extended on three chairs, all alone in the loud buzzing of flies to +which his immobility and his cadaverous aspect gave an almost gruesome +significance. Our invasion must have displeased him because he got off +the chairs brusquely and walked out leaving with me an indelibly weird +impression of his thin shanks. One of the men with me said that the +fellow was the most desperate gambler he had ever come across. I said: +"A professional sharper?" and got for answer: "He's a terror; but I must +say that up to a certain point he will play fair...." I wonder what the +point was. I never saw him again because I believe he went straight on +board a mail-boat which left within the hour for other ports of call in +the direction of Aspinall. Mr. Jones' characteristic insolence belongs +to another man of a quite different type. I will say nothing as to the +origins of his mentality because I don't intend to make any damaging +admissions. + +It so happened that the very same year Ricardo--the physical +Ricardo--was a fellow passenger of mine on board an extremely small and +extremely dirty little schooner, during a four days' passage between two +places in the Gulf of Mexico whose names don't matter. For the most part +he lay on deck aft as it were at my feet, and raising himself from time +to time on his elbow would talk about himself and go on talking, not +exactly to me or even at me (he would not even look up but kept his eyes +fixed on the deck) but more as if communing in a low voice with his +familiar devil. Now and then he would give me a glance and make the +hairs of his stiff little moustache stir quaintly. His eyes were green +and every cat I see to this day reminds me of the exact contour of his +face. What he was travelling for or what was his business in life he +never confided to me. Truth to say the only passenger on board that +schooner who could have talked openly about his activities and purposes +was a very snuffy and conversationally delightful friar, the Superior of +a convent, attended by a very young lay brother, of a particularly +ferocious countenance. We had with us also, lying prostrate in the dark +and unspeakable cuddy of that schooner, an old Spanish gentleman, owner +of much luggage and, as Ricardo assured me, very ill indeed. Ricardo +seemed to be either a servant or the confidant of that aged and +distinguished-looking invalid, who early on the passage held a long +murmured conversation with the friar, and after that did nothing but +groan feebly, smoke cigarettes and now and then call for Martin in a +voice full of pain. Then he who had become Ricardo in the book would go +below into that beastly and noisome hole, remain there mysteriously, +and coming up on deck again with a face on which nothing could be read, +would as likely as not resume for my edification the exposition of his +moral attitude toward life illustrated by striking particular instances +of the most atrocious complexion. Did he mean to frighten me? Or seduce +me? Or astonish me? Or arouse my admiration? All he did was to arouse my +amused incredulity. As scoundrels go he was far from being a bore. For +the rest my innocence was so great then that I could not take his +philosophy seriously. All the time he kept one ear turned to the cuddy +in the manner of a devoted servant, but I had the idea that in some way +or other he had imposed the connection on the invalid for some end of +his own. The reader therefore won't be surprised to hear that one +morning I was told without any particular emotion by the padrone of the +schooner that the "Rich man" down there was dead: He had died in the +night. I don't remember ever being so moved by the desolate end of a +complete stranger. I looked down the skylight, and there was the devoted +Martin busy cording cowhide trunks belonging to the deceased whose +white beard and hooked nose were the only parts I could make out in the +dark depths of a horrible stuffy bunk. + +As it fell calm in the course of the afternoon and continued calm during +all that night and the terrible, flaming day, the late Rich man had to +be thrown overboard at sunset, though as a matter of fact we were in +sight of the low pestilential mangrove-lined coast of our destination. +The excellent Father Superior mentioned to me with an air of immense +commiseration: "The poor man has left a young daughter." Who was to look +after her I don't know, but I saw the devoted Martin taking the trunks +ashore with great care just before I landed myself. I would perhaps have +tracked the ways of that man of immense sincerity for a little while but +I had some of my own very pressing business to attend to, which in the +end got mixed up with an earthquake and so I had no time to give to +Ricardo. The reader need not be told that I have not forgotten him, +though. + +My contact with the faithful Pedro was much shorter and my observation +of him was less complete but incomparably more anxious. It ended in a +sudden inspiration to get out of his way. It was in a hovel of sticks +and mats by the side of a path. As I went in there only to ask for a +bottle of lemonade I have not to this day the slightest idea what in my +appearance or actions could have roused his terrible ire. It became +manifest to me less than two minutes after I had set eyes on him for the +first time, and though immensely surprised of course I didn't stop to +think it out. I took the nearest short cut--through the wall. This +bestial apparition and a certain enormous buck nigger encountered in +Haiti only a couple of months afterwards have fixed my conception of +blind, furious, unreasoning rage, as manifested in the human animal, to +the end of my days. Of the nigger I used to dream for years afterwards. +Of Pedro never. The impression was less vivid. I got away from him too +quickly. + +It seems to me but natural that those three buried in a corner of my +memory should suddenly get out into the light of the world--so natural +that I offer no excuse for their existence. They were there, they had to +come out; and this is a sufficient excuse for a writer of tales who had +taken to his trade without preparation or premeditation and without any +moral intention but that which pervades the whole scheme of this world +of senses. + +Since this Note is mostly concerned with personal contacts and the +origins of the persons in the tale, I am bound also to speak of Lena, +because if I were to leave her out it would look like a slight; and +nothing would be further from my thoughts than putting a slight on Lena. +If of all the personages involved in the "mystery of Samburan" I have +lived longest with Heyst (or with him I call Heyst) it was at her, whom +I call Lena, that I have looked the longest and with a most sustained +attention. This attention originated in idleness for which I have a +natural talent. One evening I wandered into a café, in a town not of the +tropics but of the South of France. It was filled with tobacco smoke, +the hum of voices, the rattling of dominoes and the sounds of strident +music. The orchestra was rather smaller than the one that performed at +Schomberg's hotel, had the air more of a family party than of an +enlisted band, and, I must confess, seemed rather more respectable than +the Zangiacomo musical enterprise. It was less pretentious also, more +homely and familiar, so to speak, insomuch that in the intervals when +all the performers left the platform one of them went amongst the marble +tables collecting offerings of sous and francs in a battered tin +receptacle recalling the shape of a sauceboat. It was a girl. Her +detachment from her task seems to me now to have equalled or even +surpassed Heyst's aloofness from all the mental degradations to which a +man's intelligence is exposed in its way through life. Silent and +wide-eyed she went from table to table with the air of a sleep-walker +and with no other sound but the slight rattle of the coins to attract +attention. It was long after the sea-chapter of my life had been closed +but it is difficult to discard completely the characteristics of half a +life-time, and it was in something of the jack-ashore spirit that I +dropped a five-franc piece into the sauceboat; whereupon the +sleep-walker turned her head to gaze at me and said "Merci, Monsieur," +in a tone in which there was no gratitude but only surprise. I must have +been idle indeed to take the trouble to remark on such slight evidence +that the voice was very charming and when the performers resumed their +seats I shifted my position slightly in order not to have that +particular performer hidden from me by the little man with the beard who +conducted, and who might for all I know have been her father, but whose +real mission in life was to be a model for the Zangiacomo of "Victory." +Having got a clear line of sight I naturally (being idle) continued to +look at the girl through all the second part of the programme. The shape +of her dark head inclined over the violin was fascinating, and, while +resting between the pieces of that interminable programme she was, in +her white dress and with her brown hands reposing in her lap, the very +image of dreamy innocence. The mature, bad-tempered woman at the piano +might have been her mother, though there was not the slightest +resemblance between them. All I am certain of in their personal relation +to each other is that cruel pinch on the upper part of the arm. That I +am sure I have seen! There could be no mistake. I was in a too idle mood +to imagine such a gratuitous barbarity. It may have been playfulness, +yet the girl jumped up as if she had been stung by a wasp. It may have +been playfulness. Yet I saw plainly poor "dreamy innocence" rub gently +the affected place as she filed off with the other performers down the +middle aisle between the marble tables in the uproar of voices, the +rattling of dominoes, through a blue atmosphere of tobacco smoke. I +believe that those people left the town next day. + +Or perhaps they had only migrated to the other big café, on the other +side of the Place de la Comedie. It is very possible. I did not go +across to find out. It was my perfect idleness that had invested the +girl with a peculiar charm, and I did not want to destroy it by any +superfluous exertion. The receptivity of my indolence made the +impression so permanent that when the moment came for her meeting with +Heyst I felt that she would be heroically equal to every demand of the +risky and uncertain future. I was so convinced of it that I let her go +with Heyst, I won't say without a pang but certainly without misgivings. +And in view of her triumphant end what more could I have done for her +rehabilitation and her happiness? + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +THE SHADOW-LINE + + +This story, which I admit to be in its brevity a fairly complex piece of +work, was not intended to touch on the supernatural. Yet more than one +critic has been inclined to take it in that way, seeing in it an attempt +on my part to give the fullest scope to my imagination by taking it +beyond the confines of the world of the living, suffering humanity. But +as a matter of fact my imagination is not made of stuff so elastic as +all that. I believe that if I attempted to put the strain of the +Supernatural on it it would fail deplorably and exhibit an unlovely gap. +But I could never have attempted such a thing, because all my moral and +intellectual being is penetrated by an invincible conviction that +whatever falls under the dominion of our senses must be in nature and, +however exceptional, cannot differ in its essence from all the other +effects of the visible and tangible world of which we are a +self-conscious part. The world of the living contains enough marvels and +mysteries as it is; marvels and mysteries acting upon our emotions and +intelligence in ways so inexplicable that it would almost justify the +conception of life as an enchanted state. No, I am too firm in my +consciousness of the marvellous to be ever fascinated by the mere +supernatural, which (take it any way you like) is but a manufactured +article, the fabrication of minds insensitive to the intimate delicacies +of our relation to the dead and to the living, in their countless +multitudes; a desecration of our tenderest memories; an outrage on our +dignity. + +Whatever my native modesty may be it will never condescend so low as to +seek help for my imagination within those vain imaginings common to all +ages and that in themselves are enough to fill all lovers of mankind +with unutterable sadness. As to the effect of a mental or moral shock on +a common mind that is quite a legitimate subject for study and +description. Mr. Burns' moral being receives a severe shock in his +relations with his late captain, and this in his diseased state turns +into a mere superstitious fancy compounded of fear and animosity. This +fact is one of the elements of the story, but there is nothing +supernatural in it, nothing so to speak from beyond the confines of this +world, which in all conscience holds enough mystery and terror in +itself. + +Perhaps if I had published this tale, which I have had for a long time +in my mind, under the title of First Command, no suggestion of the +Supernatural would have been found in it by any impartial reader, +critical or otherwise. I will not consider here the origins of the +feeling in which its actual title, The Shadow-Line, occurred to my mind. +Primarily the aim of this piece of writing was the presentation of +certain facts which certainly were associated with the change from +youth, carefree and fervent, to the more self-conscious and more +poignant period of maturer life. Nobody can doubt that before the +supreme trial of a whole generation I had an acute consciousness of the +minute and insignificant character of my own obscure experience. There +could be no question here of any parallelism. That notion never entered +my head. But there was a feeling of identity, though with an enormous +difference of scale--as of one single drop measured against the bitter +and stormy immensity of an ocean. And this was very natural too. For +when we begin to meditate on the meaning of our own past it seems to +fill all the world in its profundity and its magnitude. This book was +written in the last three months of the year 1916. Of all the subjects +of which a writer of tales is more or less conscious within himself this +is the only one I found it possible to attempt at the time. The depth +and the nature of the mood with which I approached it is best expressed +perhaps in the dedication which strikes me now as a most +disproportionate thing--as another instance of the overwhelming +greatness of our own emotion to ourselves. + +This much having been said I may pass on now to a few remarks about the +mere material of the story. As to locality it belongs to that part of +the Eastern Seas from which I have carried away into my writing life the +greatest number of suggestions. From my statement that I thought of this +story for a long time under the title of First Command the reader may +guess that it is concerned with my personal experience. And as a matter +of fact it _is_ personal experience seen in perspective with the eye of +the mind and coloured by that affection one can't help feeling for such +events of one's life as one has no reason to be ashamed of. And that +affection is as intense (I appeal here to universal experience) as the +shame, and almost the anguish with which one remembers some unfortunate +occurrences, down to mere mistakes in speech, that have been perpetrated +by one in the past. The effect of perspective in memory is to make +things loom large because the essentials stand out isolated from their +surroundings of insignificant daily facts which have naturally faded out +of one's mind. I remember that period of my sea-life with pleasure +because begun inauspiciously it turned out in the end a success from a +personal point of view, leaving a tangible proof in the terms of the +letter the owners of the ship wrote to me two years afterwards when I +resigned my command in order to come home. This resignation marked the +beginning of another phase of my seaman's life, its terminal phase, if I +may say so, which in its own way has coloured another portion of my +writings. I didn't know then how near its end my sea-life was, and +therefore I felt no sorrow except at parting with the ship. I was sorry +also to break my connection with the firm which owned her and who were +pleased to receive with friendly kindness and give their confidence to a +man who had entered their service in an accidental manner and in very +adverse circumstances. Without disparaging the earnestness of my purpose +I suspect now that luck had no small part in the success of the trust +reposed in me. And one cannot help remembering with pleasure the time +when one's best efforts were seconded by a run of luck. + +The words "_Worthy of my undying regard_" selected by me for the motto +on the title page are quoted from the text of the book itself; and, +though one of my critics surmised that they applied to the ship, it is +evident from the place where they stand that they refer to the men of +that ship's company: complete strangers to their new captain and yet who +stood by him so well during those twenty days that seemed to have been +passed on the brink of a slow and agonizing destruction. And _that_ is +the greatest memory of all! For surely it is a great thing to have +commanded a handful of men worthy of one's undying regard. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +ARROW OF GOLD + +FIRST NOTE + + +The pages which follow have been extracted from a pile of manuscript +which was apparently meant for the eye of one woman only. She seems to +have been the writer's childhood friend. They had parted as children, or +very little more than children. Years passed. Then something recalled to +the woman the companion of her young days and she wrote to him: "I have +been hearing of you lately. I know where life has brought you. You +certainly selected your own road. But to us, left behind, it always +looked as if you had struck out into a pathless desert. We always +regarded you as a person that must be given up for lost. But you have +turned up again; and though we may never see each other, my memory +welcomes you and I confess to you I should like to know the incidents on +the road which has led you to where you are now." + +And he answers her: "I believe you are the only one now alive who +remembers me as a child. I have heard of you from time to time, but I +wonder what sort of person you are now. Perhaps if I did know I wouldn't +dare put pen to paper. But I don't know. I only remember that we were +great chums. In fact, I chummed with you even more than with your +brothers. But I am like the pigeon that went away in the fable of the +Two Pigeons. If I once start to tell you I would want you to feel that +you have been there yourself. I may overtax your patience with the story +of my life so different from yours, not only in all the facts but +altogether in spirit. You may not understand. You may even be shocked. I +say all this to myself; but I know I shall succumb! I have a distinct +recollection that in the old days, when you were about fifteen, you +always could make me do whatever you liked." + +He succumbed. He begins his story for her with the minute narration of +this adventure which took about twelve months to develop. In the form in +which it is presented here it has been pruned of all allusions to their +common past, of all asides, disquisitions, and explanations addressed +directly to the friend of his childhood. And even as it is the whole +thing is of considerable length. It seems that he had not only a memory +but that he also knew how to remember. But as to that opinions may +differ. + +This, his first great adventure, as he calls it, begins in Marseilles. +It ends there, too. Yet it might have happened anywhere. This does not +mean that the people concerned could have come together in pure space. +The locality had a definite importance. As to the time, it is easily +fixed by the events at about the middle years of the seventies, when Don +Carlos de Bourbon, encouraged by the general reaction of all Europe +against the excesses of communistic Republicanism, made his attempt for +the throne of Spain, arms in hand, amongst the hills and gorges of +Guipuzcoa. It is perhaps the last instance of a Pretender's adventure +for a Crown that History will have to record with the usual grave moral +disapproval tinged by a shamefaced regret for the departing romance. +Historians are very much like other people. + +However, History has nothing to do with this tale. Neither is the moral +justification or condemnation of conduct aimed at here. If anything it +is perhaps a little sympathy that the writer expects for his buried +youth, as he lives it over again at the end of his insignificant course +on this earth. Strange person--yet perhaps not so very different from +ourselves. + +A few words as to certain facts may be added. + +It may seem that he was plunged very abruptly into this long adventure. +But from certain passages (suppressed here because mixed up with +irrelevant matter) it appears clearly that at the time of the meeting in +the café, Mills had already gathered, in various quarters, a definite +view of the eager youth who had been introduced to him in that +ultra-legitimist salon. What Mills had learned represented him as a +young gentleman who had arrived furnished with proper credentials and +who apparently was doing his best to waste his life in an eccentric +fashion, with a bohemian set (one poet, at least, emerged out of it +later) on one side, and on the other making friends with the people of +the Old Town, pilots, coasters, sailors, workers of all sorts. He +pretended rather absurdly to be a seaman himself and was already +credited with an ill-defined and vaguely illegal enterprise in the Gulf +of Mexico. At once it occurred to Mills that this eccentric youngster +was the very person for what the legitimist sympathizers had very much +at heart just then; to organize a supply by sea of arms and ammunition +to the Carlist detachments in the South. It was precisely to confer on +that matter with Doña Rita that Captain Blunt had been despatched from +Headquarters. + +Mills got in touch with Blunt at once and put the suggestion before him. +The Captain thought this the very thing. As a matter of fact, on that +evening of Carnival, those two, Mills and Blunt, had been actually +looking everywhere for our man. They had decided that he should be drawn +into the affair if it could be done. Blunt naturally wanted to see him +first. He must have estimated him a promising person, but, from another +point of view, not dangerous. Thus lightly was the notorious (and at the +same time mysterious) Monsieur George brought into the world; out of the +contact of two minds which did not give a single thought to his flesh +and blood. + +This purpose explains the intimate tone given to their first +conversation and the sudden introduction of Doña Rita's history. Mills, +of course, wanted to hear all about it. As to Captain Blunt I suspect +that, at the time, he was thinking of nothing else. In addition it was +Doña Rita who would have to do the persuading; for, after all, such an +enterprise with its ugly and desperate risks was not a trifle to put +before a man--however young. + +It cannot be denied that Mills seems to have acted somewhat +unscrupulously. He himself appears to have had some doubt about it, at a +given moment, as they were driving to the Prado. But perhaps Mills, with +his penetration, understood very well the nature he was dealing with. He +might even have envied it. But it's not my business to excuse Mills. As +to him whom we may regard as Mills' victim it is obvious that he has +never harboured a single reproachful thought. For him Mills is not to be +criticized. A remarkable instance of the great power of mere +individuality over the young. + + * * * * * + +Having named all the short prefaces written for my books, Author's +Notes, this one too must have the same heading for the sake of +uniformity if at the risk of some confusion. "The Arrow of Gold," as its +sub-title states, is a story between two Notes. But these Notes are +embodied in its very frame, belong to its texture, and their mission is +to prepare and close the story. They are material to the comprehension +of the experience related in the narrative and are meant to determine +the time and place together with certain historical circumstances +conditioning the existence of the people concerned in the transactions +of the twelve months covered by the narrative. It was the shortest way +of getting over the preliminaries of a piece of work which could not +have been of the nature of a chronicle. + +"The Arrow of Gold" is my first after-the-war publication. The writing +of it was begun in the autumn of 1917 and finished in the summer of +1918. Its memory is associated with that of the darkest hour of the war, +which, in accordance with the well known proverb, preceded the dawn--the +dawn of peace. + +As I look at them now, these pages, written in the days of stress and +dread, wear a look of strange serenity. They were written calmly, yet +not in cold blood, and are perhaps the only kind of pages I could have +written at that time full of menace, but also full of faith. + +The subject of this book I have been carrying about with me for many +years, not so much a possession of my memory as an inherent part of +myself. It was ever present to my mind and ready to my hand, but I was +loth to touch it from a feeling of what I imagined to be mere shyness +but which in reality was a very comprehensible mistrust of myself. + +In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, +especially if it has got to be carried into the market-place. This being +the product of my private garden my reluctance can be easily understood; +though some critics have expressed their regret that I had not written +this book fifteen years earlier I do not share that opinion. If I took +it up so late in life it is because the right moment had not arrived +till then. I mean the positive feeling of it, which is a thing that +cannot be discussed. Neither will I discuss here the regrets of those +critics, which seem to me the most irrelevant thing that could have been +said in connection with literary criticism. + +I never tried to conceal the origins of the subject matter of this book +which I have hesitated so long to write; but some reviewers indulged +themselves with a sense of triumph in discovering in it my Dominic of +"The Mirror of the Sea" under his own name (a truly wonderful +discovery) and in recognizing the balancelle _Tremolino_ in the unnamed +little craft in which Mr. George plied his fantastic trade and sought to +allay the pain of his incurable wound. I am not in the least +disconcerted by this display of perspicacity. It is the same man and the +same balancelle. But for the purposes of a book like "The Mirror of the +Sea" all I could make use of was the personal history of the little +_Tremolino_. The present work is not in any sense an attempt to develop +a subject lightly touched upon in former years and in connection with +quite another kind of love. What the story of the _Tremolino_ in its +anecdotic character has in common with the story of "The Arrow of Gold" +is the quality of initiation (through an ordeal which required some +resolution to face) into the life of passion. In the few pages at the +end of "The Mirror of the Sea" and in the whole volume of "The Arrow of +Gold," _that_ and no other is the subject offered to the public. The +pages and the book form together a complete record; and the only +assurance I can give my readers is, that as it stands here with all its +imperfections it is given to them complete. + +I venture this explicit statement because, amidst much sympathetic +appreciation, I have detected here and there a note, as it were, of +suspicion. Suspicion of facts concealed, of explanations held back, of +inadequate motives. But what is lacking in the facts is simply what I +did not know, and what is not explained is what I did not understand +myself, and what seems inadequate is the fault of my imperfect insight. +And all that I could not help. In the case of this book I was unable to +supplement these deficiences by the exercise of my inventive faculty. It +was never very strong; and on this occasion its use would have seemed +exceptionally dishonest. It is from that ethical motive and not from +timidity that I elected to keep strictly within the limits of unadorned +sincerity and to try to enlist the sympathies of my readers without +assuming lofty omniscience or descending to the subterfuge of +exaggerated emotions. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +THE RESCUE + + +Of the three long novels of mine which suffered an interruption, "The +Rescue" was the one that had to wait the longest for the good pleasure +of the Fates. I am betraying no secret when I state here that it had to +wait precisely for twenty years. I laid it aside at the end of the +summer of 1898 and it was about the end of the summer of 1918 that I +took it up again with the firm determination to see the end of it and +helped by the sudden feeling that I might be equal to the task. + +This does not mean that I turned to it with elation. I was well aware +and perhaps even too much aware of the dangers of such an adventure. The +amazingly sympathetic kindness which men of various temperaments, +diverse views and different literary tastes have been for years +displaying towards my work has done much for me, has done all--except +giving me that overweening self-confidence which may assist an +adventurer sometimes but in the long run ends by leading him to the +gallows. + +As the characteristic I want most to impress upon these short Author's +Notes prepared for my first Collected Edition is that of absolute +frankness, I hasten to declare that I founded my hopes not on my +supposed merits but on the continued goodwill of my readers. I may say +at once that my hopes have been justified out of all proportion to my +deserts. I met with the most considerate, most delicately expressed +criticism free from all antagonism and in its conclusions showing an +insight which in itself could not fail to move me deeply, but was +associated also with enough commendation to make me feel rich beyond the +dreams of avarice--I mean an artist's avarice which seeks its treasure +in the hearts of men and women. + +No! Whatever the preliminary anxieties might have been this adventure +was not to end in sorrow. Once more Fortune favoured audacity; and yet I +have never forgotten the jocular translation of _Audaces fortuna juvat_ +offered to me by my tutor when I was a small boy: "The Audacious get +bitten." However he took care to mention that there were various kinds +of audacity. Oh, there are, there are!... There is, for instance, the +kind of audacity almost indistinguishable from impudence.... I must +believe that in this case I have not been impudent for I am not +conscious of having been bitten. + +The truth is that when "The Rescue" was laid aside it was not laid aside +in despair. Several reasons contributed to this abandonment and, no +doubt, the first of them was the growing sense of general difficulty in +the handling of the subject. The contents and the course of the story I +had clearly in my mind. But as to the way of presenting the facts, and +perhaps in a certain measure as to the nature of the facts themselves, I +had many doubts. I mean the telling, representative facts, helpful to +carry on the idea, and, at the same time, of such a nature as not to +demand an elaborate creation of the atmosphere to the detriment of the +action. I did not see how I could avoid becoming wearisome in the +presentation of detail and in the pursuit of clearness. I saw the action +plainly enough. What I had lost for the moment was the sense of the +proper formula of expression, of the only formula that would suit. This, +of course, weakened my confidence in the intrinsic worth and in the +possible interest of the story--that is in my invention. But I suspect +that all the trouble was, in reality, the doubt of my prose, the doubt +of its adequacy, of its power to master both the colours and the shades. + +It is difficult to describe, exactly as I remember it, the complex +state of my feelings; but those of my readers who take an interest in +artistic perplexities will understand me best when I point out that I +dropped "The Rescue" not to give myself up to idleness, regrets, or +dreaming, but to begin "The Nigger of the Narcissus" and to go on with +it without hesitation and without a pause. A comparison of any page of +"The Rescue" with any page of "The Nigger" will furnish an ocular +demonstration of the nature and the inward meaning of this first crisis +of my writing life. For it was a crisis undoubtedly. The laying aside of +a work so far advanced was a very awful decision to take. It was wrung +from me by a sudden conviction that _there_ only was the road of +salvation, the clear way out for an uneasy conscience. The finishing of +"The Nigger" brought to my troubled mind the comforting sense of an +accomplished task, and the first consciousness of a certain sort of +mastery which could accomplish something with the aid of propitious +stars. Why I did not return to "The Rescue" at once then, was not for +the reason that I had grown afraid of it. Being able now to assume a +firm attitude I said to myself deliberately: "That thing can wait." At +the same time I was just as certain in my mind that "Youth," a story +which I had then, so to speak, on the tip of my pen, could _not_ wait. +Neither could Heart of Darkness be put off; for the practical reason +that Mr. Wm. Blackwood having requested me to write something for the +No. M. of his magazine I had to stir up at once the subject of that tale +which had been long lying quiescent in my mind, because, obviously, the +venerable Maga at her patriarchal age of 1000 numbers could not be kept +waiting. Then "Lord Jim," with about seventeen pages already written at +odd times, put in his claim which was irresistible. Thus every stroke of +the pen was taking me further away from the abandoned "Rescue," not +without some compunction on my part but with a gradually diminishing +resistance; till at last I let myself go as if recognizing a superior +influence against which it was useless to contend. + +The years passed and the pages grew in number, and the long reveries of +which they were the outcome stretched wide between me and the deserted +"Rescue" like the smooth hazy spaces of a dreamy sea. Yet I never +actually lost sight of that dark speck in the misty distance. It had +grown very small but it asserted itself with the appeal of old +associations. It seemed to me that it would be a base thing for me to +slip out of the world leaving it out there all alone, waiting for its +fate--that would never come! + +Sentiment, pure sentiment as you see, prompted me in the last instance +to face the pains and hazards of that return. As I moved slowly towards +the abandoned body of the tale it loomed up big amongst the glittering +shallows of the coast, lonely but not forbidding. There was nothing +about it of a grim derelict. It had an air of expectant life. One after +another I made out the familiar faces watching my approach with faint +smiles of amused recognition. They had known well enough that I was +bound to come back to them. But their eyes met mine seriously as was +only to be expected since I myself felt very serious as I stood amongst +them again after years of absence. At once, without wasting words, we +went to work together on our renewed life; and every moment I felt more +strongly that They Who had Waited bore no grudge to the man who however +widely he may have wandered at times had played truant only once in his +life. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +NOTES ON LIFE AND LETTERS + + +I don't know whether I ought to offer an apology for this collection +which has more to do with life than with letters. Its appeal is made to +orderly minds. This, to be frank about it, is a process of tidying up, +which, from the nature of things, can not be regarded as premature. The +fact is that I wanted to do it myself because of a feeling that had +nothing to do with the considerations of worthiness or unworthiness of +the small (but unbroken) pieces collected within the covers of this +volume. Of course it may be said that I might have taken up a broom and +used it without saying anything about it. That certainly is one way of +tidying up. + +But it would have been too much to have expected me to treat all this +matter as removable rubbish. All those things had a place in my life. +Whether any of them deserve to have been picked up and ranged on the +shelf--this shelf--I cannot say, and, frankly, I have not allowed my +mind to dwell on the question. I was afraid of thinking myself into a +mood that would hurt my feelings; for those pieces of writing, whatever +may be the comment on their display, appertain to the character of the +man. + +And so here they are, dusted, which was but a decent thing to do, but in +no way polished, extending from the year '98 to the year '20, a thin +array (for such a stretch of time) of really innocent attitudes: Conrad +literary, Conrad political, Conrad reminiscent, Conrad controversial. +Well, yes! A one-man show--or is it merely the show of one man? + +The only thing that will not be found amongst those Figures and Things +that have passed away will be Conrad "_en pantoufles_." It is a +constitutional inability. _Schlafrock und pantoffeln!_ Not that! Never! +I don't know whether I dare boast like a certain South American general +who used to say that no emergency of war or peace had ever found him +"with his boots off"; but I may say that whenever the various +periodicals mentioned in this book called on me to come out and blow the +trumpet of personal opinions or strike the pensive lute that speaks of +the past, I always tried to pull on my boots first. I didn't want to do +it, God knows! Their Editors, to whom I beg to offer my thanks here, +made me perform mainly by kindness but partly by bribery. Well, yes! +Bribery. What can you expect? I never pretended to be better than the +people in the next street and even in the same street. + +This volume (including these embarrassed introductory remarks) is as +near as I shall ever come to déshabillé in public; and perhaps it will +do something to help towards a better vision of the man, if it gives no +more than a partial view of a piece of his back, a little dusty (after +the process of tidying up), a little bowed, and receding from the world +not because of weariness or misanthropy but for other reasons that +cannot be helped: because the leaves fall, the water flows, the clock +ticks with that horrid pitiless solemnity which you must have observed +in the ticking of the hall clock at home. For reasons like that. Yes! It +recedes. And this was the chance to afford one more view of it--even to +my own eyes. + +The section within this volume called Letters explains itself though I +do not pretend to say that it justifies its own existence. It claims +nothing in its defence except the right of speech which I believe +belongs to everybody outside a Trappist monastery. The part I have +ventured, for shortness' sake, to call Life, may perhaps justify itself +by the emotional sincerity of the feelings to which the various papers +included under that head owe their origin. And as they relate to events +of which everyone has a date, they are in the nature of sign-posts +pointing out the direction my thoughts were compelled to take at the +various crossroads. If anybody detects any sort of consistency in the +choice, this will be only proof positive that wisdom had nothing to do +with it. Whether right or wrong, instinct alone is invariable; a fact +which only adds a deeper shade to its inherent mystery. The appearance +of intellectuality these pieces may present at first sight is merely the +result of the arrangement of words. The logic that may be found there is +only the logic of the language. But I need not labour the point. There +will be plenty of people sagacious enough to perceive the absence of all +wisdom from these pages. But I believe sufficiently in human sympathies +to imagine that very few will question their sincerity. Whatever +delusions I may have suffered from I have had no delusions as to the +nature of the facts commented on here. I may have misjudged their +import: but that is the sort of error for which one may expect a certain +amount of toleration. + +The only paper of this collection which has never been published before +is the Note on the Polish problem. It was written at the request of a +friend to be shown privately, and its "Protectorate" idea, sprung from a +strong sense of the critical nature of the situation, was shaped by the +actual circumstances of the time. The time was about a month before the +entrance of Roumania into the war, and though, honestly, I had seen +already the shadow of coming events I could not permit my misgivings to +enter into and destroy the structure of my plan. I still believe that +there was some sense in it. It may certainly be charged with the +appearance of lack of faith and it lays itself open to the throwing of +many stones; but my object was practical and I had to consider warily +the preconceived notions of the people to whom it was implicitly +addressed and also their unjustifiable hopes. They were unjustifiable, +but who was to tell them that? I mean who was wise enough and +convincing enough to show them the inanity of their mental attitude? The +whole atmosphere was poisoned with visions that were not so much false +as simply impossible. They were also the result of vague and unconfessed +fears, and that made their strength. For myself, with a very definite +dread in my heart, I was careful not to allude to their character +because I did not want the Note to be thrown away unread. And then I had +to remember that the impossible has sometimes the trick of coming to +pass to the confusion of minds and often to the crushing of hearts. + +Of the other papers I have nothing special to say. They are what they +are, and I am by now too hardened a sinner to feel ashamed of +insignificant indiscretions. And as to their appearance in this form I +claim that indulgence to which all sinners against themselves are +entitled. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Notes on My Books, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON MY BOOKS *** + +***** This file should be named 20150-8.txt or 20150-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/5/20150/ + +Produced by Janet Blenkinship and also, thanks to Michael +Kerwin of Occidental College for supplying images of the +missing pages from the book I had in hand, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Notes on My Books + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: December 20, 2006 [EBook #20150] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON MY BOOKS *** + + + + +Produced by Janet Blenkinship and also, thanks to Michael +Kerwin of Occidental College for supplying images of the +missing pages from the book I had in hand, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + +<h4>This "O-P Book" Is an Authorized Reprint of the Original Edition, +Produced by Microfilm-Xerography by University Microfilms, Inc., Ann +Arbor, Michigan, 1966<br /><br /></h4> + +<h1>NOTES ON MY BOOKS<br /></h1> + + + <h4>BY</h4> + <h2>JOSEPH CONRAD<br /></h2> + + + + <p class='center'>GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO<br /> + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> + MCMXXI<br /><br /> + COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY<br /> + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br /> + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><br /><br />CONTENTS</h2> +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ALMAYERS_FOLLY">ALMAYER'S FOLLY</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_OUTCAST_OF_THE_ISLANDS">AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NIGGER_OF_THE_NARCISSUS">NIGGER OF THE 'NARCISSUS'</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TALES_OF_UNREST">TALES OF UNREST</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LORD_JIM">LORD JIM</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#YOUTH">YOUTH</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TYPHOON">TYPHOON</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NOSTROMO">NOSTROMO</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MIRROR_OF_THE_SEA">MIRROR OF THE SEA</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SECRET_AGENT">THE SECRET AGENT</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SET_OF_SIX">A SET OF SIX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#UNDER_WESTERN_EYES">UNDER WESTERN EYES</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_PERSONAL_RECORD">A PERSONAL RECORD</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FAMILIAR_PREFACE">A FAMILIAR PREFACE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TWIXT_LAND_AND_SEA">TWIXT LAND AND SEA</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHANCE">CHANCE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WITHIN_THE_TIDES">WITHIN THE TIDES</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NOTE_TO_THE_FIRST_EDITION">NOTE TO THE FIRST EDITION</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#VICTORY">VICTORY</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SHADOW-LINE">THE SHADOW-LINE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ARROW_OF_GOLD">ARROW OF GOLD</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_RESCUE">THE RESCUE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NOTES_ON_LIFE_AND_LETTERS">NOTES ON LIFE AND LETTERS</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><br /><br /><a name="NOTES_ON_MY_BOOKS" id="NOTES_ON_MY_BOOKS"></a>NOTES ON MY BOOKS<br /><br /></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ALMAYERS_FOLLY" id="ALMAYERS_FOLLY"></a>ALMAYER'S FOLLY</h2> + + +<p>I am informed that in criticizing that literature which preys on +strange people and prowls in far-off countries, under the shade of +palms, in the unsheltered glare of sunbeaten beaches, amongst honest +cannibals and the more sophisticated pioneers of our glorious virtues, a +lady—distinguished in the world of letters—summed up her disapproval +of it by saying that the tales it produced were "de-civilized." And in +that sentence not only the tales but, I apprehend, the strange people +and the far-off countries also, are finally condemned in a verdict of +contemptuous dislike.</p> + +<p>A woman's judgment: intuitive, clever, expressed with felicitous +charm—infallible. A judgment that has nothing to do with justice. The +critic and the judge seems to think that in those distant lands all joy +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>is a yell and a war dance, all pathos is a howl and a ghastly grin of +filed teeth, and that the solution of all problems is found in the +barrel of a revolver or on the point of an assegai. And yet it is not +so. But the erring magistrate may plead in excuse the misleading nature +of the evidence.</p> + +<p>The picture of life, there as here, is drawn with the same elaboration +of detail, coloured with the same tints. Only in the cruel serenity of +the sky, under the merciless brilliance of the sun, the dazzled eye +misses the delicate detail, sees only the strong outlines, while the +colours, in the steady light, seem crude and-without shadow. +Nevertheless it is the same picture.</p> + +<p>And there is a bond between us and that humanity so far away. I am +speaking here of men and women—not of the charming and graceful +phantoms that move about in our mud and smoke and are softly luminous +with the radiance of all our virtues; that are possessed of all +refinements, of all sensibilities, of all wisdom—but, being only +phantoms, possess no heart.</p> + +<p>The sympathies of those are (probably) with the immortals: with the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>angels above or the devils below. I am content to sympathize with +common mortals, no matter where they live; in houses or in tents, in the +streets under a fog, or in the forests behind the dark line of dismal +mangroves that fringe the vast solitude of the sea. For, their +land—like ours—lies under the inscrutable eyes of the Most High. Their +hearts—like ours—must endure the load of the gifts from Heaven: the +curse of facts and the blessing of illusions, the bitterness of our +wisdom and the deceptive consolation of our folly.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1895.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AN_OUTCAST_OF_THE_ISLANDS" id="AN_OUTCAST_OF_THE_ISLANDS"></a>AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS</h2> + + +<p>"An Outcast of the Islands" is my second novel in the absolute sense of +the word; second in conception, second in execution, second as it were +in its essence. There was no hesitation, half-formed plan, vague idea, +or the vaguest reverie of anything else between it and "Almayer's +Folly." The only doubt I suffered from, after the publication of +"Almayer's Folly," was whether I should write another line for print. +Those days, now grown so dim, had their poignant moments. Neither in my +mind nor in my heart had I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> then given up the sea. In truth I was +clinging to it desperately, all the more desperately because, against my +will, I could not help feeling that there was something changed in my +relation to it. "Almayer's Folly" had been finished and done with. The +mood itself was gone. But it had left the memory of an experience that, +both in thought and emotion, was unconnected with the sea, and I suppose +that part of my moral being which is rooted in consistency was badly +shaken. I was a victim of contrary stresses which produced a state of +immobility. I gave myself up to indolence. Since it was impossible for +me to face both ways I had elected to face nothing. The discovery of new +values in life is a very chaotic experience; there is a tremendous +amount of jostling and confusion and a momentary feeling of darkness. I +let my spirit float supine over that chaos.</p> + +<p>A phrase of Edward Garnett's is, as a matter of fact, responsible for +this book. The first of the friends I made for myself by my pen it was +but natural that he should be the recipient, at that time, of my +confidences. One evening when we had dined together and he had listened +to the account of my per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>plexities (I fear he must have been growing a +little tired of them) he pointed out that there was no need to determine +my future absolutely. Then he added: "You have the style, you have the +temperament; why not write another?" I believe that as far as one man +may wish to influence another man's life Edward Garnett had a great +desire that I should go on writing. At that time, and I may say, ever +afterwards, he was always very patient and gentle with me. What strikes +me most, however, in the phrase quoted above which was offered to me in +a tone of detachment is not its gentleness but its effective wisdom. Had +he said, "Why not go on writing," it is very probable he would have +scared me away from pen and ink for ever; but there was nothing either +to frighten one or arouse one's antagonism in the mere suggestion to +"write another." And thus a dead point in the revolution of my affairs +was insidiously got over. The word "another" did it. At about eleven +o'clock of a nice London night, Edward and I walked along interminable +streets talking of many things, and I remember that on getting home I +sat down and wrote about half a page of "An<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> Outcast of the Islands" +before I slept. This was committing myself definitely, I won't say to +another life, but to another book. There is apparently something in my +character which will not allow me to abandon for good any piece of work +I have begun. I have laid aside many beginnings. I have laid them aside +with sorrow, with disgust, with rage, with melancholy and even with +self-contempt; but even at the worst I had an uneasy consciousness that +I would have to go back to them.</p> + +<p>"An Outcast of the Islands" belongs to those novels of mine that were +never laid aside; and though it brought me the qualification of "exotic +writer" I don't think the charge was at all justified. For the life of +me I don't see that there is the slightest exotic spirit in the +conception or style of that novel. It is certainly the most <i>tropical</i> +of my eastern tales. The mere scenery got a great hold on me as I went +on, perhaps because (I may just as well confess that) the story itself +was never very near my heart. It engaged my imagination much more than +my affection. As to my feeling for Willems it was but the regard one +cannot help having for one's own creation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> Obviously I could not be +indifferent to a man on whose head I had brought so much evil simply by +imagining him such as he appears in the novel—and that, too, on a very +slight foundation.</p> + +<p>The man who suggested Willems to me was not particularly interesting in +himself. My interest was aroused by his dependent position, his strange, +dubious status of a mistrusted, disliked, worn-out European living on +the reluctant toleration of that Settlement hidden in the heart of the +forest-land, up that sombre stream which our ship was the only white +men's ship to visit. With his hollow, clean-shaved cheeks, a heavy grey +moustache and eyes without any expression whatever, clad always in a +spotless sleeping suit much befrogged in front, which left his lean neck +wholly uncovered, and with his bare feet in a pair of straw slippers, he +wandered silently amongst the houses in daylight, almost as dumb as an +animal and apparently much more homeless. I don't know what he did with +himself at night. He must have had a place, a hut, a palm-leaf shed, +some sort of hovel where he kept his razor and his change of sleeping +suits. An air of futile mystery hung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> over him, something not exactly +dark but obviously ugly. The only definite statement I could extract +from anybody was that it was he who had "brought the Arabs into the +river." That must have happened many years before. But how did he bring +them into the river? He could hardly have done it in his arms like a lot +of kittens. I knew that Almayer founded the chronology of all his +misfortunes on the date of that fateful advent; and yet the very first +time we dined with Almayer there was Willems sitting at table with us in +the manner of the skeleton at the feast, obviously shunned by everybody, +never addressed by any one, and for all recognition of his existence +getting now and then from Almayer a venomous glance which I observed +with great surprise. In the course of the whole evening he ventured one +single remark which I didn't catch because his articulation was +imperfect, as of a man who had forgotten how to speak. I was the only +person who seemed aware of the sound. Willems subsided. Presently he +retired, pointedly unnoticed—into the forest maybe? Its immensity was +there, within three hundred yards of the verandah, ready to swallow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> up +anything. Almayer conversing with my captain did not stop talking while +he glared angrily at the retreating back. Didn't that fellow bring the +Arabs into the river! Nevertheless Willems turned up next morning on +Almayer's verandah. From the bridge of the steamer I could see plainly +these two, breakfasting together, tête à tête and, I suppose, in dead +silence, one with his air of being no longer interested in this world +and the other raising his eyes now and then with intense dislike.</p> + +<p>It was clear that in those days Willems lived on Almayer's charity. Yet +on returning two months later to Sambir I heard that he had gone on an +expedition up the river in charge of a steam-launch belonging to the +Arabs, to make some discovery or other. On account of the strange +reluctance that everyone manifested to talk about Willems it was +impossible for me to get at the rights of that transaction. Moreover, I +was a newcomer, the youngest of the company, and, I suspect, not judged +quite fit as yet for a full confidence. I was not much concerned about +that exclusion. The faint suggestion of plots and mysteries pertaining +to all matters touching Almayer's affairs amused me vastly. Al<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>mayer was +obviously very much affected. I believe he missed Willems immensely. He +wore an air of sinister preoccupation and talked confidentially with my +captain. I could catch only snatches of mumbled sentences. Then one +morning as I came along the deck to take my place at the breakfast table +Almayer checked himself in his low-toned discourse. My captain's face +was perfectly impenetrable. There was a moment of profound silence and +then as if unable to contain himself Almayer burst out in a loud vicious +tone:</p> + +<p>"One thing's certain; if he finds anything worth having up there they +will poison him like a dog."</p> + +<p>Disconnected though it was, that phrase, as food for thought, was +distinctly worth hearing. We left the river three days afterwards and I +never returned to Sambir; but whatever happened to the protagonist of my +Willems nobody can deny that I have recorded for him a less squalid +fate.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1919.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NIGGER_OF_THE_NARCISSUS" id="NIGGER_OF_THE_NARCISSUS"></a>NIGGER OF THE 'NARCISSUS'</h2> + +<h3>TO MY READERS IN AMERICA</h3> + + +<p>From that evening when James Wait joined the ship—late for the muster +of the crew—to the moment when he left us in the open sea, shrouded in +sailcloth, through the open port, I had much to do with him. He was in +my watch. A negro in a British forecastle is a lonely being. He has no +chums. Yet James Wait, afraid of death and making her his accomplice, +was an impostor of some character—mastering our compassion, scornful of +our sentimentalism, triumphing over our suspicions.</p> + +<p>But in the book he is nothing; he is merely the centre of the ship's +collective psychology and the pivot of the action. Yet he, who in the +family circle and amongst my friends is familiarly referred to as the +Nigger, remains very precious to me. For the book written round him is +not the sort of thing that can be attempted more than once in a +life-time. It is the book by which, not as a novelist perhaps, but as an +artist striving for the utmost sincerity of expression, I am willing to +stand or fall. Its pages are the tribute of my unalterable and profound +affection for the ships,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> the seamen, the winds and the great sea—the +moulders of my youth, the companions of the best years of my life.</p> + +<p>After writing the last words of that book, in the revulsion of feeling +before the accomplished task, I understood that I had done with the sea, +and that henceforth I had to be a writer. And almost without laying down +the pen I wrote a preface, trying to express the spirit in which I was +entering on the task of my new life. That preface on advice (which I now +think was wrong) was never published with the book. But the late W. E. +Henley, who had the courage at that time (1897) to serialize my "Nigger" +in the <i>New Review</i> judged it worthy to be printed as an afterword at +the end of the last instalment of the tale.</p> + +<p>I am glad that this book which means so much to me is coming out again, +under its proper title of "The Nigger of the <i>Narcissus</i>" and under the +auspices of my good friends and publishers Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. +into the light of publicity.</p> + +<p>Half the span of a generation has passed since W. E. Henley, after +reading two chapters, sent me a verbal message: "Tell Conrad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> that if +the rest is up to the sample it shall certainly come out in the <i>New +Review</i>." The most gratifying recollection of my writer's life!</p> + +<p>And here is the Suppressed Preface.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1914.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should +carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be defined as +a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the +visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, +underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in +its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and +in the facts of life what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and +essential—their one illuminating and convincing quality—the very truth +of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, +seeks the truth and makes his appeal. Impressed by the aspect of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +world the thinker plunges into ideas, the scientist into facts—whence, +presently, emerging, they make their appeal to those qualities of our +being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. They +speak authoritatively to our common-sense, to our intelligence, to our +desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our +prejudices, sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism—but always to +our credulity. And their words are heard with reverence, for their +concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and +the proper care of our bodies, with the attainment of our ambitions, +with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious +aims.</p> + +<p>It is otherwise with the artist.</p> + +<p>Confronted by the same enigmatical spectacle the artist descends within +himself, and in that lonely region of stress and strife, if he be +deserving and fortunate, he finds the terms of his appeal. His appeal is +made to our less obvious capacities: to that part of our nature which, +because of the warlike conditions of existence, is necessarily kept out +of sight within the more resisting and hard qualities—like the +vulnerable body within a steel armour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> His appeal is less loud, more +profound, less distinct, more stirring—and sooner forgotten. Yet its +effect endures for ever. The changing wisdom of successive generations +discards ideas, questions facts, demolishes theories. But the artist +appeals to that part of our being which is not dependent on wisdom; to +that in us which is a gift and not an acquisition—and, therefore, more +permanently enduring. He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, +to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and +beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all +creation—and to the subtle but invincible conviction of solidarity that +knits together the loneliness of innumerable hearts, to the solidarity +in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in +fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together all +humanity—the dead to the living and the living to the unborn.</p> + +<p>It is only some such train of thought, or rather of feeling, that can in +a measure explain the aim of the attempt, made in the tale which +follows, to present an unrestful episode in the obscure lives of a few +individuals out of all the disregarded multitude of the be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>wildered, the +simple and the voiceless. For, if any part of truth dwells in the belief +confessed above, it becomes evident that there is not a place of +splendour or a dark corner of the earth that does not deserve, if only a +passing glance of wonder and pity. The motive, then, may be held to +justify the matter of the work; but this preface, which is simply an +avowal of endeavour, cannot end here—for the avowal is not yet +complete.</p> + +<p>Fiction—if it at all aspires to be art—appeals to temperament. And in +truth it must be, like painting, like music, like all art, the appeal of +one temperament to all the other innumerable temperaments whose subtle +and resistless power endows passing events with their true meaning, and +creates the moral, the emotional atmosphere of the place and time. Such +an appeal to be effective must be an impression conveyed through the +senses; and, in fact, it cannot be made in any other way, because +temperament, whether individual or collective, is not amenable to +persuasion. All art, therefore, appeals primarily to the senses, and the +artistic aim when expressing itself in written words must also make its +appeal through the senses, if its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> high desire is to reach the secret +spring of responsive emotions. It must strenuously aspire to the +plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic +suggestiveness of music—which is the art of arts. And it is only +through complete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blending of form +and substance; it is only through an unremitting never-discouraged care +for the shape and ring of sentences that an approach can be made to +plasticity, to colour, and that the light of magic suggestiveness may be +brought to play for an evanescent instant over the commonplace surface +of words: of the old, old words, worn thin, defaced by ages of careless +usage.</p> + +<p>The sincere endeavour to accomplish that creative task, to go as far on +that road as his strength will carry him, to go undeterred by faltering, +weariness or reproach, is the only valid justification for the worker in +prose. And if his conscience is clear, his answer to those who in the +fulness of a wisdom which looks for immediate profit, demand +specifically to be edified, consoled, amused; who demand to be promptly +improved, or encouraged, or frightened, or shocked, or charmed, must run +thus:—My task which I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> am trying to achieve is, by the power of the +written word to make you hear, to make you feel—it is, before all, to +make you <i>see</i>. That—and no more, and it is everything. If I succeed, +you shall find there according to your deserts: encouragement, +consolation, fear, charm—all you demand—and, perhaps, also that +glimpse of truth for which you have forgotten to ask.</p> + +<p>To snatch in a moment of courage, from the remorseless rush of time, a +passing phase of life, is only the beginning of the task. The task +approached in tenderness and faith is to hold up unquestioningly, +without choice and without fear, the rescued fragment before all eyes in +the light of a sincere mood. It is to show its vibration, its colour, +its form; and through its movement, its form, and its colour, reveal the +substance of its truth—disclose its inspiring secret: the stress and +passion within the core of each convincing moment. In a single-minded +attempt of that kind, if one be deserving and fortunate, one may +perchance attain to such clearness of sincerity that at last the +presented vision of regret or pity, of terror or mirth, shall awaken in +the hearts of the beholders that feeling of unavoidable solidarity; of +the solidarity in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> mysterious origin, in toil, in joy, in hope, in +uncertain fate, which binds men to each other and all mankind to the +visible world.</p> + +<p>It is evident that he who, rightly or wrongly, holds by the convictions +expressed above cannot be faithful to any one of the temporary formulas +of his craft. The enduring part of them—the truth which each only +imperfectly veils—should abide with him as the most precious of his +possessions, but they all: Realism, Romanticism, Naturalism, even the +unofficial sentimentalism (which, like the poor, is exceedingly +difficult to get rid of), all these gods must, after a short period of +fellowship, abandon him—even on the very threshold of the temple—to +the stammerings of his conscience and to the outspoken consciousness of +the difficulties of his work. In that uneasy solitude the supreme cry of +Art for Art, itself, loses the exciting ring of its apparent immorality. +It sounds far off. It has ceased to be a cry, and is heard only as a +whisper, often incomprehensible, but at times and faintly encouraging.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, stretched at ease in the shade of a roadside tree, we watch +the motions of a labourer in a distant field, and after a time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> begin to +wonder languidly as to what the fellow may be at. We watch the movements +of his body, the waving of his arms, we see him bend down, stand up, +hesitate, begin again. It may add to the charm of an idle hour to be +told the purpose of his exertions. If we know he is trying to lift a +stone, to dig a ditch, to uproot a stump, we look with a more real +interest at his efforts; we are disposed to condone the jar of his +agitation upon the restfulness of the landscape; and even, if in a +brotherly frame of mind, we may bring ourselves to forgive his failure. +We understood his object, and, after all, the fellow has tried, and +perhaps he had not the strength—and perhaps he had not the knowledge. +We forgive, go on our way—and forget.</p> + +<p>And so it is with the workman of art. Art is long and life is short, and +success is very far off. And thus, doubtful of strength to travel so +far, we talk a little about the aim—the aim of art, which, like life +itself, is inspiring, difficult—obscured by mists. It is not in the +clear logic of a triumphant conclusion; it is not in the unveiling of +one of those heartless secrets which are called the Laws of Nature. It +is not less great, but only more difficult.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>To arrest, for the space of a breath, the hands busy about the work of +the earth, and compel men entranced by the sight of distant goals to +glance for a moment at the surrounding vision of form and colour, of +sunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look, for a sigh, for a +smile—such is the aim, difficult and evanescent, and reserved only for +a very few to achieve. But sometimes, by the deserving and the +fortunate, even that task is accomplished. And when it is +accomplished—behold!—all the truth of life is there: a moment of +vision, a sigh, a smile—and the return to an eternal rest.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1897.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TALES_OF_UNREST" id="TALES_OF_UNREST"></a>TALES OF UNREST</h2> + + +<p>Of the five stories in this volume The Lagoon, the last in order, is the +earliest in date. It is the first short story I ever wrote and marks, in +a manner of speaking, the end of my first phase, the Malayan phase with +its special subject and its verbal suggestions. Conceived in the same +mood which produced "Almayer's Folly" and "An Outcast of the Islands," +it is told in the same breath (with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> what was left of it, that is, after +the end of "An Outcast"), seen with the same vision rendered in the same +method—if such a thing as method did exist then in my conscious +relation to this new adventure of writing for print. I doubt it very +much. One does one's work first and theorizes about it afterwards. It is +a very amusing and egotistical occupation of no use whatever to any one +and just as likely as not to lead to false conclusions.</p> + +<p>Anybody can see that between the last paragraph of "An Outcast" and the +first of The Lagoon there has been no change of pen, figuratively +speaking. It happens also to be literally true. It was the same pen: a +common steel pen. Having been charged with a certain lack of emotional +faculty I am glad to be able to say that on one occasion at least I did +give way to a sentimental impulse. I thought the pen had been a good pen +and that it had done enough for me, and so, with the idea of keeping it +for a sort of memento on which I could look later with tender eyes, I +put it into my waistcoat pocket. Afterwards it used to turn up in all +sorts of places, at the bottom of small drawers, among my studs in +cardboard boxes, till at last it found permanent rest in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> large wooden +bowl containing some loose keys, bits of sealing wax, bits of string, +small broken chains, a few buttons, and similar minute wreckage that +washes out of a man's life into such receptacles. I would catch sight of +it from time to time with a distinct feeling of satisfaction till, one +day, I perceived with horror that there were two old pens in there. How +the other pen found its way into the bowl instead of the fireplace or +waste-paper basket I can't imagine, but there the two were, lying side +by side, both encrusted with ink and completely undistinguishable from +each other. It was very distressing, but being determined not to share +my sentiment between two pens or run the risk of sentimentalizing over a +mere stranger, I threw them both out of the window into a flower +bed—which strikes me now as a poetical grave for the remnants of one's +past.</p> + +<p>But the tale remained. It was first fixed in print in the <i>Cornhill +Magazine</i>, being my first appearance in a serial of any kind; and I have +lived long enough to see it most agreeably guyed by Mr. Max Beerbohm in +a volume of parodies entitled "A Christmas Garland," where I found +myself in very good company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> I was immensely gratified. I began to +believe in my public existence. I have much to thank The Lagoon for.</p> + +<p>My next effort in short story writing was a departure—I mean a +departure from the Malay Archipelago. Without premeditation, without +sorrow, without rejoicing and almost without noticing it, I stepped into +the very different atmosphere of An Outpost of Progress. I found there a +different moral attitude. I seemed able to capture new reactions, new +suggestions, and even new rhythms for my paragraphs. For a moment I +fancied myself a new man—a most exciting illusion. It clung to me for +some time, monstrous, half conviction and half hope as to its body with +an iridescent tail of dreams and with a changeable head like a plastic +mask. It was only later that I perceived that in common with the rest of +men nothing could deliver me from my fatal consistency. We cannot escape +from ourselves.</p> + +<p>An Outpost of Progress is the lightest part of the loot I carried off +from Central Africa, the main portion being of course The Heart of +Darkness. Other men have found a lot of quite different things there and +I have the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> comfortable conviction that what I took would not have been +of much use to anybody else. And it must be said that it was but a very +small amount of plunder. All of it could go into one's breast pocket +when folded neatly. As for the story itself it is true enough in its +essentials. The sustained invention of a really telling lie demands a +talent which I do not possess.</p> + +<p>The Idiots is such an obviously derivative piece of work that it is +impossible for me to say anything about it here. The suggestion of it +was not mental but visual: the actual idiots. It was after an interval +of long groping amongst vague impulses and hesitations which ended in +the production of "The Nigger" that I turned to my third short story in +the order of time, the first in this volume: Karain: A Memory.</p> + +<p>Reading it after many years Karain produced on me the effect of +something seen through a pair of glasses from a rather advantageous +position. In that story I had not gone back to the Archipelago, I had +only turned for another look at it. I admit that I was absorbed by the +distant view, so absorbed that I didn't notice then that the <i>motif</i> of +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> story is almost identical with the <i>motif</i> of The Lagoon. However, +the idea at the back is very different; but the story is mainly made +memorable to me by the fact that it was my first contribution to +<i>Blackwood's Magazine</i> and that it led to my personal acquaintance with +Mr. William Blackwood whose guarded appreciation I felt nevertheless to +be genuine, and prized accordingly. Karain was begun on a sudden impulse +only three days after I wrote the last line of "The Nigger," and the +recollection of its difficulties is mixed up with the worries of the +unfinished Return, the last pages of which I took up again at the time; +the only instance in my life when I made an attempt to write with both +hands at once as it were.</p> + +<p>Indeed my innermost feeling, now, is that The Return is a left-handed +production. Looking through that story lately I had the material +impression of sitting under a large and expensive umbrella in the loud +drumming of a furious rain-shower. It was very distracting. In the +general uproar one could hear every individual drop strike on the stout +and distended silk. Mentally, the reading rendered me dumb for the +remainder of the day, not exactly with astonishment but with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> a sort of +dismal wonder. I don't want to talk disrespectfully of any pages of +mine. Psychologically there were no doubt good reasons for my attempt; +and it was worth while, if only to see of what excesses I was capable in +that sort of virtuosity. In this connection I should like to confess my +surprise on finding that notwithstanding all its apparatus of analysis +the story consists for the most part of physical impressions; +impressions of sound and sight, railway station, streets, a trotting +horse, reflections in mirrors and so on, rendered as if for their own +sake and combined with a sublimated description of a desirable middle +class town-residence which somehow manages to produce a sinister effect. +For the rest any kind word about The Return (and there have been such +words said at different times) awakens in me the liveliest gratitude, +for I know how much the writing of that fantasy has cost me in sheer +toil, in temper and in disillusion.</p> + + +<p><span class="left"> </span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LORD_JIM" id="LORD_JIM"></a>LORD JIM</h2> + + +<p>When this novel first appeared in book form a notion got about that I +had been bolted away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> with. Some reviewers maintained that the work +starting as a short story had got beyond the writer's control. One or +two discovered internal evidence of the fact, which seemed to amuse +them. They pointed out the limitations of the narrative form. They +argued that no man could have been expected to talk all that time, and +other men to listen so long. It was not, they said, very credible.</p> + +<p>After thinking it over for something like sixteen years I am not so sure +about that. Men have been known, both in tropics and in the temperate +zone, to sit up half the night "swapping yarns." This, however, is but +one yarn, yet with interruptions affording some measure of relief; and +in regard to the listeners' endurance, the postulate must be accepted +that the story <i>was</i> interesting. It is the necessary preliminary +assumption. If I hadn't believed that it <i>was</i> interesting I could never +have begun to write it. As to the mere physical possibility we all know +that some speeches in Parliament have taken nearer six than three hours +in delivery; whereas all that part of the book which is Marlow's +narrative can be read through aloud, I should say, in less than three +hours. Besides<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>—though I have kept strictly all such insignificant +details out of the tale—we may presume that there must have been +refreshments on that night, a glass of mineral water of some sort to +help the narrator on.</p> + +<p>But, seriously, the truth of the matter is, that my first thought was of +a short story, concerned only with the pilgrim ship episode; nothing +more. And that was a legitimate conception. After writing a few pages, +however, I became for some reason discontented and I laid them aside for +a time. I didn't take them out of the drawer till the late Mr. William +Blackwood suggested I should give something again to his magazine.</p> + +<p>It was only then that I perceived that the pilgrim ship episode was a +good starting-point for a free and wandering tale; that it was an event, +too, which could conceivably colour the whole "sentiment of existence" +in a simple and sensitive character. But all these preliminary moods and +stirrings of spirit were rather obscure at the time, and they do not +appear clearer to me now after the lapse of so many years.</p> + +<p>The few pages I had laid aside were not without their weight in the +choice of subject.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> But the whole was re-written deliberately. When I +sat down to it I knew it would be a long book, though I didn't foresee +that it would spread itself over thirteen numbers of <i>Maga</i>.</p> + +<p>I have been asked at times whether this was not the book of mine I liked +best. I am a great foe to favouritism in public life, in private life, +and even in the delicate relationship of an author to his works. As a +matter of principle I will have no favourites; but I don't go so far as +to feel grieved and annoyed by the preference some people give to my +"Lord Jim." I won't even say that I "fail to understand...." No! But +once I had occasion to be puzzled and surprised.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine returning from Italy had talked with a lady there who +did not like the book. I regretted that, of course, but what surprised +me was the ground of her dislike. "You know," she said, "it is all so +morbid."</p> + +<p>The pronouncement gave me food for an hour's anxious thought. Finally I +arrived at the conclusion that, making due allowances for the subject +itself being rather foreign to women's normal sensibilities, the lady +could not have been an Italian. I wonder whether<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> she was European at +all? In any case, no Latin temperament would have perceived anything +morbid in the acute consciousness of lost honour. Such a consciousness +may be wrong, or it may be right, or it may be condemned as artificial; +and, perhaps, my Jim is not a type of wide commonness. But I can safely +assure my readers that he is not the product of coldly perverted +thinking. He's not a figure of Northern Mists either. One sunny morning +in the commonplace surroundings of an Eastern roadstead, I saw his form +pass by—appealing—significant—under a cloud—perfectly silent. Which +is as it should be. It was for me, with all the sympathy of which I was +capable, to seek fit words for his meaning. He was "one of us."</p> + +<p><span class="left">June, 1917.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="YOUTH" id="YOUTH"></a>YOUTH</h2> + + +<p>The three stories in this volume lay no claim to unity of artistic +purpose. The only bond between them is that of the time in which they +were written. They belong to the period immediately following the +publication of "The Nigger of the <i>Narcissus</i>," and preceding the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> first +conception of "Nostromo," two books which, it seems to me, stand apart +and by themselves in the body of my work. It is also the period during +which I contributed to <i>Maga</i>; a period dominated by "Lord Jim" and +associated in my grateful memory with the late Mr. William Blackwood's +encouraging and helpful kindness.</p> + +<p>"Youth" was not my first contribution to <i>Maga</i>. It was the second. But +that story marks the first appearance in the world of the man Marlow, +with whom my relations have grown very intimate in the course of years. +The origins of that gentleman (nobody as far as I know had ever hinted +that he was anything but that)—his origins have been the subject of +some literary speculation of, I am glad to say, a friendly nature.</p> + +<p>One would think that I am the proper person to throw a light on the +matter; but in truth I find that it isn't so easy. It is pleasant to +remember that nobody had charged him with fraudulent purposes or looked +down on him as a charlatan; but apart from that he was supposed to be +all sorts of things: a clever screen, a mere device, a "personator," a +familiar spirit, a whispering "dæmon." I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> myself have been suspected of +a meditated plan for his capture.</p> + +<p>That is not so. I made no plans. The man Marlow and I came together in +the casual manner of those health-resort acquaintances which sometimes +ripen into friendships. This one has ripened. For all his assertiveness +in matters of opinion he is not an intrusive person. He haunts my hours +of solitude, when, in silence, we lay our heads together in great +comfort and harmony; but as we part at the end of a tale I am never sure +that it may not be for the last time. Yet I don't think that either of +us would care much to survive the other. In his case, at any rate, his +occupation would be gone and he would suffer from that extinction, +because I suspect him of some vanity. I don't mean vanity in the +Solomonian sense. Of all my people he's the one that has never been a +vexation to my spirit. A most discreet, understanding man....</p> + +<p>Even before appearing in book-form "Youth" was very well received. It +lies on me to confess at last, and this is as good a place for it as +another, that I have been all my life—all my two lives—the spoiled +adopted child of Great Britain and even of the Empire;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> for it was +Australia that gave me my first command. I break out into this +declaration not because of a lurking tendency to megalomania, but, on +the contrary, as a man who has no very notable illusions about himself. +I follow the instinct of vain-glory and humility natural to all mankind. +For it can hardly be denied that it is not their own deserts that men +are most proud of, but rather of their prodigious luck, of their +marvellous fortune: of that in their lives for which thanks and +sacrifices must be offered on the altars of the inscrutable gods.</p> + +<p>Heart of Darkness also received a certain amount of notice from the +first; and of its origins this much may be said: it is well known that +curious men go prying into all sorts of places (where they have no +business) and come out of them with all kinds of spoil. This story, and +one other, not in this volume, are all the spoil I brought out from the +centre of Africa, where, really, I had no sort of business. More +ambitious in its scope and longer in the telling, Heart of Darkness is +quite as authentic in fundamentals as Youth. It is, obviously, written +in another mood. I won't characterize the mood precisely, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> anybody +can see that it is anything but the mood of wistful regret, of +reminiscent tenderness.</p> + +<p>One more remark may be added. Youth is a feat of memory. It is a record +of experience; but that experience, in its facts, in its inwardness and +in its outward colouring, begins and ends in myself. Heart of Darkness +is experience, too; but it is experience pushed a little (and only very +little) beyond the actual facts of the case for the perfectly +legitimate, I believe, purpose of bringing it home to the minds and +bosoms of the readers. There it was no longer a matter of sincere +colouring. It was like another art altogether. That sombre theme had to +be given a sinister resonance, a tonality of its own, a continued +vibration that, I hoped, would hang in the air and dwell on the ear +after the last note had been struck.</p> + +<p>After saying so much there remains the last tale of the book, still +untouched. The End of the Tether is a story of sea-life in a rather +special way; and the most intimate thing I can say of it is this: that +having lived that life fully, amongst its men, its thoughts and +sensations, I have found it possible,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> without the slightest misgiving, +in all sincerity of heart and peace of conscience, to conceive the +existence of Captain Whalley's personality and to relate the manner of +his end. This statement acquires some force from the circumstance that +the pages of that story—a fair half of the book—are also the product +of experience. That experience belongs (like "Youth's") to the time +before I ever thought of putting pen to paper. As to its "reality" that +is for the readers to determine. One had to pick up one's facts here and +there. More skill would have made them more real and the whole +composition more interesting. But here we are approaching the veiled +region of artistic values which it would be improper and indeed +dangerous for me to enter. I have looked over the proofs, have corrected +a misprint or two, have changed a word or two—and that's all. It is not +very likely that I shall ever read The End of the Tether again. No more +need be said. It accords best with my feelings to part from Captain +Whalley in affectionate silence.</p> + + +<p><span class="left">1917.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TYPHOON" id="TYPHOON"></a>TYPHOON</h2> + + +<p>The main characteristic of this volume consists in this, that all the +stories composing it belong not only to the same period but have been +written one after another in the order in which they appear in the book.</p> + +<p>The period is that which follows on my connection with <i>Blackwood's +Magazine</i>. I had just finished writing The End of the Tether and was +casting about for some subject which could be developed in a shorter +form than the tales in the volume of "Youth" when the instance of a +steamship full of returning coolies from Singapore to some port in +northern China occurred to my recollection. Years before I had heard it +being talked about in the East as a recent occurrence. It was for us +merely one subject of conversation amongst many others of the kind. Men +earning their bread in any very specialized occupation will talk shop, +not only because it is the most vital interest of their lives but also +because they have not much knowledge of other subjects. They have never +had the time to get acquainted with them. Life, for most of us, is not +so much a hard as an exacting taskmaster.</p> + +<p>I never met anybody personally concerned in this affair, the interest of +which for us was,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> of course, not the bad weather but the extraordinary +complication brought into the ship's life at a moment of exceptional +stress by the human element below her deck. Neither was the story itself +ever enlarged upon in my hearing. In that company each of us could +imagine easily what the whole thing was like. The financial difficulty +of it, presenting also a human problem, was solved by a mind much too +simple to be perplexed by anything in the world except men's idle talk +for which it was not adapted.</p> + +<p>From the first the mere anecdote, the mere statement I might say, that +such a thing had happened on the high seas, appeared to me a sufficient +subject for meditation. Yet it was but a bit of a sea yarn after all. I +felt that to bring out its deeper significance which was quite apparent +to me, something other, something more was required; a leading motive +that would harmonize all these violent noises, and a point of view that +would put all that elemental fury into its proper place.</p> + +<p>What was needed of course was Captain MacWhirr. Directly I perceived him +I could see that he was the man for the situation. I don't mean to say +that I ever saw Captain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> MacWhirr in the flesh, or had ever come in +contact with his literal mind and his dauntless temperament. MacWhirr is +not an acquaintance of a few hours, or a few weeks, or a few months. He +is the product of twenty years of life. My own life. Conscious invention +had little to do with him. If it is true that Captain MacWhirr never +walked and breathed on this earth (which I find for my part extremely +difficult to believe) I can also assure my readers that he is perfectly +authentic. I may venture to assert the same of every aspect of the +story, while I confess that the particular typhoon of the tale was not a +typhoon of my actual experience.</p> + +<p>At its first appearance "Typhoon," the story, was classed by some +critics as a deliberately intended storm-piece. Others picked out +MacWhirr, in whom they perceived a definite symbolic intention. Neither +was exclusively my intention. Both the typhoon and Captain MacWhirr +presented themselves to me as the necessities of the deep conviction +with which I approached the subject of the story. It was their +opportunity. It was also my opportunity, and it would be vain to +discourse about what I made of it in a handful of pages,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> since the +pages themselves are here, between the covers of this volume, to speak +for themselves.</p> + +<p>This is a belated reflection. If it had occurred to me before it would +have perhaps done away with the existence of this Author's Note; for, +indeed, the same remark applies to every story in this volume. None of +them are stories of experience in the absolute sense of the word. +Experience in them is but the canvas of the attempted picture. Each of +them has its more than one intention. With each the question is what the +writer has done with his opportunity; and each answers the question for +itself in words which, if I may say so without undue solemnity, were +written with a conscientious regard for the truth of my own sensations. +And each of those stories, to mean something, must justify itself in its +own way to the conscience of each successive reader.</p> + +<p>Falk—the second story in the volume—offended the delicacy of one +critic at least by certain peculiarities of its subject. But what is the +subject of Falk? I personally do not feel so very certain about it. He +who reads must find out for himself. My intention in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> writing Falk was +not to shock anybody. As in most of my writings I insist not on the +events but on their effect upon the persons in the tale. But in +everything I have written there is always one invariable intention, and +that is to capture the reader's attention, by securing his interest and +enlisting his sympathies for the matter in hand, whatever it may be, +within the limits of the visible world and within the boundaries of +human emotions.</p> + +<p>I may safely say that Falk is absolutely true to my experience of +certain straightforward characters combining a perfectly natural +ruthlessness with a certain amount of moral delicacy. Falk obeys the law +of self-preservation without the slightest misgivings as to right, but +at a crucial turn of that ruthlessly preserved life he will not +condescend to dodge the truth. As he is presented as sensitive enough to +be affected permanently by a certain unusual experience, that experience +had to be set by me before the reader vividly; but it is not the subject +of the tale. If we go by mere facts then the subject is Falk's attempt +to get married; in which the narrator of the tale finds himself +unexpectedly involved both on its ruthless and its delicate side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Falk shares with one other of my stories (The Return in the "Tales of +Unrest" volume) the distinction of never having been serialized. I think +the copy was shown to the editor of some magazine who rejected it +indignantly on the sole ground that "the girl never says anything." This +is perfectly true. From first to last Hermann's niece utters no word in +the tale—and it is not because she is dumb, but for the simple reason +that whenever she happens to come under the observation of the narrator +she has either no occasion or is too profoundly moved to speak. The +editor, who obviously had read the story, might have perceived that for +himself. Apparently he did not, and I refrained from pointing out the +impossibility to him because, since he did not venture to say that "the +girl" did not live, I felt no concern at his indignation.</p> + +<p>All the other stories were serialized. "Typhoon" appeared in the early +numbers of the <i>Pall Mall Magazine</i>, then under the direction of the +late Mr. Halkett. It was on that occasion too, that I saw for the first +time my conceptions rendered by an artist in another medium. Mr. Maurice +Greiffenhagen knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> how to combine in his illustrations the effect of +his own most distinguished personal vision with an absolute fidelity to +the inspiration of the writer. Amy Foster was published in <i>The +Illustrated London News</i> with a fine drawing of Amy on her day out +giving tea to the children at her home in a hat with a big feather. +To-morrow appeared first in the <i>Pall Mall Magazine</i>. Of that story I +will only say that it struck many people by its adaptability to the +stage and that I was induced to dramatize it under the title of "One Day +More"; up to the present my only effort in that direction. I may also +add that each of the four stories on their appearance in book form was +picked out on various grounds as the "best of the lot" by different +critics, who reviewed the volume with a warmth of appreciation and +understanding, a sympathetic insight and a friendliness of expression +for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful.</p> + +<p><span class="left">June, 1919.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOSTROMO" id="NOSTROMO"></a>NOSTROMO</h2> + + +<p>"Nostromo" is the most anxiously meditated of the longer novels which +belong to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> period following upon the publication of the "Typhoon" +volume of short stories.</p> + +<p>I don't mean to say that I became then conscious of any impending change +in my mentality and in my attitude towards the tasks of my writing life. +And perhaps there was never any change, except in that mysterious, +extraneous thing which has nothing to do with the theories of art; a +subtle change in the nature of the inspiration; a phenomenon for which I +can not in any way be held responsible. What, however, did cause me some +concern was that after finishing the last story of the "Typhoon" volume +it seemed somehow that there was nothing more in the world to write +about.</p> + +<p>This so strangely negative but disturbing mood lasted some little time; +and then, as with many of my longer stories, the first hint for +"Nostromo" came to me in the shape of a vagrant anecdote completely +destitute of valuable details.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact in 1875 or '6, when very young, in the West Indies +or rather in the Gulf of Mexico, for my contacts with land were short, +few, and fleeting, I heard the story of some man who was supposed to +have stolen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> single-handed a whole lighter-full of silver, somewhere on +the Tierra Firme seaboard during the troubles of a revolution.</p> + +<p>On the face of it this was something of a feat. But I heard no details, +and having no particular interest in crime <i>qua</i> crime I was not likely +to keep that one in my mind. And I forgot it till twenty-six or seven +years afterwards I came upon the very thing in a shabby volume picked up +outside a second-hand book-shop. It was the life story of an American +seaman written by himself with the assistance of a journalist. In the +course of his wanderings that American sailor worked for some months on +board a schooner, the master and owner of which was the thief of whom I +had heard in my very young days. I have no doubt of that because there +could hardly have been two exploits of the peculiar kind in the same +part of the world and both connected with a South American revolution.</p> + +<p>The fellow had actually managed to steal a lighter with silver, and +this, it seems only because he was implicitly trusted by his employers, +who must have been singularly poor judges of character. In the sailor's +story he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> is represented as an unmitigated rascal, a small cheat, +stupidly ferocious, morose, of mean appearance, and altogether unworthy +of the greatness this opportunity had thrust upon him. What was +interesting was that he would boast of it openly.</p> + +<p>He used to say: "People think I make a lot of money in this schooner of +mine. But that is nothing. I don't care for that. Now and then I go away +quietly and lift a bar of silver. I must get rich slowly—you +understand."</p> + +<p>There was also another curious point about the man. Once in the course +of some quarrel the sailor threatened him: "What's to prevent me +reporting ashore what you have told me about that silver?"</p> + +<p>The cynical ruffian was not alarmed in the least. He actually laughed. +"You fool, if you dare talk like that on shore about me you will get a +knife stuck in your back. Every man, woman, and child in that port is my +friend. And who's to prove the lighter wasn't sunk? I didn't show you +where the silver is hidden. Did I? So you know nothing. And suppose I +lied? Eh?"</p> + +<p>Ultimately the sailor, disgusted with the sordid meanness of that +impenitent thief,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> deserted from the schooner. The whole episode takes +about three pages of his autobiography. Nothing to speak of; but as I +looked them over, the curious confirmation of the few casual words heard +in my early youth evoked the memories of that distant time when +everything was so fresh, so surprising, so venturesome, so interesting; +bits of strange coasts under the stars, shadows of hills in the +sunshine, men's passions in the dusk, gossip half-forgotten, faces grown +dim.... Perhaps, perhaps, there still was in the world something to +write about. Yet I did not see anything at first in the mere story. A +rascal steals a large parcel of a valuable commodity—so people say. +It's either true or untrue; and in any case it has no value in itself. +To invent a circumstantial account of the robbery did not appeal to me, +because my talents not running that way I did not think that the game +was worth the candle. It was only when it dawned upon me that the +purloiner of the treasure need not necessarily be a confirmed rogue, +that he could be even a man of character, an actor and possibly a victim +in the changing scenes of a revolution, it was only then that I had the +first vision of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> twilight country which was to become the province of +Sulaco, with its high shadowy Sierra and its misty Campo for mute +witnesses of events flowing from the passions of men short-sighted in +good and evil.</p> + +<p>Such are in very truth the obscure origins of "Nostromo"—the book. From +that moment, I suppose, it had to be. Yet even then I hesitate, as if +warned by the instinct of self-preservation from venturing on a distant +and toilsome journey into a land full of intrigues and revolutions. But +it had to be done.</p> + +<p>It took the best part of the years 1903-4 to do; with many intervals of +renewed hesitation, lest I should lose myself in the ever-enlarging +vistas opening before me as I progressed deeper in my knowledge of the +country. Often, also, when I had thought myself to a standstill over the +tangled-up affairs of the Republic, I would, figuratively speaking, pack +my bag, rush away from Sulaco for a change of air and write a few pages +of "The Mirror of the Sea." But generally, as I've said before, my +sojourn on the Continent of Latin America, famed for its hospitality, +lasted for about two years. On my return I found (speaking somewhat in +the style of Captain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> Gulliver) my family all well, my wife heartily +glad to learn that the fuss was all over, and our small boy considerably +grown during my absence.</p> + +<p>My principal authority for the history of Costaguana is, of course, my +venerated friend, the late Don José Avellanos, Minister to the Courts of +England and Spain, etc., etc., in his impartial and eloquent "History of +Fifty Years of Misrule." That work was never published—the reader will +discover why—and I am in fact the only person in the world possessed of +its contents. I have mastered them in not a few hours of earnest +meditation, and I hope that my accuracy will be trusted. In justice to +myself, and to allay the fears of prospective readers, I beg to point +out that the few historical allusions are never dragged in for the sake +of parading my unique erudition, but that each of them is closely +related to actuality; either throwing a light on the nature of current +events or affecting directly the fortunes of the people of whom I speak.</p> + +<p>As to their own histories I have tried to set them down, Aristocracy and +People, men and women, Latin and Anglo-Saxon, bandit and politician, +with as cool a hand as was possible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> in the heat and clash of my own +conflicting emotions. And after all this is also the story of their +conflicts. It is for the reader to say how far they are deserving of +interest in their actions and in the secret purposes of their hearts +revealed in the bitter necessities of the time. I confess that, for me, +that time is the time of firm friendships and unforgotten hospitalities. +And in my gratitude I must mention here Mrs. Gould, "the first lady of +Sulaco," whom we may safely leave to the secret devotion of Dr. +Monygham, and Charles Gould, the Idealist-creator of Material Interests +whom we must leave to his Mine—from which there is no escape in this +world.</p> + +<p>About Nostromo, the second of the two racially and socially contrasted +men, both captured by the silver of the San Tomé Mine, I feel bound to +say something more.</p> + +<p>I did not hesitate to make that central figure an Italian. First of all +the thing is perfectly credible: Italians were swarming into the +Occidental Province at the time, as anybody who will read further can +see; and secondly, there was no one who could stand so well by the side +of Giorgio Viola the Garibaldino, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> Idealist of the old, humanitarian +revolutions. For myself I needed there a man of the People as free as +possible from his class-conventions and all settled modes of thinking. +This is not a side snarl at conventions. My reasons were not moral but +artistic. Had he been an Anglo-Saxon he would have tried to get into +local politics. But Nostromo does not aspire to be a leader in a +personal game. He does not want to raise himself above the mass. He is +content to feel himself a power—within the People.</p> + +<p>But mainly Nostromo is what he is because I received the inspiration for +him in my early days from a Mediterranean sailor. Those who have read +certain pages of mine will see at once what I mean when I say that +Dominic, the padrone of the <i>Tremolino</i>, might under given circumstances +have been a Nostromo. At any rate Dominic would have understood the +younger man perfectly—if scornfully. He and I were engaged together in +a rather absurd adventure, but the absurdity does not matter. It is a +real satisfaction to think that in my very young days there must, after +all, have been something in me worthy to command that man's half-bitter +fidelity, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> half-ironic devotion. Many of Nostromo's speeches I have +heard first in Dominic's voice. His hand on the tiller and his fearless +eyes roaming the horizon from within the monkish hood shadowing his +face, he would utter the usual exordium of his remorseless wisdom: "Vous +autres gentilhommes!" in a caustic tone that hangs on my ear yet. Like +Nostromo! "You hombres finos!" Very much like Nostromo. But Dominic the +Corsican nursed a certain pride of ancestry from which my Nostromo is +free; for Nostromo's lineage had to be more ancient still. He is a man +with the weight of countless generations behind him and no parentage to +boast of.... Like the People.</p> + +<p>In his firm grip on the earth he inherits, in his improvidence and +generosity, in his lavishness with his gifts, in his manly vanity, in +the obscure sense of his greatness and in his faithful devotion with +something despairing as well as desperate in its impulses, he is a Man +of the People, their very own unenvious force, disdaining to lead but +ruling from within. Years afterwards, grown older as the famous Captain +Fidanza, with a stake in the country, going about his many affairs +followed by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> respectful glances in the modernized streets of Sulaco, +calling on the widow of the cargador, attending the Lodge, listening in +unmoved silence to anarchist speeches at the meeting, the enigmatical +patron of the new revolutionary agitation, the trusted, the wealthy +comrade Fidanza with the knowledge of his moral ruin locked up in his +breast, he remains essentially a man of the People. In his mingled love +and scorn of life and in the bewildered conviction of having been +betrayed, of dying betrayed he hardly knows by what or by whom, he is +still of the People, their undoubted Great Man—with a private history +of his own.</p> + +<p>One more figure of those stirring times I would like to mention: and +that is Antonia Avellanos—the "beautiful Antonia." Whether she is a +possible variation of Latin-American girlhood I wouldn't dare to affirm. +But, for me, she <i>is</i>. Always a little in the background by the side of +her father (my venerated friend) I hope she has yet relief enough to +make intelligible what I am going to say. Of all the people who had seen +with me the birth of the Occidental Republic, she is the only one who +has kept in my memory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> the aspect of continued life. Antonia the +Aristocrat and Nostromo the Man of the People are the artisans of the +New Era, the true creators of the New State; he by his legendary and +daring feat, she, like a woman, simply by the force of what she is: the +only being capable of inspiring a sincere passion in the heart of a +trifler.</p> + +<p>If anything could induce me to revisit Sulaco (I should hate to see all +these changes) it would be Antonia. And the true reason for that—why +not be frank about it?—the true reason is that I have modelled her on +my first love. How we, a band of tallish school-boys, the chums of her +two brothers, how we used to look up to that girl just out of the +schoolroom herself, as the standard-bearer of a faith to which we all +were born but which she alone knew how to hold aloft with an unflinching +hope! She had perhaps more glow and less serenity in her soul than +Antonia, but she was an uncompromising Puritan of patriotism with no +taint of the slightest worldliness in her thoughts. I was not the only +one in love with her; but it was I who had to hear oftenest her scathing +criticism of my levities—very much like poor Decoud—or stand the brunt +of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> austere, unanswerable invective. She did not quite +understand—but never mind. That afternoon when I came in, a shrinking +yet defiant sinner, to say the final good-bye I received a hand-squeeze +that made my heart leap and saw a tear that took my breath away. She was +softened at the last as though she had suddenly perceived (we were such +children still!) that I was really going away for good, going very far +away—even as far as Sulaco, lying unknown, hidden from our eyes in the +darkness of the Placid Gulf.</p> + +<p>That's why I long sometimes for another glimpse of the "beautiful +Antonia" (or can it be the Other?) moving in the dimness of the great +cathedral, saying a short prayer at the tomb of the first and last +Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco, standing absorbed in filial devotion +before the monument of Don José Avellanos, and, with a lingering, +tender, faithful glance at the medallion-memorial to Martin Decoud, +going out serenely into the sunshine of the Plaza with her upright +carriage and her white head; a relic of the past disregarded by men +awaiting impatiently the Dawns of other New Eras, the coming of more +Revolutions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>But this is the idlest of dreams; for I did understand perfectly well at +the time that the moment the breath left the body of the Magnificent +Capataz, the Man of the People, freed at last from the toils of love and +wealth, there was nothing more for me to do in Sulaco.</p> + + +<p><span class="left">June, 1917.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MIRROR_OF_THE_SEA" id="MIRROR_OF_THE_SEA"></a>MIRROR OF THE SEA</h2> + + +<p>Less perhaps than any other book written by me, or anybody else, does +this volume require a Preface. Yet since all the others including even +the "Personal Record", which is but a fragment of biography, are to have +their Author's Notes, I cannot possibly leave this one without, lest a +false impression of indifference or weariness should be created. I can +see only too well that it is not going to be an easy task. +Necessity—the mother of invention—being even unthinkable in this case, +I do not know what to invent in the way of discourse; and necessity +being also the greatest possible incentive to exertion I don't even know +how to begin to exert myself. Here too the natural inclination comes in. +I have been all my life averse from exertion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>Under these discouraging circumstances I am, however, bound to proceed +from a sense of duty. This Note is a thing promised. In less than a +minute's time by a few incautious words I entered into a bond which has +lain on my heart heavily ever since.</p> + +<p>For, this book is a very intimate revelation; and what that is revealing +can a few more pages add to some three hundred others of most sincere +disclosures? I have attempted here to lay bare with the unreserve of a +last hour's confession the terms of my relation with the sea, which +beginning mysteriously, like any great passion the inscrutable Gods send +to mortals, went on unreasoning and invincible, surviving the test of +disillusion, defying the disenchantment that lurks in every day of a +strenuous life; went on full of love's delight and love's anguish, +facing them in open-eyed exultation, without bitterness and without +repining, from the first hour to the last.</p> + +<p>Subjugated but never unmanned I surrendered my being to that passion +which various and great like life itself had also its periods of +wonderful serenity which even a fickle mistress can give sometimes on +her soothed breast, full of wiles, full of fury,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> and yet capable of an +enchanting sweetness. And if anybody suggest that this must be the lyric +illusion of an old, romantic heart, I can answer that for twenty years I +had lived like a hermit with my passion! Beyond the line of the sea +horizon the world for me did not exist as assuredly as it does not exist +for the mystics who take refuge on the tops of high mountains. I am +speaking now of that innermost life, containing the best and the worst +that can happen to us in the temperamental depths of our being, where a +man indeed must live alone but need not give up all hope of holding +converse with his kind.</p> + +<p>This perhaps is enough for me to say on this particular occasion about +these, my parting words, about this, my last mood in my great passion +for the sea. I call it great because it was great to me. Others may call +it a foolish infatuation. Those words have been applied to every love +story. But whatever it may be the fact remains that it was something too +great for words.</p> + +<p>This is what I always felt vaguely; and therefore the following pages +rest like a true confession on matters of fact which to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> friendly and +charitable person may convey the inner truth of almost a life-time. From +sixteen to thirty-six cannot be called an age, yet it is a pretty long +stretch of that sort of experience which teaches a man slowly to see and +feel. It is for me a distinct period; and when I emerged from it into +another air, as it were, and said to myself: "Now I must speak of these +things or remain unknown to the end of my days," it was with the +ineradicable hope, that accompanies one through solitude as well as +through a crowd, of ultimately, some day, at some moment, making myself +understood.</p> + +<p>And I have been! I have been understood as completely as it is possible +to be understood in this, our world, which seems to be mostly composed +of riddles. There have been things said about this book which have moved +me profoundly; the more profoundly because they were uttered by men +whose occupation was avowedly to understand, and analyze, and +expound—in a word, by literary critics. They spoke out according to +their conscience, and some of them said things that made me feel both +glad and sorry of ever having entered upon my confession. Dimly or +clearly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> they perceived the character of my intention and ended by +judging me worthy to have made the attempt. They saw it was of a +revealing character, but in some cases they thought that the revelation +was not complete.</p> + +<p>One of them said: "In reading these chapters one is always hoping for +the revelation; but the personality is never quite revealed. We can only +say that this thing happened to Mr. Conrad, that he knew such a man and +that thus life passed him leaving those memories. They are the records +of the events of his life, not in every instance striking or decisive +events but rather those haphazard events which for no definite reason +impress themselves upon the mind and recur in memory long afterward as +symbols of one knows not what sacred ritual taking place behind the +veil."</p> + +<p>To this I can only say that this book written in perfect sincerity holds +back nothing—unless the mere bodily presence of the writer. Within +these pages I make a full confession not of my sins but of my emotions. +It is the best tribute my piety can offer to the ultimate shapers of my +character, convictions, and, in a sense, destiny—to the imperishable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +sea, to the ships that are no more and to the simple men who have had +their day.</p> + +<p><span class="left">June, 1919.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SECRET_AGENT" id="THE_SECRET_AGENT"></a>THE SECRET AGENT</h2> + + +<p>The origin of "The Secret Agent": subject, treatment, artistic purpose +and every other motive that may induce an author to take up his pen, +can, I believe, be traced to a period of mental and emotional reaction.</p> + +<p>The actual facts are that I began this book impulsively and wrote it +continuously. When in due course it was bound and delivered to the +public gaze I found myself reproved for having produced it at all. Some +of the admonitions were severe, others had a sorrowful note. I have not +got them textually before me but I remember perfectly the general +argument, which was very simple; and also my surprise at its nature. All +this sounds a very old story now! And yet it is not such a long time +ago. I must conclude that I had still preserved much of my pristine +innocence in the year 1907. It seems to me now that even an artless +person might have foreseen that some criticisms would be based on the +ground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> of sordid surroundings and the moral squalor of the tale.</p> + +<p>That, of course, is a serious objection. It was not universal. In fact, +it seems ungracious to remember so little reproof amongst so much +intelligent and sympathetic appreciation; and I trust that the readers +of this Preface will not hasten to put it down to wounded vanity of a +natural disposition to ingratitude. I suggest that a charitable heart +could very well ascribe my choice to natural modesty. Yet it isn't +exactly modesty that makes me select reproof for the illustration of my +case. No, it isn't exactly modesty. I am not at all certain that I am +modest; but those who have read so far through my work will credit me +with enough decency, tact, savoir faire, what you will, to prevent me +from making a song for my own glory out of the words of other people. +No! The true motive of my selection lies in quite a different trait. I +have always had a propensity to justify my action. Not to defend. To +justify. Not to insist that I was right but simply to explain that there +was no perverse intention, no secret scorn for the natural sensibilities +of mankind at the bottom of my impulses.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>That kind of weakness is dangerous only so far that it exposes one to +the risk of becoming a bore; for the world generally is not interested +in the motives of any overt act but in its consequences. Man may smile +and smile but he is not an investigating animal. He loves the obvious. +He shrinks from explanations. Yet I will go on with mine. It's obvious +that I need not have written that book. I was under no necessity to deal +with that subject; using the word subject both in the sense of the tale +itself and in the larger one of a special manifestation in the life of +mankind. This I fully admit. But the thought of elaborating mere +ugliness in order to shock, or even simply to surprise my readers by a +change of front, has never entered my head. In making this statement I +expect to be believed, not only on the evidence of my general character +but also for the reason, which anybody can see, that the whole treatment +of the tale, its inspiring indignation and underlying pity and contempt, +prove my detachment from the squalor and sordidness which lie simply in +the outward circumstances of the setting.</p> + +<p>The inception of "The Secret Agent"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> followed immediately on a two +years' period of intense absorption in the task of writing that remote +novel, "Nostromo," with its far off Latin-American atmosphere; and the +profoundly personal "Mirror of the Sea." The first an intense creative +effort on what I suppose will always remain my largest canvas, the +second an unreserved attempt to unveil for a moment the profounder +intimacies of the sea and the formative influences of nearly half my +life-time. It was a period, too, in which my sense of the truth of +things was attended by a very intense imaginative and emotional +readiness which, all genuine and faithful to facts as it was, yet made +me feel (the task once done) as if I were left behind, aimless amongst +mere husks of sensations and lost in a world of other, of inferior, +values.</p> + +<p>I don't know whether I really felt that I wanted a change, change in my +imagination, in my vision and in my mental attitude. I rather think that +a change in the fundamental mood had already stolen over me unawares. I +don't remember anything definite happening. With "The Mirror of the Sea" +finished in the full consciousness that I had dealt honestly with myself +and my readers in every line of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> that book, I gave myself up to a not +unhappy pause. Then, while I was yet standing still, as it were, and +certainly not thinking of going out of my way to look for anything ugly, +the subject of "The Secret Agent"—I mean the tale—came to me in the +shape of a few words uttered by a friend in a casual conversation about +anarchists or rather anarchist activities; how brought about I don't +remember now.</p> + +<p>I remember, however, remarking on the criminal futility of the whole +thing, doctrine, action, mentality; and on the contemptible aspect of +the half-crazy pose as of a brazen cheat exploiting the poignant +miseries and passionate credulities of a mankind always so tragically +eager for self-destruction. That was what made for me its philosophical +pretences so unpardonable. Presently, passing to particular instances, +we recalled the already old story of the attempt to blow up the +Greenwich Observatory; a blood-stained inanity of so fatuous a kind that +it was impossible to fathom its origin by any reasonable or even +unreasonable process of thought. For perverse unreason has its own +logical processes. But that outrage could not be laid hold of mentally +in any sort of way, so that one re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>mained faced by the fact of a man +blown to bits for nothing even most remotely resembling an idea, +anarchistic or other. As to the outer wall of the Observatory it did not +show as much as the faintest crack.</p> + +<p>I pointed all this out to my friend who remained silent for a while and +then remarked in his characteristically casual and omniscient manner: +"Oh, that fellow was half on idiot. His sister committed suicide +afterwards." These were absolutely the only words that passed between +us; for extreme surprise at this unexpected piece of information kept me +dumb for a moment and he began at once to talk of something else. It +never occurred to me later to ask how he arrived at his knowledge. I am +sure that if he had seen once in his life the back of an anarchist that +must have been the whole extent of his connection with the underworld. +He was, however, a man who liked to talk with all sorts of people, and +he may have gathered those illuminating facts at second or third hand, +from a crossing-sweeper, from a retired police officer, from some vague +man in his club, or even, perhaps, from a Minister of State met at some +public or private reception.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>Of the illuminating quality there could be no doubt whatever. One felt +like walking out of a forest on to a plain—there was not much to see +but one had plenty of light. No, there was not much to see and, frankly, +for a considerable time I didn't even attempt to perceive anything. It +was only the illuminating impression that remained. It remained +satisfactory but in a passive way. Then, about a week later, I came upon +a book which as far as I know had never attained any prominence, the +rather summary recollections of an Assistant Commissioner of Police, an +obviously able man with a strong religious strain in his character who +was appointed to his post at the time of the dynamite outrages in +London, away back in the eighties. The book was fairly interesting, very +discreet of course; and I have by now forgotten the bulk of its +contents. It contained no revelations, it ran over the surface +agreeably, and that was all. I won't even try to explain why I should +have been arrested by a little passage of about seven lines, in which +the author (I believe his name was Anderson) reproduced a short dialogue +held in the Lobby of the House of Commons after some unexpected +anarchist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> outrage, with the Home Secretary. I think it was Sir William +Harcourt then. He was very much irritated and the official was very +apologetic. The phrase, amongst the three which passed between them, +that struck me most was Sir W. Harcourt's angry sally: "All that's very +well. But your idea of secrecy over there seems to consist of keeping +the Home Secretary in the dark." Characteristic enough of Sir W. +Harcourt's temper but not much in itself. There must have been, however, +some sort of atmosphere in the whole incident because all of a sudden I +felt myself stimulated. And then ensued in my mind what a student of +chemistry would best understand from the analogy of the addition of the +tiniest little drop of the right kind, precipitating the process of +crystallization in a test tube containing some colourless solution.</p> + +<p>It was at first for me a mental change, disturbing a quieted-down +imagination, in which strange forms, sharp in outline but imperfectly +apprehended, appeared and claimed attention as crystals will do by their +bizarre and unexpected shapes. One fell to musing before the +phenomenon—even of the past: of South America, a continent of crude +sunshine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> and brutal revolutions, of the sea, the vast expanse of salt +waters, the mirror of heaven's frowns and smiles, the reflector of the +world's light. Then the vision of an enormous town presented itself, of +a monstrous town more populous than some continents and in its man-made +might as if indifferent to heaven's frowns and smiles; a cruel devourer +of the world's light. There was room enough there to place any story, +depth enough there for any passion, variety enough there for any +setting, darkness enough to bury five millions of lives.</p> + +<p>Irresistibly the town became the background for the ensuing period of +deep and tentative meditations. Endless vistas opened before me in +various directions. It would take years to find the right way! It seemed +to take years!... Slowly the dawning conviction of Mrs. Verloc's +maternal passion grew up to a flame between me and that background, +tingeing it with its secret ardour and receiving from it in exchange +some of its own sombre colouring. At last the story of Winnie Verloc +stood out complete from the days of her childhood to the end, +unproportioned as yet, with everything still on the first plan, as it +were; but ready now to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> dealt with. It was a matter of about three +days.</p> + +<p><i>This</i> book is <i>that</i> story, reduced to manageable proportions, its +whole course suggested and centred round the absurd cruelty of the +Greenwich Park explosion. I had there a task I will not say arduous but +of the most absorbing difficulty. But it had to be done. It was a +necessity. The figures grouped about Mrs. Verloc and related directly or +indirectly to her tragic suspicion that "life doesn't stand much looking +into," are the outcome of that very necessity. Personally I have never +had any doubt of the reality of Mrs. Verloc's story; but it had to be +disengaged from its obscurity in that immense town, it had to be made +credible, I don't mean so much as to her soul but as to her +surroundings, not so much as to her psychology but as to her humanity. +For the surroundings hints were not lacking. I had to fight hard to keep +at arms-length the memories of my solitary and nocturnal walks all over +London in my early days, lest they should rush in and overwhelm each +page of the story as these emerged one after another from a mood as +serious in feeling and thought as any in which I ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> wrote a line. In +that respect I really think that "The Secret Agent" is a perfectly +genuine piece of work. Even the purely artistic purpose, that of +applying an ironic method to a subject of that kind, was formulated with +deliberation and in the earnest belief that ironic treatment alone would +enable me to say all I felt I would have to say in scorn as well as in +pity. It is one of the minor satisfactions of my writing life that +having taken that resolve I did manage, it seems to me, to carry it +right through to the end. As to the personages whom the absolute +necessity of the case—Mrs. Verloc's case—brings out in front of the +London background, from them, too, I obtained those little satisfactions +which really count for so much against the mass of oppressive doubts +that haunt so persistently on every attempt at creative work. For +instance, of Mr. Vladimir himself (who was fair game for a caricatural +presentation) I was gratified to hear that an experienced man of the +world had said "that Conrad must have been in touch with that sphere or +else has an excellent intuition of things," because Mr. Vladimir was +"not only possible in detail but quite right in essentials."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> Then a +visitor from America informed me that all sorts of revolutionary +refugees in New York would have it that the book was written by somebody +who knew a lot about them. This seemed to me a very high compliment, +considering that, as a matter of hard fact, I had seen even less of +their kind than the omniscient friend who gave me the first suggestion +for the novel. I have no doubt, however, that there had been moments +during the writing of the book when I was an extreme revolutionist, I +won't say more convinced than they but certainly cherishing a more +concentrated purpose than any of them had ever done in the whole course +of his life. I don't say this to boast. I was simply attending to my +business. In the matter of all my books I have always attended to my +business. I have attended to it with complete self-surrender. And this +statement, too, is not a boast. I could not have done otherwise. It +would have bored me too much to make-believe.</p> + +<p>The suggestions for certain personages of the tale, both law-abiding and +lawless, came from various sources which, perhaps, here and there, some +reader may have recognized.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> They are not very recondite. But I am not +concerned here to legitimize any of those people, and even as to my +general view of the moral reactions as between the criminal and the +police all I will venture to say is that it seems to me to be at least +arguable.</p> + +<p>The twelve years that have elapsed since the publication of the book +have not changed my attitude. I do not regret having written it. Lately, +circumstances, which have nothing to do with the general tenor of this +Preface, have compelled me to strip this tale of the literary robe of +indignant scorn it has cost me so much to fit on it decently, years ago. +I have been forced, so to speak, to look upon its bare bones. I confess +that it makes a grisly skeleton. But still I will submit that telling +Winnie Verloc's story to its anarchistic end of utter desolation, +madness and despair, and telling it as I have told it here, I have not +intended to commit gratuitous outrage on the feelings of mankind.</p> + +<p><span class="left">June, 1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_SET_OF_SIX" id="A_SET_OF_SIX"></a>A SET OF SIX</h2> + + +<p>The six stories in this volume are the result of some three or four +years of occasional work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> The dates of their writing are far apart, +their origins are various. None of them are connected directly with +personal experiences. In all of them the facts are inherently true, by +which I mean that they are not only possible but that they have actually +happened. For instance, the last story in the volume the one I call +Pathetic, whose first title is Il Conde (mis-spelt by-the-by) is an +almost verbatim transcript of the tale told me by a very charming old +gentleman whom I met in Italy. I don't mean to say it is only that. +Anybody can see that it is something more than a verbatim report, but +where he left off and where I began must be left to the acute +discrimination of the reader who may be interested in the problem. I +don't mean to say that the problem is worth the trouble. What I am +certain of, however, is that it is not to be solved, for I am not at all +clear about it myself by this time. All I can say is that the +personality of the narrator was extremely suggestive quite apart from +the story he was telling me. I heard a few years ago that he had died +far away from his beloved Naples where that "abominable adventure" did +really happen to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thus the genealogy of Il Conde is simple. It is not the case with the +other stories. Various strains contributed to their composition, and the +nature of many of those I have forgotten, not having the habit of making +notes either before or after the fact. I mean the fact of writing a +story. What I remember best about Caspar Ruiz is that it was written, or +at any rate begun, within a month of finishing "Nostromo," but apart +from the locality, and that a pretty wide one (all the South American +Continent), the novel and the story have nothing in common, neither +mood, nor intention and, certainly, not the style. The manner for the +most part is that of General Santierra, and that old warrior, I note +with satisfaction, is very true to himself all through. Looking now +dispassionately at the various ways in which this story could have been +presented I can't honestly think the General superfluous. It is he, an +old man talking of the days of his youth, who characterizes the whole +narrative and gives it an air of actuality which I doubt whether I could +have achieved without his help. In the mere writing his existence of +course was of no help at all, because the whole thing had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> be +carefully kept within the frame of his simple mind. But all this is but +a laborious searching of memories. My present feeling is that the story +could not have been told otherwise. The hint for Gaspar Ruiz, the man, I +found in a book by Captain Basil Hall, R. N., who was for some time, +between the years 1824 and 1828, senior officer of a small British +Squadron on the West Coast of South America. His book published in the +thirties obtained a certain celebrity and I suppose is to be found still +in some libraries. The curious who may be mistrusting my imagination are +referred to that printed document, Vol. II, I forget the page, but it is +somewhere not far from the end. Another document connected with this +story is a letter of a biting and ironic kind from a friend then in +Burma, passing certain strictures upon "the gentleman with the gun on +his back" which I do not intend to make accessible to the public. Yet +the gun episode did really happen, or at least I am bound to believe it +because I remember it, described in an extremely matter-of-fact tone, in +some book I read in my boyhood; and I am not going to discard the +beliefs of my boyhood for anybody on earth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Brute, which is the only sea-story in the volume, is, like Il Conde, +associated with a direct narrative and based on a suggestion gathered on +warm human lips. I will not disclose the real name of the criminal ship +but the first I heard of her homicidal habits was from the late Captain +Blake, commanding a London ship in which I served in 1884 as Second +Officer. Captain Blake was, of all my commanders, the one I remember +with the greatest affection. I have sketched in his personality, without +however mentioning his name, in the first paper of "The Mirror of the +Sea." In his young days he had had a personal experience of the brute +and it is perhaps for that reason that I have put the story into the +mouth of a young man and made of it what the reader will see. The +existence of the brute was a fact. The end of the brute as related in +the story is also a fact, well-known at the time though it really +happened to another ship, of great beauty of form and of blameless +character, which certainly deserved a better fate. I have unscrupulously +adapted it to the needs of my story thinking that I had there something +in the nature of poetical justice. I hope that little villainy will not +cast a shadow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> upon the general honesty of my proceedings as a writer of +tales.</p> + +<p>Of The Informer and The Anarchist I will say next to nothing. The +pedigree of these tales is hopelessly complicated and not worth +disentangling at this distance of time. I found them and here they are. +The discriminating reader will guess that I have found them within my +mind; but how they or their elements came in there I have forgotten for +the most part; and for the rest I really don't see why I should give +myself away more than I have done already.</p> + +<p>It remains for me only now to mention The Duel, the longest story in the +book. That story attained the dignity of publication all by itself in a +small illustrated volume, under the title, "The Point of Honour." That +was many years ago. It has been since reinstated in its proper place, +which is the place it occupies in this volume, in all the subsequent +editions of my work. Its pedigree is extremely simple. It springs from a +ten-line paragraph in a small provincial paper published in the South of +France. That paragraph, occasioned by a duel with a fatal ending between +two well-known Parisian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> personalities, referred for some reason or +other to the "well-known fact" of two officers in Napoleon's Grand Army +having fought a series of duels in the midst of great wars and on some +futile pretext. The pretext was never disclosed. I had therefore to +invent it; and I think that, given the character of the two officers +which I had to invent, too, I have made it sufficiently convincing by +the mere force of its absurdity. The truth is that in my mind the story +is nothing but a serious and even earnest attempt at a bit of historical +fiction. I had heard in my boyhood a good deal of the great Napoleonic +legend. I had a genuine feeling that I would find myself at home in it, +and The Duel is the result of that feeling, or, if the reader prefers, +of that presumption. Personally I have no qualms of conscience about +this piece of work. The story might have been better told of course. All +one's work might have been better done; but this is the sort of +reflection a worker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every +one of his conceptions to remain for ever a private vision, an +evanescent reverie. How many of those visions have I seen vanish in my +time! This one, however, has remained,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> a testimony, if you like, to my +courage or a proof of my rashness. What I care to remember best is the +testimony of some French readers who volunteered the opinion that in +those hundred pages or so I had managed to render "wonderfully" the +spirit of the whole epoch. Exaggeration of kindness no doubt; but even +so I hug it still to my breast, because in truth that is exactly what I +was trying to capture in my small net: the Spirit of the Epoch—never +purely militarist in the long clash of arms, youthful, almost childlike +in its exaltation of sentiment—naïvely heroic in its faith.</p> + +<p><span class="left">June, 1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="UNDER_WESTERN_EYES" id="UNDER_WESTERN_EYES"></a>UNDER WESTERN EYES</h2> + + +<p>It must be admitted that by the mere force of circumstances "Under +Western Eyes" has become already a sort of historical novel dealing with +the past.</p> + +<p>This reflection bears entirely upon the events of the tale; but being as +a whole an attempt to render not so much the political state as the +psychology of Russia itself, I venture to hope that it has not lost all +its in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>terest. I am encouraged in this flattering belief by noticing +that in many articles on Russian affairs of the present day reference is +made to certain sayings and opinions uttered in the pages that follow, +in a manner testifying to the clearness of my vision and the correctness +of my judgment. I need not say that in writing this novel I had no other +object in view than to express imaginatively the general truth which +underlies its action, together with my honest convictions as to the +moral complexion of certain facts more or less known to the whole world.</p> + +<p>As to the actual creation I may say that when I began to write I had a +distinct conception of the first part only, with the three figures of +Haldin, Razumov, and Councillor Mikulin, defined exactly in my mind. It +was only after I had finished writing the first part that the whole +story revealed itself to me in its tragic character and in the march of +its events as unavoidable and sufficiently ample in its outline to give +free play to my creative instinct and to the dramatic possibilities of +the subject.</p> + +<p>The course of action need not be explained. It has suggested itself more +as a matter of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> feeling than a matter of thinking. It is the result not +of a special experience but of general knowledge, fortified by earnest +meditation. My greatest anxiety was in being able to strike and sustain +the note of scrupulous fairness. The obligation of absolute fairness was +imposed on me historically and hereditarily, by the peculiar experience +of race and family, and, in addition, by my primary conviction that +truth alone is the justification of any fiction which can make the least +claim to the quality of art or may hope to take its place in the culture +of men and women of its time. I had never been called before to a +greater effort of detachment: detachment from all passions, prejudices +and even from personal memories. "Under Western Eyes" on its first +appearance in England was a failure with the public, perhaps because of +that very detachment. I obtained my reward some six years later when I +first heard that the book had found universal recognition in Russia and +had been re-published there in many editions.</p> + +<p>The various figures playing their part in the story also owe their +existence to no special experience but to the general knowledge of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +condition of Russia and of the moral and emotional reactions of the +Russian temperament to the pressure of tyrannical lawlessness, which, in +general human terms, could be reduced to the formula of senseless +desperation provoked by senseless tyranny. What I was concerned with +mainly was the aspect, the character, and the fate of the individuals as +they appeared to the Western Eyes of the old teacher of languages. He +himself has been much criticized; but I will not at this late hour +undertake to justify his existence. He was useful to me and therefore I +think that he must be useful to the reader both in the way of comment +and by the part he plays in the development of the story. In my desire +to produce the effect of actuality it seemed to me indispensable to have +an eye-witness of the transactions in Geneva. I needed also a +sympathetic friend for Miss Haldin, who otherwise would have been too +much alone and unsupported to be perfectly credible. She would have had +no one to whom she could give a glimpse of her idealistic faith, of her +great heart, and of her simple emotions.</p> + +<p>Razumov is treated sympathetically. Why should he not be? He is an +ordinary young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> man, with a healthy capacity for work and sane +ambitions. He has an average conscience. If he is slightly abnormal it +is only in his sensitiveness to his position. Being nobody's child he +feels rather more keenly than another would that he is a Russian—or he +is nothing. He is perfectly right in looking on all Russia as his +heritage. The sanguinary futility of the crimes and the sacrifices +seething in that amorphous mass envelops and crushes him. But I don't +think that in his distraction he is ever monstrous. Nobody is exhibited +as a monster here—neither the simple-minded Tekla nor the wrong-headed +Sophia Antonovna. Peter Ivanovitch and Madame de S. are fair game. They +are the apes of a sinister jungle and are treated as their grimaces +deserve. As to Nikita—nicknamed Necator—he is the perfect flower of +the terroristic wilderness. What troubled me most in dealing with him +was not his monstrosity but his banality. He has been exhibited to the +public eye for years in so-called "disclosures" in newspaper articles, +in secret histories, in sensational novels.</p> + +<p>The most terrifying reflection (I am speaking now for myself) is that +all these people are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> not the product of the exceptional but of the +general—of the normality of their place, and time, and race. The +ferocity and imbecility of an autocratic rule rejecting all legality and +in fact basing itself upon complete moral anarchism provokes the no less +imbecile and atrocious answer of a purely Utopian revolutionism +encompassing destruction by the first means to hand, in the strange +conviction that a fundamental change of hearts must follow the downfall +of any given human institutions. These people are unable to see that all +they can effect is merely a change of names. The oppressors and the +oppressed are all Russians together; and the world is brought once more +face to face with the truth of the saying that the tiger cannot change +his stripes nor the leopard his spots.</p> + +<p><span class="left">June, 1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_PERSONAL_RECORD" id="A_PERSONAL_RECORD"></a>A PERSONAL RECORD</h2> + + +<p>The re-issue of this book in a new form does not, strictly speaking, +require another Preface. But since this is distinctly a place for +personal remarks I take the opportunity to refer in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> Author's Note +to two points arising from certain statements about myself I have +noticed of late in the press.</p> + +<p>One of them bears upon the question of language. I have always felt +myself looked upon somewhat in the light of a phenomenon, a position +which outside the circus world cannot be regarded as desirable. It needs +a special temperament for one to derive much gratification from the fact +of being able to do freakish things intentionally, and, as it were, from +mere vanity.</p> + +<p>The fact of my not writing in my native language has been of course +commented upon frequently in reviews and notices of my various works and +in the more extended critical articles. I suppose that was unavoidable; +and indeed these comments were of the most flattering kind to one's +vanity. But in that matter I have no vanity that could be flattered. I +could not have it. The first object of this Note is to disclaim any +merit there might have been in an act of deliberate volition.</p> + +<p>The impression of my having exercised a choice between the two +languages, French and English, both foreign to me, has got abroad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +somehow. That impression is erroneous. It originated, I believe, in an +article written by Sir Hugh Clifford and published in the year '98, I +think, of the last century. Some time before, Sir Hugh Clifford came to +see me. He is, if not the first, then one of the first two friends I +made for myself by my work, the other being Mr. Cunninghame Graham, who, +characteristically enough, had been captivated by my story An Outpost of +Progress. These friendships which have endured to this day I count +amongst my precious possessions.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hugh Clifford (he was not decorated then) had just published his +first volume of Malay sketches. I was naturally delighted to see him and +infinitely gratified by the kind things he found to say about my first +books and some of my early short stories, the action of which is placed +in the Malay Archipelago. I remember that after saying many things which +ought to have made me blush to the roots of my hair with outraged +modesty, he ended by telling me with the uncompromising yet kindly +firmness of a man accustomed to speak unpalatable truths even to +Oriental potentates (for their own good of course) that as a matter of +fact I didn't know any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>thing about Malays. I was perfectly aware of +this. I have never pretended to any such knowledge, and I was moved—I +wonder to this day at my impertinence—to retort: "Of course I don't +know anything about Malays. If I knew only one hundredth part of what +you and Frank Swettenham know of Malays I would make everybody sit up." +He went on looking kindly (but firmly) at me and then we both burst out +laughing. In the course of that most welcome visit twenty years ago, +which I remember so well, we talked of many things; the characteristics +of various languages was one of them, and it is on that day that my +friend carried away with him the impression that I had exercised a +deliberate choice between French and English. Later, when moved by his +friendship (no empty word to him) to write a study in the <i>North +American Review</i> on Joseph Conrad he conveyed that impression to the +public.</p> + +<p>This misapprehension, for it is nothing else, was no doubt my fault. I +must have expressed myself badly in the course of a friendly and +intimate talk when one doesn't watch one's phrases carefully. My +recollection of what I meant to say is: that <i>had I been under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> the +necessity</i> of making a choice between the two, and though I knew French +fairly well and was familiar with it from infancy, I would have been +afraid to attempt expression in a language so perfectly "crystallized." +This, I believe, was the word I used. And then we passed to other +matters. I had to tell him a little about myself; and what he told me of +his work in the East, his own particular East of which I had but the +mistiest, short glimpse, was of the most absorbing interest. The present +Governor of Nigeria may not remember that conversation as well as I do, +but I am sure that he will not mind this, what in diplomatic language is +called "rectification" of a statement made to him by an obscure writer +his generous sympathy had prompted him to seek out and make his friend.</p> + +<p>The truth of the matter is that my faculty to write in English is as +natural as any other aptitude with which I might have been born. I have +a strange and overpowering feeling that it had always been an inherent +part of myself. English was for me neither a matter of choice nor +adoption. The merest idea of choice had never entered my head. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> as +to adoption—well, yes, there was adoption; but it was I who was adopted +by the genius of the language, which directly I came out of the +stammering stage made me its own so completely that its very idioms I +truly believe had a direct action on my temperament and fashioned my +still plastic character.</p> + +<p>It was a very intimate action and for that very reason it is too +mysterious to explain. The task would be as impossible as trying to +explain love at first sight. There was something in this conjunction of +exulting, almost physical recognition, the same sort of emotional +surrender and the same pride of possession, all united in the wonder of +a great discovery; but there was on it none of that shadow of dreadful +doubt that falls on the very flame of our perishable passions. One knew +very well that this was for ever.</p> + +<p>A matter of discovery and not of inheritance, that very inferiority of +the title makes the faculty still more precious, lays the possessor +under a lifelong obligation to remain worthy of his great fortune. But +it seems to me that all this sounds as if I were trying to explain—a +task which I have just pronounced to be impossible. If in action we may +admit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> with awe that the Impossible recedes before men's indomitable +spirit, the Impossible in matters of analysis will always make a stand +at some point or other. All I can claim after all those years of devoted +practice, with the accumulated anguish of its doubts, imperfections and +falterings in my heart, is the right to be believed when I say that if I +had not written in English I would not have written at all.</p> + +<p>The other remark which I wish to make here is also a rectification but +of a less direct kind. It has nothing to do with the medium of +expression. It bears on the matter of my authorship in another way. It +is not for me to criticize my judges, the more so because I always felt +that I was receiving more than justice at their hands. But it seems to +me that their unfailingly interested sympathy has ascribed to racial and +historical influences much, of what, I believe, appertains simply to the +individual. Nothing is more foreign than what in the literary world is +called Sclavonism, to the Polish temperament with its tradition of +self-government, its chivalrous view of moral restraints and an +exaggerated respect for individual rights: not to mention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> the important +fact that the whole Polish mentality, Western in complexion, had +received its training from Italy and France and, historically, had +always remained, even in religious matters, in sympathy with the most +liberal currents of European thought. An impartial view of humanity in +all its degrees of splendour and misery together with a special regard +for the rights of the unprivileged of this earth, not on any mystic +ground but on the ground of simple fellowship and honourable +reciprocity of services, was the dominant characteristic of the +mental and moral atmosphere of the houses which sheltered my hazardous +childhood:—matters of calm and deep conviction both lasting and +consistent, and removed as far as possible from that humanitarianism +that seems to be merely a matter of crazy nerves or a morbid conscience.</p> + +<p>One of the most sympathetic of my critics tried to account for certain +characteristics of my work by the fact of my being, in his own words, +"the son of a Revolutionist." No epithet could be more inapplicable to a +man with such a strong sense of responsibility in the region of ideas +and action and so indiffer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>ent to the promptings of personal ambition as +my father. Why the description "revolutionary" should have been applied +all through Europe to the Polish risings of 1831 and 1863 I really +cannot understand. These risings were purely revolts against foreign +domination. The Russians themselves called them "rebellions," which, +from their point of view, was the exact truth. Amongst the men concerned +in the preliminaries of the 1863 movement my father was no more +revolutionary than the others, in the sense of working for the +subversion of any social or political scheme of existence. He was simply +a patriot in the sense of a man who believing in the spirituality of a +national existence could not bear to see that spirit enslaved.</p> + +<p>Called out publicly in a kindly attempt to justify the work of the son, +that figure of my past cannot be dismissed without a few more words. As +a child of course I knew very little of my father's activities, for I +was not quite twelve when he died. What I saw with my own eyes was the +public funeral, the cleared streets, the hushed crowds; but I understood +perfectly well that this was a manifestation of the national spirit +seizing a worthy occasion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> That bareheaded mass of work people, youths +of the University, women at the windows, school-boys on the pavement, +could have known nothing positive about him except the fame of his +fidelity to the one guiding emotion in their hearts. I had nothing but +that knowledge myself; and this great silent demonstration seemed to me +the most natural tribute in the world—not to the man but to the Idea.</p> + +<p>What had impressed me much more intimately was the burning of his +manuscripts a fortnight or so before his death. It was done under his +own superintendence. I happened to go into his room a little earlier +than usual that evening, and remaining unnoticed stayed to watch the +nursing-sister feeding the blaze in the fireplace. My father sat in a +deep armchair propped up with pillows. This is the last time I saw him +out of bed. His aspect was to me not so much that of a man desperately +ill, as mortally weary—a vanquished man. That act of destruction +affected me profoundly by its air of surrender. Not before death, +however. To a man of such strong faith death could not have been an +enemy.</p> + +<p>For many years I believed that every scrap of his writings had been +burnt, but in July of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> 1914 the Librarian of the University of Cracow +calling on me during our short visit to Poland, mentioned the existence +of a few manuscripts of my father and especially of a series of letters +written before and during his exile to his most intimate friend who had +sent them to the University for preservation. I went to the Library at +once, but had only time then for a mere glance. I intended to come back +next day and arrange for copies being made of the whole correspondence. +But next day there was war. So perhaps I shall never know now what he +wrote to his most intimate friend in the time of his domestic happiness, +of his new paternity, of his strong hopes—and later, in the hours of +disillusion, bereavement and gloom.</p> + +<p>I had also imagined him to be completely forgotten forty-five years +after his death. But this was not the case. Some young men of letters +had discovered him, mostly as a remarkable translator of Shakespeare, +Victor Hugo and Alfred de Vigny, to whose drama <i>Chatterton</i>, translated +by himself, he had written an eloquent Preface defending the poet's deep +humanity and his ideal of noble stoicism. The political side of his life +was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> being recalled too; for some men of his time, his co-workers in the +task of keeping the national spirit firm in the hope of an independent +future, had been in their old age publishing their memoirs, where the +part he played was for the first time publicly disclosed to the world. I +learned then of things in his life I never knew before, things which +outside the group of the initiated could have been known to no living +being except my mother. It was thus that from a volume of posthumous +memoirs dealing with those bitter years I learned the fact that the +first inception of the secret National Committee intended primarily to +organize moral resistance to the augmented pressure of Russianism arose +on my father's initiative, and that its first meetings were held in our +Warsaw house, of which all I remember distinctly is one room, white and +crimson, probably the drawing room. In one of its walls there was the +loftiest of all archways. Where it led to remains a mystery, but to this +day I cannot get rid of the belief that all this was of enormous +proportions, and that the people appearing and disappearing in that +immense space were beyond the usual stature of mankind as I got to know +it in later<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> life. Amongst them I remember my mother, a more familiar +figure than the others, dressed in the black of the national mourning +worn in defiance of ferocious police regulations. I have also preserved +from that particular time the awe of her mysterious gravity which, +indeed, was by no means smileless. For I remember her smiles, too. +Perhaps for me she could always find a smile. She was young then, +certainly not thirty yet. She died four years later in exile.</p> + +<p>In the pages which follow I mentioned her visit to her brother's house +about a year before her death. I also speak a little of my father as I +remember him in the years following what was for him the deadly blow of +her loss. And now, having been again evoked in answer to the words of a +friendly critic, these Shades may be allowed to return to their place of +rest where their forms in life linger yet, dim but poignant, and +awaiting the moment when their haunting reality, their last trace on +earth, shall pass for ever with me out of the world.</p> + + +<p><span class="left">June, 1919.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_FAMILIAR_PREFACE" id="A_FAMILIAR_PREFACE"></a>A FAMILIAR PREFACE</h2> + +<h3>A PERSONAL RECORD</h3> + + +<p>As a general rule we do not want much encouragement to talk about +ourselves; yet this little book is the result of a friendly suggestion, +and even of a little friendly pressure. I defended myself with some +spirit; but, with characteristic tenacity, the friendly voice insisted, +"You know, you really must."</p> + +<p>It was not an argument, but I submitted at once. If one must!...</p> + +<p>You perceive the force of a word. He who wants to persuade should put +his trust not in the right argument, but in the right word. The power of +sound has always been greater than the power of sense. I don't say this +by way of disparagement. It is better for mankind to be impressionable +than reflective. Nothing humanely great—great, I mean, as affecting a +whole mass of lives—has come from reflection. On the other hand, you +cannot fail to see the power of mere words; such words as Glory, for +instance, or Pity. I won't mention any more. They are not far to seek. +Shouted with perseverance, with ardour, with conviction, these two by +their sound alone have set whole nations in mo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>tion and upheaved the +dry, hard ground on which rests our whole social fabric. There's +"virtue" for you if you like!... Of course the accent must be attended +to. The right accent. That's very important. The capacious lung, the +thundering or the tender vocal chords. Don't talk to me of your +Archimedes' lever. He was an absent-minded person with a mathematical +imagination. Mathematics commands all my respect, but I have no use for +engines. Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the +world.</p> + +<p>What a dream for a writer! Because written words have their accent, too. +Yes! Let me only find the right word! Surely it must be lying somewhere +among the wreckage of all the plaints and all the exultations poured out +aloud since the first day when hope, the undying, came down on earth. It +may be there, close by, disregarded, invisible, quite at hand. But it's +no good. I believe there are men who can lay hold of a needle in a +pottle of hay at the first try. For myself, I have never had such luck.</p> + +<p>And then there is that accent. Another difficulty. For who is going to +tell whether<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> the accent is right or wrong till the word is shouted, and +fails to be heard, perhaps, and goes down-wind, leaving the world +unmoved? Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a sage and +something of a literary man. He jotted down on ivory tablets thoughts, +maxims, reflections which chance has preserved for the edification of +posterity. Among other sayings—I am quoting from memory—I remember +this solemn admonition: "Let all thy words have the accent of heroic +truth." The accent of heroic truth! This is very fine, but I am thinking +that it is an easy matter for an austere emperor to jot down grandiose +advice. Most of the working truths on this earth are humble, not heroic; +and there have been times in the history of mankind when the accents of +heroic truth have moved it to nothing but derision.</p> + +<p>Nobody will expect to find between the covers of this little book words +of extraordinary potency or accents of irresistible heroism. However +humiliating for my self-esteem, I must confess that the counsels of +Marcus Aurelius are not for me. They are more fit for a moralist than +for an artist. Truth of a modest sort I can promise you, and also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +sincerity. That complete, praiseworthy sincerity which, while it +delivers one into the hands of one's enemies, is as likely as not to +embroil one with one's friends.</p> + +<p>"Embroil" is perhaps too strong an expression. I can't imagine among +either my enemies or my friends a being so hard up for something to do +as to quarrel with me. "To disappoint one's friends" would be nearer the +mark. Most, almost all, friendships of the writing period of my life +have come to me through my books; and I know that a novelist lives in +his work. He stands there, the only reality in an invented world, among +imaginary things, happenings, and people. Writing about them, he is only +writing about himself. But the disclosure is not complete. He remains, +to a certain extent, a figure behind the veil; a suspected rather than a +seen presence—a movement and a voice behind the draperies of fiction. +In these personal notes there is no such veil. And I cannot help +thinking of a passage in the "Imitation of Christ" where the ascetic +author, who knew life so profoundly, says that "there are persons +esteemed on their reputation who by showing themselves destroy the +opinion one had of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> them." This is the danger incurred by an author of +fiction who sets out to talk about himself without disguise.</p> + +<p>While these reminiscent pages were appearing serially I was remonstrated +with for bad economy; as if such writing were a form of self-indulgence +wasting the substance of future volumes. It seems that I am not +sufficiently literary. Indeed, a man who never wrote a line for print +till he was thirty-six cannot bring himself to look upon his existence +and his experience, upon the sum of his thoughts, sensations, and +emotions, upon his memories and his regrets, and the whole possession of +his past, as only so much material for his hands. Once before, some +three years ago, when I published "The Mirror of the Sea," a volume of +impressions and memories, the same remarks were made to me. Practical +remarks. But, truth to say, I have never understood the kind of thrift +they recommend. I wanted to pay my tribute to the sea, its ships and its +men, to whom I remain indebted for so much which has gone to make me +what I am. That seemed to me the only shape in which I could offer it to +their shades. There could not be a question in my mind of anything else. +It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> quite possible that I am a bad economist; but it is certain that +I am incorrigible.</p> + +<p>Having matured in the surroundings and under the special conditions of +sea life, I have a special piety towards that form of my past; for its +impressions were vivid, its appeal direct, its demands such as could be +responded to with the natural elation of youth and strength equal to the +call. There was nothing in them to perplex a young conscience. Having +broken away from my origins under a storm of blame from every quarter +which had the merest shadow of right to voice an opinion, removed by +great distances from such natural affections as were still left to me, +and even estranged, in a measure, from them by the totally +unintelligible character of the life which had seduced me so +mysteriously from my allegiance, I may safely say that through the blind +force of circumstances the sea was to be all my world and the merchant +service my only home for a long succession of years. No wonder, then, +that in my two exclusively sea books—"The Nigger of the <i>Narcissus</i>," +and "The Mirror of the Sea" (and in the few short sea stories like +"Youth" and "Typhoon")—I have tried with an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> almost filial regard to +render the vibration of life in the great world of waters, in the hearts +of the simple men who have for ages traversed its solitudes, and also +that something sentient which seems to dwell in ships—the creatures of +their hands and the objects of their care.</p> + +<p>One's literary life must turn frequently for sustenance to memories and +seek discourse with the shades, unless one has made up one's mind to +write only in order to reprove mankind for what it is, or praise it for +what it is not, or—generally—to teach it how to behave. Being neither +quarrelsome, nor a flatterer, nor a sage, I have done none of these +things, and I am prepared to put up serenely with the insignificance +which attaches to persons who are not meddlesome in some way or other. +But resignation is not indifference. I would not like to be left +standing as a mere spectator on the bank of the great stream carrying +onward so many lives. I would fain claim for myself the faculty of so +much insight as can be expressed in a voice of sympathy and compassion.</p> + +<p>It seems to me that in one, at least, authoritative quarter of criticism +I am suspected of a certain unemotional, grim acceptance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> facts—of +what the French would call <i>sécheresse du cœur</i>. Fifteen years of +unbroken silence before praise or blame testify sufficiently to my +respect for criticism, that fine flower of personal expression in the +garden of letters. But this is more of a personal matter, reaching the +man behind the work, and therefore it may be alluded to in a volume +which is a personal note in the margin of the public page. Not that I +feel hurt in the least. The charge—if it amounted to a charge at +all—was made in the most considerate terms; in a tone of regret.</p> + +<p>My answer is that if it be true that every novel contains an element of +autobiography—and this can hardly be denied, since the creator can only +express himself in his creation—then there are some of us to whom an +open display of sentiment is repugnant. I would not unduly praise the +virtue of restraint. It is often merely temperamental. But it is not +always a sign of coldness. It may be pride. There can be nothing more +humiliating than to see the shaft of one's emotion miss the mark of +either laughter or tears. Nothing more humiliating! And this for the +reason that should the mark be missed, should the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> open display of +emotion fail to move, then it must perish unavoidably in disgust or +contempt. No artist can be reproached for shrinking from a risk which +only fools run to meet and only genius dare confront with impunity. In a +task which mainly consists in laying one's soul more or less bare to the +world, a regard for decency, even at the cost of success, is but the +regard for one's own dignity which is inseparably united with the +dignity of one's work.</p> + +<p>And then—it is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on this +earth. The comic, when it is human, soon takes upon itself a face of +pain; and some of our griefs (some only, not all, for it is the capacity +for suffering which makes man august in the eyes of men) have their +source in weaknesses which must be recognized with smiling compassion as +the common inheritance of us all. Joy and sorrow in this world pass into +each other, mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of +life as mysterious as an overshadowed ocean, while the dazzling +brightness of supreme hopes lies far off, fascinating and still, on the +distant edge of the horizon.</p> + +<p>Yes! I, too, would like to hold the magic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> wand giving that command over +laughter and tears which is declared to be the highest achievement of +imaginative literature. Only, to be a great magician one must surrender +oneself to occult and irresponsible powers, either outside or within +one's breast. We have all heard of simple men selling their souls for +love or power to some grotesque devil. The most ordinary intelligence +can perceive without much reflection that anything of the sort is bound +to be a fool's bargain. I don't lay claim to particular wisdom because +of my dislike and distrust of such transactions. It may be my sea +training acting upon a natural disposition to keep good hold on the one +thing really mine, but the fact is that I have a positive horror of +losing even for one moving moment that full possession of myself which +is the first condition of good service. And I have carried my notion of +good service from my earlier into my later existence. I, who have never +sought in the written word anything else but a form of the Beautiful—I +have carried over that article of creed from the decks of ships to the +more circumscribed space of my desk, and by that act, I suppose, I have +become permanently imperfect in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> eyes of the ineffable company of +pure esthetes.</p> + +<p>As in political so in literary action a man wins friends for himself +mostly by the passion of his prejudices and by the consistent narrowness +of his outlook. But I have never been able to love what was not lovable +or hate what was not hateful out of deference for some general +principle. Whether there be any courage in making this admission I know +not. After the middle turn of life's way we consider dangers and joys +with a tranquil mind. So I proceed in peace to declare that I have +always suspected in the effort to bring into play the extremities of +emotions the debasing touch of insincerity. In order to move others +deeply we must deliberately allow ourselves to be carried away beyond +the bounds of our normal sensibility—innocently enough, perhaps, and of +necessity, like an actor who raises his voice on the stage above the +pitch of natural conversation—but still we have to do that. And surely +this is no great sin. But the danger lies in the writer becoming the +victim of his own exaggeration, losing the exact notion of sincerity, +and in the end coming to despise truth itself as something too cold, too +blunt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> for his purpose—as, in fact, not good enough for his insistent +emotion. From laughter and tears the descent is easy to snivelling and +giggles.</p> + +<p>These may seem selfish considerations; but you can't, in sound morals, +condemn a man taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty. +And least of all can you condemn an artist pursuing, however humbly and +imperfectly, a creative aim. In that interior world where his thought +and his emotions go seeking for the experience of imagined adventures, +there are no policemen, no law, no pressure of circumstance or dread of +opinion to keep him within bounds. Who then is going to say Nay to his +temptations if not his conscience?</p> + +<p>And besides—this, remember, is the place and the moment of perfectly +open talk—I think that all ambitions are lawful except those which +climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind. All intellectual +and artistic ambitions are permissible, up to and even beyond the limit +of prudent sanity. They can hurt no one. If they are mad, then so much +the worse for the artist. Indeed, as virtue is said to be, such +ambitions are their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> own reward. Is it such a very mad presumption to +believe in the sovereign power of one's art, to try for other means, for +other ways of affirming this belief in the deeper appeal of one's work? +To try to go deeper is not to be insensible. An historian of hearts is +not an historian of emotions, yet he penetrates further, restrained as +he may be, since his aim is to reach the very fount of laughter and +tears. The sight of human affairs deserves admiration and pity. They are +worthy of respect, too. And he is not insensible who pays them the +undemonstrative tribute of a sigh which is not a sob, and of a smile +which is not a grin. Resignation, not mystic, not detached, but +resignation open-eyed, conscious, and informed by love, is the only one +of our feelings for which it is impossible to become a sham.</p> + +<p>Not that I think resignation the last word of wisdom. I am too much the +creature of my time for that. But I think that the proper wisdom is to +will what the gods will without, perhaps, being certain what their will +is—or even if they have a will of their own. And in this matter of life +and art it is not the Why that matters so much to our happiness as the +How. As the Frenchman said, "<i>Il y a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> toujours la maniere</i>." Very true. +Yes. There is the manner. The manner in laughter, in tears, in irony, in +indignations and enthusiasms, in judgments—and even in love. The manner +in which, as in the features and character of a human face, the inner +truth is foreshadowed for those who know how to look at their kind.</p> + +<p>Those who read me know my conviction that the world, the temporal world, +rests on a few very simple ideas; so simple that they must be as old as +the hills. It rests notably, among others, on the idea of Fidelity. At a +time when nothing which is not revolutionary in some way or other can +expect to attract much attention I have not been revolutionary in my +writings. The revolutionary spirit is mighty convenient in this, that it +frees one from all scruples as regards ideas. Its hard, absolute +optimism is repulsive to my mind by the menace of fanaticism and +intolerance it contains. No doubt one should smile at these things; but, +imperfect Esthete, I am no better Philosopher. All claim to special +righteousness awakens in me that scorn and danger from which a +philosophical mind should be free....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>I fear that trying to be conversational I have only managed to be unduly +discursive. I have never been very well acquainted with the art of +conversation—that art which, I understand, is supposed to be lost now. +My young days, the days when one's habits and character are formed, have +been rather familiar with long silences. Such voices as broke into them +were anything but conversational. No. I haven't got the habit. Yet this +discursiveness is not so irrelevant to the handful of pages which +follow. They, too, have been charged with discursiveness, with disregard +of chronological order (which is in itself a crime) with +unconventionality of form (which is an impropriety). I was told severely +that the public would view with displeasure the informal character of my +recollections. "Alas!" I protested, mildly. "Could I begin with the +sacramental words, 'I was born on such a date in such a place'? The +remoteness of the locality would have robbed the statement of all +interest. I haven't lived through wonderful adventures to be related +<i>seriatim</i>. I haven't known distinguished men on whom I could pass +fatuous remarks. I haven't been mixed up with great or scandalous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +affairs. This is but a bit of psychological document, and even so, I +haven't written it with a view to put forward any conclusion of my own."</p> + +<p>But my objector was not placated. These were good reasons for not +writing at all—not a defence of what stood written already, he said.</p> + +<p>I admit that almost anything, anything in the world, would serve as a +good reason for not writing at all. But since I have written them, all I +want to say in their defence is that these memories put down without any +regard for established conventions have not been thrown off without +system and purpose. They have their hope and their aim. The hope that +from the reading of these pages there may emerge at last the vision of a +personality; the man behind the books so fundamentally dissimilar as, +for instance, "Almayer's Folly" and "The Secret Agent," and yet a +coherent, justifiable personality both in its origin and in its action. +This is the hope. The immediate aim, closely associated with the hope, +is to give the record of personal memories by presenting faithfully the +feelings and sensations connected with the writing of my first book and +with my first contact with the sea.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the purposely mingled resonance of this double strain a friend here +and there will perhaps detect a subtle accord.</p> + +<p><span class="left"> </span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TWIXT_LAND_AND_SEA" id="TWIXT_LAND_AND_SEA"></a>TWIXT LAND AND SEA</h2> + + +<p>The only bond between these three stories is, so to speak, geographical, +for their scene, be it land, be it sea, is situated in the same region +which may be called the region of the Indian Ocean with its off-shoots +and prolongations north of the equator even as far as the Gulf of Siam. +In point of time they belong to the period immediately after the +publication of that novel with the awkward title "Under Western Eyes" +and, as far as the life of the writer is concerned, their appearance in +a volume marks a definite change in the fortunes of his fiction. For +there is no denying the fact that "Under Western Eyes" found no favour +in the public eye, whereas the novel called "Chance" which followed +"Twixt Land and Sea" was received on its first appearance by many more +readers than any other of my books.</p> + +<p>This volume of three tales was also well received, publicly and +privately and from a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> publisher's point of view. This little success was +a most timely tonic for my enfeebled bodily frame. For this may indeed +be called the book of a man's convalescence, at least as to +three-fourths of it; because the Secret Sharer, the middle story, was +written much earlier than the other two.</p> + +<p>For in truth the memories of "Under Western Eyes" are associated with +the memory of a severe illness which seemed to wait like a tiger in the +jungle on the turn of a path to jump on me the moment the last words of +that novel were written. The memory of an illness is very much like the +memory of a nightmare. On emerging from it in a much enfeebled state I +was inspired to direct my tottering steps towards the Indian Ocean, a +complete change of surroundings and atmosphere from the Lake of Geneva, +as nobody would deny. Begun so languidly and with such a fumbling hand +that the first twenty pages or more had to be thrown into the +waste-paper basket, A Smile of Fortune, the most purely Indian Ocean +story of the three, has ended by becoming what the reader will see. I +will only say for myself that ï have been patted on the back for it by +most unexpected people,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> personally unknown to me, the chief of them of +course being the editor of a popular illustrated magazine who published +it serially in one mighty instalment. Who will dare say after this that +the change of air had not been an immense success?</p> + +<p>The origins of the middle story, The Secret Sharer, are quite other. It +was written much earlier and was published first in <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, +during the early part, I think, of 1911. Or perhaps the latter part? My +memory on that point is hazy. The basic fact of the tale I had in my +possession for a good many years. It was in truth the common possession +of the whole fleet of merchant ships trading to India, China, and +Australia: a great company the last years of which coincided with my +first years on the wider seas. The fact itself happened on board a very +distinguished member of it, <i>Cutty Sark</i> by name and belonging to Mr. +Willis, a notable ship-owner in his day, one of the kind (they are all +underground now) who used personally to see his ships start on their +voyages to those distant shores where they showed worthily the honoured +house-flag of their owner. I am glad I was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> too late to get at +least one glimpse of Mr. Willis on a very wet and gloomy morning +watching from the pier head of the New South Dock one of his clippers +starting on a China voyage—an imposing figure of a man under the +invariable white hat so well known in the Port of London, waiting till +the head of his ship had swung down-stream before giving her a dignified +wave of a big gloved hand. For all I know it may have been the <i>Cutty +Sark</i> herself though certainly not on that fatal voyage. I do not know +the date of the occurrence on which the scheme of The Secret Sharer is +founded; it came to light and even got into newspapers about the middle +eighties, though I had heard of it before, as it were privately, among +the officers of the great wool fleet in which my first years in deep +water were served. It came to light under circumstances dramatic enough, +I think, but which have nothing to do with my story. In the more +specially maritime part of my writings this bit of presentation may take +its place as one of my two Calm-pieces. For, if there is to be any +classification by subjects, I have done two Storm-pieces in "The Nigger +of the <i>Narcissus</i>" and in "Typhoon"; and two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> Calm-pieces: this one and +"The Shadow-Line," a book which belongs to a later period.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding their autobiographical form the above two stories are +not the record of personal experience. Their quality, such as it is, +depends on something larger if less precise: on the character, vision +and sentiment of the first twenty independent years of my life. And the +same may be said of the Freya of the Seven Isles. I was considerably +abused for writing that story on the ground of its cruelty, both in +public prints and private letters. I remember one from a man in America +who was quite furiously angry. He told me with curses and imprecations +that I had no right to write such an abominable thing which, he said, +had gratuitously and intolerably harrowed his feelings. It was a very +interesting letter to read. Impressive too. I carried it for some days +in my pocket. Had I the right? The sincerity of the anger impressed me. +Had I the right? Had I really sinned as he said or was it only that +man's madness? Yet there was a method in his fury.... I composed in my +mind a violent reply, a reply of mild argument, a reply of lofty +detachment; but they never got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> on paper in the end and I have forgotten +their phrasing. The very letter of the angry man has got lost somehow; +and nothing remains now but the pages of the story which I cannot recall +and would not recall if I could.</p> + +<p>But I am glad to think that the two women in this book: Alice, the +sullen, passive victim of her fate, and the actively individual Freya, +so determined to be the mistress of her own destiny, must have evoked +some sympathies because of all my volumes of short stories this was the +one for which there was the greatest immediate demand.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHANCE" id="CHANCE"></a>CHANCE</h2> + + +<p>"Chance" is one of my novels that shortly after having been begun were +laid aside for a few months. Starting impetuously like a sanguine +oarsman setting forth in the early morning I came very soon to a fork in +the stream and found it necessary to pause and reflect seriously upon +the direction I would take. Either presented to me equal fascinations, +at least on the surface, and for that very reason my hesitation extended +over many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> days. I floated in the calm water of pleasant speculation, +between the diverging currents or conflicting impulses, with an +agreeable but perfectly irrational conviction that neither of those +currents would take me to destruction. My sympathies being equally +divided and the two forces being equal it is perfectly obvious that +nothing but mere chance influenced my decision in the end. It is a +mighty force that of mere chance; absolutely irresistible yet +manifesting itself often in delicate forms such for instance as the +charm, true or illusory, of a human being. It is very difficult to put +one's finger on the imponderable, but I may venture to say that it is +Flora de Barral who is really responsible for this novel which relates, +in fact, the story of her life.</p> + +<p>At the crucial moment of my indecision Flora de Barral passed before me, +but so swiftly that I failed at first to get hold of her. Though loth to +give her up I didn't see the way of pursuit clearly and was on the point +of becoming discouraged when my natural liking for Captain Anthony came +to my assistance. I said to myself that if that man was so determined to +embrace a "wisp of mist"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> the best thing for me was to join him in that +eminently practical and praiseworthy adventure. I simply followed +Captain Anthony. Each of us was bent on capturing his own dream. The +reader will be able to judge of our success.</p> + +<p>Captain Anthony's determination led him a long and roundabout course and +that is why this book is a long book. That the course was of my own +choosing I will not deny. A critic had remarked that if I had selected +another method of composition and taken a little more trouble the tale +could have been told in about two hundred pages. I confess I do not +perceive exactly the bearings of such criticism or even the use of such +a remark. No doubt that by selecting a certain method and taking great +pains the whole story might have been written out on a cigarette paper. +For that matter, the whole history of mankind could be written thus if +only approached with sufficient detachment. The history of men on this +earth since the beginning of ages may be resumed in one phrase of +infinite poignancy: They were born, they suffered, they died.... Yet it +is a great tale! But in the infinitely minute stories about men and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +women it is my lot on earth to narrate I am not capable of such +detachment.</p> + +<p>What makes this book memorable to me apart from the natural sentiment +one has for one's creation is the response it provoked. The general +public responded largely, more largely perhaps than to any other book of +mine, in the only way the general public can respond, that is by buying +a certain number of copies. This gave me a considerable amount of +pleasure, because what I always feared most was drifting unconsciously +into the position of a writer for a limited coterie; a position which +would have been odious to me as throwing a doubt on the soundness of my +belief in the solidarity of all mankind in simple ideas and in sincere +emotions. Regarded as a manifestation of criticism (for it would be +outrageous to deny to the general public the possession of a critical +mind) the reception was very satisfactory. I saw that I had managed to +please a certain number of minds busy attending to their own very real +affairs. It is agreeable to think one is able to please. From the minds +whose business it is precisely to criticize such attempts to please, +this book received an amount of discussion and of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> rather searching +analysis which not only satisfied that personal vanity I share with the +rest of mankind but reached my deeper feelings and aroused my gratified +interest. The undoubted sympathy informing the varied appreciations of +that book was, I love to think, a recognition of my good faith in the +pursuit of my art—the art of the novelist which a distinguished French +writer at the end of a successful career complained of as being: <i>Trop +difficile!</i> It is indeed too arduous in the sense that the effort must +be invariably so much greater than the possible achievement. In that +sort of foredoomed task which is in its nature very lonely also, +sympathy is a precious thing. It can make the most severe criticism +welcome. To be told that better things have been expected of one may be +soothing in view of how much better things one had expected from oneself +in this art which, in these days, is no longer justified by the +assumption, somewhere and somehow, of a didactic purpose.</p> + +<p>I do not mean to hint that anybody had ever done me the injury (I don't +mean insult, I mean injury) of charging a single one of my pages with +didactic purpose. But every sub<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>ject in the region of intellect and +emotion must have a morality of its own if it is treated at all +sincerely; and even the most artful of writers will give himself (and +his morality) away in about every third sentence. The varied shades of +moral significance which have been discovered in my writings are very +numerous. None of them, however, have provoked a hostile manifestation. +It may have happened to me to sin against taste now and then, but +apparently I have never sinned against the basic feelings and elementary +convictions which make life possible to the mass of mankind and, by +establishing a standard of judgment, set their idealism free to look for +plainer ways, for higher feelings, for deeper purposes.</p> + +<p>I cannot say that any particular moral complexion has been put on this +novel but I do not think that anybody had detected in it an evil +intention. And it is only for their intentions that men can be held +responsible. The ultimate effects of whatever they do are far beyond +their control. In doing this book my intention was to interest people in +my vision of things which is indissolubly allied to the style in which +it is expressed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> In other words I wanted to write a certain amount of +pages in prose, which, strictly speaking, is my proper business. I have +attended to it conscientiously with the hope of being entertaining or at +least not insufferably boring to my readers. I can not sufficiently +insist upon the truth that when I sit down to write my intentions are +always blameless however deplorable the ultimate effect of the act may +turn out to be.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WITHIN_THE_TIDES" id="WITHIN_THE_TIDES"></a>WITHIN THE TIDES</h2> + + +<p>The tales collected in this book have elicited on their appearance two +utterances in the shape of comment and one distinctly critical charge. A +reviewer observed that I liked to write of men who go to sea or live on +lonely islands untrammeled by the pressure of worldly circumstances +because such characters allowed freer play to my imagination which in +their case was only bounded by natural laws and the universal human +conventions. There is a certain truth in this remark no doubt. It is +only the suggestion of deliberate choice that misses its mark. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> have +not sought for special imaginative freedom or a larger play of fancy in +my choice of characters and subjects. The nature of the knowledge, +suggestions or hints used in my imaginative work has depended directly +on the conditions of my active life. It depended more on contacts, and +very slight contacts at that, than on actual experience; because my life +as a matter of fact was far from being adventurous in itself. Even now +when I look back on it with a certain regret (who would not regret his +youth?) and positive affection, its colouring wears the sober hue of +hard work and exacting calls of duty, things which in themselves are not +much charged with a feeling of romance. If these things appeal strongly +to me even in retrospect it is, I suppose, because the romantic feeling +of reality was in me an inborn faculty, that in itself may be a curse +but when disciplined by a sense of personal responsibility and a +recognition of the hard facts of existence shared with the rest of +mankind becomes but a point of view from which the very shadows of life +appear endowed with an internal glow. And such romanticism is not a sin. +It is none the worse for the knowledge of truth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> It only tries to make +the best of it, hard as it may be; and in this hardness discovers a +certain aspect of beauty.</p> + +<p>I am speaking here of romanticism in relation to life, not of +romanticism in relation to imaginative literature, which, in its early +days, was associated simply with mediæval subjects, or, at any rate, +with subjects sought for in a remote past. My subjects are not mediæval +and I have a natural right to them because my past is very much my own. +If their course lie out of the beaten path of organized social life, it +is, perhaps, because I myself did in a sort break away from it early in +obedience to an impulse which must have been very genuine since it has +sustained me through all the dangers of disillusion. But that origin of +my literary work was very far from giving a larger scope to my +imagination. On the contrary, the mere fact of dealing with matters +outside the general run of everyday experience laid me under the +obligation of a more scrupulous fidelity to the truth of my own +sensations. The problem was to make unfamiliar things credible. To do +that I had to create for them, to reproduce for them, to envelop them in +their proper atmosphere of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> actuality. This was the hardest task of all +and the most important, in view of that conscientious rendering of truth +in thought and fact which has been always my aim.</p> + +<p>The other utterance of the two I have alluded to above consisted in the +observation that in this volume of mine the whole was greater than its +parts. I pass it on to my readers merely remarking that if this is +really so then I must take it as a tribute to my personality since those +stories which by implication seem to hold so well together as to be +surveyed en bloc and judged as the product of a single mood, were +written at different times, under various influences and with the +deliberate intention of trying several ways of telling a tale. The hints +and suggestions for all of them had been received at various times and +in distant parts of the globe. The book received a good deal of varied +criticism, mainly quite justifiable, but in a couple of instances quite +surprising in its objections. Amongst them was the critical charge of +false realism brought against the opening story: The Planter of Malata. +I would have regarded it as serious enough if I had not discovered on +reading further that the distin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>guished critic was accusing me simply of +having sought to evade a happy ending out of a sort of moral cowardice, +lest I should be condemned as a superficially sentimental person. Where +(and of what sort) there are to be found in The Planter of Malata any +germs of happiness that could have fructified at the end I am at a loss +to see. Such criticism seems to miss the whole purpose and significance +of a piece of writing the primary intention of which was mainly +aesthetic; an essay in description and narrative around a given +psychological situation. Of more seriousness was the spoken criticism of +an old and valued friend who thought that in the scene near the rock, +which from the point of view of psychology is crucial, neither Felicia +Moorsom nor Geoffrey Renouard find the right things to say to each +other. I didn't argue the point at the time, for, to be candid, I didn't +feel quite satisfied with the scene myself. On re-reading it lately for +the purpose of this edition I have come to the conclusion that there is +that much truth in my friend's criticism that I have made those people a +little too explicit in their emotion and thus have destroyed to a +certain extent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> the characteristic illusory glamour of their +personalities. I regret this defect very much for I regard The Planter +of Malata as a nearly successful attempt at doing a very difficult thing +which I would have liked to have made as perfect as it lay in my power. +Yet considering the pitch and the tonality of the whole tale it is very +difficult to imagine what else those two people could have found to say +at that time and on that particular spot of the earth's surface. In the +mood in which they both were, and given the exceptional state of their +feelings, anything might have been said.</p> + +<p>The eminent critic who charged me with false realism, the outcome of +timidity, was quite wrong. I should like to ask him what he imagines +the, so to speak, lifelong embrace of Felicia Moorsom and Geoffrey +Renouard could have been like? Could it have been at all? Would it have +been credible? No! I did not shirk anything, either from timidity or +laziness. Perhaps a little mistrust of my own powers would not have been +altogether out of place in this connection. But it failed me; and I +resemble Geoffrey Renouard in so far that when once engaged in an +adventure I cannot bear the idea of turning back. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> moment had +arrived for these people to disclose themselves. They had to do it. To +render a crucial point of feelings in terms of human speech is really an +impossible task. Written words can only form a sort of translation. And +if that translation happens, from want of skill or from over-anxiety, to +be too literal, the people caught in the toils of passion, instead of +disclosing themselves, which would be art, are made to give themselves +away, which is neither art nor life. Nor yet truth! At any rate not the +whole truth; for it is truth robbed of all its necessary and sympathetic +reservations and qualifications which give it its fair form, its just +proportions, its semblance of human fellowship.</p> + +<p>Indeed the task of the translator of passions into speech may be +pronounced "too difficult." However, with my customary impenitence I am +glad I have attempted the story with all its implications and +difficulties, including the scene by the side of the gray rock crowning +the height of Malata. But I am not so inordinately pleased with the +result as not to be able to forgive a patient reader who may find it +somewhat disappointing.</p> + +<p>I have left myself no space to talk about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> other three stories +because I do not think that they call for detailed comment. Each of them +has its special mood and I have tried purposely to give each its special +tone and a different construction of phrase. A reviewer asked in +reference to the Inn of the Two Witches whether I ever came across a +tale called A Very Strange Bed published in <i>Household Words</i> in 1852 or +54. I never saw a number of <i>Household Words</i> of that decade. A bed of +the sort was discovered in an inn on the road between Rome and Naples at +the end of the 18th century. Where I picked up the information I cannot +say now but I am certain it was not in a tale. This bed is the only +"fact" of the Witches' Inn. The other two stories have considerably more +"fact" in them, derived from my own personal knowledge.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOTE_TO_THE_FIRST_EDITION" id="NOTE_TO_THE_FIRST_EDITION"></a>NOTE TO THE FIRST EDITION</h2> + + +<p>The last word of this novel was written on the 29th of May, 1914. And +that last word was the single word of the title.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>Those were the times of peace. Now that the moment of publication +approaches I have been considering the discretion of altering the title +page. The word Victory, the shining and tragic goal of noble effort, +appeared too great, too august, to stand at the head of a mere novel. +There was also the possibility of falling under the suspicion of +commercial astuteness deceiving the public into the belief that the book +had something to do with war.</p> + +<p>Of that, however, I was not afraid very much. What influenced my +decision most were the obscure promptings of that pagan residuum of awe +and wonder which lurks still at the bottom of our old humanity. Victory +was the last word I had written in peace time. It was the last literary +thought which had occurred to me before the doors of the Temple of Janus +flying open with a crash shook the minds, the hearts, the consciences of +men all over the world. Such coincidence could not be treated lightly. +And I made up my mind to let the word stand, in the same hopeful spirit +in which some simple citizen of Old Rome would have "accepted the Omen."</p> + +<p>The second point on which I wish to offer a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> remark is the existence (in +the novel) of a person named Schomberg.</p> + +<p>That I believe him to be true goes without saying. I am not likely to +offer pinchbeck wares to my public consciously. Schomberg is an old +member of my company. A very subordinate personage in Lord Jim as far +back as the year 1899, he became notably active in a certain short story +of mine published in 1902. Here he appears in a still larger part, true +to life (I hope), but also true to himself. Only, in this instance, his +deeper passions come into play, and thus his grotesque psychology is +completed at last.</p> + +<p>I don't pretend to say that this is the entire Teutonic psychology; but +it is indubitably the psychology of a Teuton. My object in mentioning +him here is to bring out the fact that, far from being the incarnation +of recent animosities, he is the creature of my old, deep-seated and, as +it were, impartial conviction.</p> + +<p><span class="left"> </span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VICTORY" id="VICTORY"></a>VICTORY</h2> + + +<p>On approaching the task of writing this Note for "Victory" the first +thing I am con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>scious of is the actual nearness of the book, its +nearness to me personally, to the vanished mood in which it was written +and to the mixed feelings aroused by the critical notices the book +obtained when first published almost exactly a year after the beginning +of the great war. The writing of it was finished in 1914 long before the +murder of an Austrian Archduke sounded the first note of warning for a +world already full of doubts and fears.</p> + +<p>The contemporaneous very short Author's Note which is preserved in this +edition bears sufficient witness to the feelings with which I consented +to the publication of the book. The fact of the book having been +published in the United States early in the year made it difficult to +delay its appearance in England any longer. It came out in the +thirteenth month of the war, and my conscience was troubled by the awful +incongruity of throwing this bit of imagined drama into the welter of +reality, tragic enough in all conscience but even more cruel than tragic +and more inspiring than cruel. It seemed awfully presumptuous to think +there would be eyes to spare for those pages in a community which in the +crash of the big guns and in the din of brave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> words expressing the +truth of an indomitable faith could not but feel the edge of a sharp +knife at its throat.</p> + +<p>The unchanging Man of history is wonderfully adaptable both by his power +of endurance and in his capacity for detachment. The fact seems to be +that the play of his destiny is too great for his fears and too +mysterious for his understanding. Were the trump of the Last Judgment to +sound suddenly on a working day the musician at his piano would go on +with his performance of Beethoven's Sonata and the cobbler at his stall +stick to his last in undisturbed confidence in the virtues of the +leather. And with perfect propriety. For what are we to let ourselves be +disturbed by an angel's vengeful music too mighty for our ears and too +awful for our terrors? Thus it happens to us to be struck suddenly by +the lightning of wrath. The reader will go on reading if the book +pleases him and the critic will go on criticizing with that faculty of +detachment born perhaps from a sense of infinite littleness and which is +yet the only faculty that seems to assimilate man to the immortal gods.</p> + +<p>It is only when the catastrophe matches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> the natural obscurity of our +fate that even the best representative of the race is liable to lose his +detachment. It is very obvious that on the arrival of the gentlemanly +Mr. Jones, the single-minded Ricardo and the faithful Pedro, Heyst, the +man of universal detachment, loses his mental self-possession, that fine +attitude before the universally irremediable which wears the name of +stoicism. It is all a matter of proportion. There should have been a +remedy for that sort of thing. And yet there is no remedy. Behind this +minute instance of life's hazards Heyst sees the power of blind destiny. +Besides, Heyst in his fine detachment had lost the habit of asserting +himself. I don't mean the courage of self-assertion, either moral or +physical, but the mere way of it, the trick of the thing, the readiness +of mind and the turn of the hand that come without reflection and lead +the man to excellence in life, in art, in crime, in virtue and for the +matter of that, even in love. Thinking is the great enemy of perfection. +The habit of profound reflection, I am compelled to say, is the most +pernicious of all the habits formed by the civilized man.</p> + +<p>But I wouldn't be suspected even remotely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> of making fun of Axel Heyst. +I have always liked him. The flesh and blood individual who stands +behind the infinitely more familiar figure of the book I remember as a +mysterious Swede right enough. Whether he was a baron, too, I am not so +certain. He himself never laid a claim to that distinction. His +detachment was too great to make any claims big or small on one's +credulity. I will not say where I met him because I fear to give my +readers a wrong impression, since a marked incongruity between a man and +his surroundings is often a very misleading circumstance. We became very +friendly for a time and I would not like to expose him to unpleasant +suspicions though, personally, I am sure he would have been indifferent +to suspicions as he was indifferent to all the other disadvantages of +life. He was not the whole Heyst of course; he is only the physical and +moral foundation of my Heyst laid on the ground of a short acquaintance. +That it was short is certainly not my fault for he had charmed me by the +mere amenity of his detachment which, in this case, I cannot help +thinking he had carried to excess. He went away from his rooms without +leaving a trace. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> wondered where he had gone to—but now I know. He +vanished from my ken only to drift into this adventure that, +unavoidable, waited for him in a world which he persisted in looking +upon as a malevolent shadow spinning in the sunlight. Often in the +course of years an expressed sentiment, the particular sense of a phrase +heard casually, would recall him to my mind so that I have fastened on +to him many words heard on other men's lips and belonging to other men's +less perfect, less pathetic moods.</p> + +<p>The same observation will apply <i>mutatis mutandis</i> to Mr. Jones, who is +built on a much slenderer connection. Mr. Jones (or whatever his name +was) did not drift away from me. He turned his back on me and walked out +of the room. It was in a little hotel in the Island of St. Thomas in the +West Indies (in the year '75) where we found him one hot afternoon +extended on three chairs, all alone in the loud buzzing of flies to +which his immobility and his cadaverous aspect gave an almost gruesome +significance. Our invasion must have displeased him because he got off +the chairs brusquely and walked out leaving with me an indelibly weird +impression of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> thin shanks. One of the men with me said that the +fellow was the most desperate gambler he had ever come across. I said: +"A professional sharper?" and got for answer: "He's a terror; but I must +say that up to a certain point he will play fair...." I wonder what the +point was. I never saw him again because I believe he went straight on +board a mail-boat which left within the hour for other ports of call in +the direction of Aspinall. Mr. Jones' characteristic insolence belongs +to another man of a quite different type. I will say nothing as to the +origins of his mentality because I don't intend to make any damaging +admissions.</p> + +<p>It so happened that the very same year Ricardo—the physical +Ricardo—was a fellow passenger of mine on board an extremely small and +extremely dirty little schooner, during a four days' passage between two +places in the Gulf of Mexico whose names don't matter. For the most part +he lay on deck aft as it were at my feet, and raising himself from time +to time on his elbow would talk about himself and go on talking, not +exactly to me or even at me (he would not even look up but kept his eyes +fixed on the deck)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> but more as if communing in a low voice with his +familiar devil. Now and then he would give me a glance and make the +hairs of his stiff little moustache stir quaintly. His eyes were green +and every cat I see to this day reminds me of the exact contour of his +face. What he was travelling for or what was his business in life he +never confided to me. Truth to say the only passenger on board that +schooner who could have talked openly about his activities and purposes +was a very snuffy and conversationally delightful friar, the Superior of +a convent, attended by a very young lay brother, of a particularly +ferocious countenance. We had with us also, lying prostrate in the dark +and unspeakable cuddy of that schooner, an old Spanish gentleman, owner +of much luggage and, as Ricardo assured me, very ill indeed. Ricardo +seemed to be either a servant or the confidant of that aged and +distinguished-looking invalid, who early on the passage held a long +murmured conversation with the friar, and after that did nothing but +groan feebly, smoke cigarettes and now and then call for Martin in a +voice full of pain. Then he who had become Ricardo in the book would go +below into that beastly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> noisome hole, remain there mysteriously, +and coming up on deck again with a face on which nothing could be read, +would as likely as not resume for my edification the exposition of his +moral attitude toward life illustrated by striking particular instances +of the most atrocious complexion. Did he mean to frighten me? Or seduce +me? Or astonish me? Or arouse my admiration? All he did was to arouse my +amused incredulity. As scoundrels go he was far from being a bore. For +the rest my innocence was so great then that I could not take his +philosophy seriously. All the time he kept one ear turned to the cuddy +in the manner of a devoted servant, but I had the idea that in some way +or other he had imposed the connection on the invalid for some end of +his own. The reader therefore won't be surprised to hear that one +morning I was told without any particular emotion by the padrone of the +schooner that the "Rich man" down there was dead: He had died in the +night. I don't remember ever being so moved by the desolate end of a +complete stranger. I looked down the skylight, and there was the devoted +Martin busy cording cowhide trunks belonging to the deceased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> whose +white beard and hooked nose were the only parts I could make out in the +dark depths of a horrible stuffy bunk.</p> + +<p>As it fell calm in the course of the afternoon and continued calm during +all that night and the terrible, flaming day, the late Rich man had to +be thrown overboard at sunset, though as a matter of fact we were in +sight of the low pestilential mangrove-lined coast of our destination. +The excellent Father Superior mentioned to me with an air of immense +commiseration: "The poor man has left a young daughter." Who was to look +after her I don't know, but I saw the devoted Martin taking the trunks +ashore with great care just before I landed myself. I would perhaps have +tracked the ways of that man of immense sincerity for a little while but +I had some of my own very pressing business to attend to, which in the +end got mixed up with an earthquake and so I had no time to give to +Ricardo. The reader need not be told that I have not forgotten him, +though.</p> + +<p>My contact with the faithful Pedro was much shorter and my observation +of him was less complete but incomparably more anxious. It ended in a +sudden inspiration to get out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> of his way. It was in a hovel of sticks +and mats by the side of a path. As I went in there only to ask for a +bottle of lemonade I have not to this day the slightest idea what in my +appearance or actions could have roused his terrible ire. It became +manifest to me less than two minutes after I had set eyes on him for the +first time, and though immensely surprised of course I didn't stop to +think it out. I took the nearest short cut—through the wall. This +bestial apparition and a certain enormous buck nigger encountered in +Haiti only a couple of months afterwards have fixed my conception of +blind, furious, unreasoning rage, as manifested in the human animal, to +the end of my days. Of the nigger I used to dream for years afterwards. +Of Pedro never. The impression was less vivid. I got away from him too +quickly.</p> + +<p>It seems to me but natural that those three buried in a corner of my +memory should suddenly get out into the light of the world—so natural +that I offer no excuse for their existence. They were there, they had to +come out; and this is a sufficient excuse for a writer of tales who had +taken to his trade without preparation or premeditation and without any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +moral intention but that which pervades the whole scheme of this world +of senses.</p> + +<p>Since this Note is mostly concerned with personal contacts and the +origins of the persons in the tale, I am bound also to speak of Lena, +because if I were to leave her out it would look like a slight; and +nothing would be further from my thoughts than putting a slight on Lena. +If of all the personages involved in the "mystery of Samburan" I have +lived longest with Heyst (or with him I call Heyst) it was at her, whom +I call Lena, that I have looked the longest and with a most sustained +attention. This attention originated in idleness for which I have a +natural talent. One evening I wandered into a café, in a town not of the +tropics but of the South of France. It was filled with tobacco smoke, +the hum of voices, the rattling of dominoes and the sounds of strident +music. The orchestra was rather smaller than the one that performed at +Schomberg's hotel, had the air more of a family party than of an +enlisted band, and, I must confess, seemed rather more respectable than +the Zangiacomo musical enterprise. It was less pretentious also, more +homely and familiar, so to speak, insomuch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> that in the intervals when +all the performers left the platform one of them went amongst the marble +tables collecting offerings of sous and francs in a battered tin +receptacle recalling the shape of a sauceboat. It was a girl. Her +detachment from her task seems to me now to have equalled or even +surpassed Heyst's aloofness from all the mental degradations to which a +man's intelligence is exposed in its way through life. Silent and +wide-eyed she went from table to table with the air of a sleep-walker +and with no other sound but the slight rattle of the coins to attract +attention. It was long after the sea-chapter of my life had been closed +but it is difficult to discard completely the characteristics of half a +life-time, and it was in something of the jack-ashore spirit that I +dropped a five-franc piece into the sauceboat; whereupon the +sleep-walker turned her head to gaze at me and said "Merci, Monsieur," +in a tone in which there was no gratitude but only surprise. I must have +been idle indeed to take the trouble to remark on such slight evidence +that the voice was very charming and when the performers resumed their +seats I shifted my position slightly in order not to have that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +particular performer hidden from me by the little man with the beard who +conducted, and who might for all I know have been her father, but whose +real mission in life was to be a model for the Zangiacomo of "Victory." +Having got a clear line of sight I naturally (being idle) continued to +look at the girl through all the second part of the programme. The shape +of her dark head inclined over the violin was fascinating, and, while +resting between the pieces of that interminable programme she was, in +her white dress and with her brown hands reposing in her lap, the very +image of dreamy innocence. The mature, bad-tempered woman at the piano +might have been her mother, though there was not the slightest +resemblance between them. All I am certain of in their personal relation +to each other is that cruel pinch on the upper part of the arm. That I +am sure I have seen! There could be no mistake. I was in a too idle mood +to imagine such a gratuitous barbarity. It may have been playfulness, +yet the girl jumped up as if she had been stung by a wasp. It may have +been playfulness. Yet I saw plainly poor "dreamy innocence" rub gently +the affected place as she filed off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> with the other performers down the +middle aisle between the marble tables in the uproar of voices, the +rattling of dominoes, through a blue atmosphere of tobacco smoke. I +believe that those people left the town next day.</p> + +<p>Or perhaps they had only migrated to the other big café, on the other +side of the Place de la Comedie. It is very possible. I did not go +across to find out. It was my perfect idleness that had invested the +girl with a peculiar charm, and I did not want to destroy it by any +superfluous exertion. The receptivity of my indolence made the +impression so permanent that when the moment came for her meeting with +Heyst I felt that she would be heroically equal to every demand of the +risky and uncertain future. I was so convinced of it that I let her go +with Heyst, I won't say without a pang but certainly without misgivings. +And in view of her triumphant end what more could I have done for her +rehabilitation and her happiness?</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_SHADOW-LINE" id="THE_SHADOW-LINE"></a>THE SHADOW-LINE</h2> + + +<p>This story, which I admit to be in its brevity a fairly complex piece of +work, was not intended to touch on the supernatural. Yet more than one +critic has been inclined to take it in that way, seeing in it an attempt +on my part to give the fullest scope to my imagination by taking it +beyond the confines of the world of the living, suffering humanity. But +as a matter of fact my imagination is not made of stuff so elastic as +all that. I believe that if I attempted to put the strain of the +Supernatural on it it would fail deplorably and exhibit an unlovely gap. +But I could never have attempted such a thing, because all my moral and +intellectual being is penetrated by an invincible conviction that +whatever falls under the dominion of our senses must be in nature and, +however exceptional, cannot differ in its essence from all the other +effects of the visible and tangible world of which we are a +self-conscious part. The world of the living contains enough marvels and +mysteries as it is; marvels and mysteries acting upon our emotions and +intelligence in ways so inexplicable that it would almost justify the +conception of life as an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> enchanted state. No, I am too firm in my +consciousness of the marvellous to be ever fascinated by the mere +supernatural, which (take it any way you like) is but a manufactured +article, the fabrication of minds insensitive to the intimate delicacies +of our relation to the dead and to the living, in their countless +multitudes; a desecration of our tenderest memories; an outrage on our +dignity.</p> + +<p>Whatever my native modesty may be it will never condescend so low as to +seek help for my imagination within those vain imaginings common to all +ages and that in themselves are enough to fill all lovers of mankind +with unutterable sadness. As to the effect of a mental or moral shock on +a common mind that is quite a legitimate subject for study and +description. Mr. Burns' moral being receives a severe shock in his +relations with his late captain, and this in his diseased state turns +into a mere superstitious fancy compounded of fear and animosity. This +fact is one of the elements of the story, but there is nothing +supernatural in it, nothing so to speak from beyond the confines of this +world, which in all conscience holds enough mystery and terror in +itself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perhaps if I had published this tale, which I have had for a long time +in my mind, under the title of First Command, no suggestion of the +Supernatural would have been found in it by any impartial reader, +critical or otherwise. I will not consider here the origins of the +feeling in which its actual title, The Shadow-Line, occurred to my mind. +Primarily the aim of this piece of writing was the presentation of +certain facts which certainly were associated with the change from +youth, carefree and fervent, to the more self-conscious and more +poignant period of maturer life. Nobody can doubt that before the +supreme trial of a whole generation I had an acute consciousness of the +minute and insignificant character of my own obscure experience. There +could be no question here of any parallelism. That notion never entered +my head. But there was a feeling of identity, though with an enormous +difference of scale—as of one single drop measured against the bitter +and stormy immensity of an ocean. And this was very natural too. For +when we begin to meditate on the meaning of our own past it seems to +fill all the world in its profundity and its magnitude. This book was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +written in the last three months of the year 1916. Of all the subjects +of which a writer of tales is more or less conscious within himself this +is the only one I found it possible to attempt at the time. The depth +and the nature of the mood with which I approached it is best expressed +perhaps in the dedication which strikes me now as a most +disproportionate thing—as another instance of the overwhelming +greatness of our own emotion to ourselves.</p> + +<p>This much having been said I may pass on now to a few remarks about the +mere material of the story. As to locality it belongs to that part of +the Eastern Seas from which I have carried away into my writing life the +greatest number of suggestions. From my statement that I thought of this +story for a long time under the title of First Command the reader may +guess that it is concerned with my personal experience. And as a matter +of fact it <i>is</i> personal experience seen in perspective with the eye of +the mind and coloured by that affection one can't help feeling for such +events of one's life as one has no reason to be ashamed of. And that +affection is as intense (I appeal here to universal experience) as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +shame, and almost the anguish with which one remembers some unfortunate +occurrences, down to mere mistakes in speech, that have been perpetrated +by one in the past. The effect of perspective in memory is to make +things loom large because the essentials stand out isolated from their +surroundings of insignificant daily facts which have naturally faded out +of one's mind. I remember that period of my sea-life with pleasure +because begun inauspiciously it turned out in the end a success from a +personal point of view, leaving a tangible proof in the terms of the +letter the owners of the ship wrote to me two years afterwards when I +resigned my command in order to come home. This resignation marked the +beginning of another phase of my seaman's life, its terminal phase, if I +may say so, which in its own way has coloured another portion of my +writings. I didn't know then how near its end my sea-life was, and +therefore I felt no sorrow except at parting with the ship. I was sorry +also to break my connection with the firm which owned her and who were +pleased to receive with friendly kindness and give their confidence to a +man who had entered their service in an accidental manner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> and in very +adverse circumstances. Without disparaging the earnestness of my purpose +I suspect now that luck had no small part in the success of the trust +reposed in me. And one cannot help remembering with pleasure the time +when one's best efforts were seconded by a run of luck.</p> + +<p>The words "<i>Worthy of my undying regard</i>" selected by me for the motto +on the title page are quoted from the text of the book itself; and, +though one of my critics surmised that they applied to the ship, it is +evident from the place where they stand that they refer to the men of +that ship's company: complete strangers to their new captain and yet who +stood by him so well during those twenty days that seemed to have been +passed on the brink of a slow and agonizing destruction. And <i>that</i> is +the greatest memory of all! For surely it is a great thing to have +commanded a handful of men worthy of one's undying regard.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ARROW_OF_GOLD" id="ARROW_OF_GOLD"></a>ARROW OF GOLD</h2> + +<h3>FIRST NOTE</h3> + + +<p>The pages which follow have been extracted from a pile of manuscript +which was apparently meant for the eye of one woman only. She seems to +have been the writer's childhood friend. They had parted as children, or +very little more than children. Years passed. Then something recalled to +the woman the companion of her young days and she wrote to him: "I have +been hearing of you lately. I know where life has brought you. You +certainly selected your own road. But to us, left behind, it always +looked as if you had struck out into a pathless desert. We always +regarded you as a person that must be given up for lost. But you have +turned up again; and though we may never see each other, my memory +welcomes you and I confess to you I should like to know the incidents on +the road which has led you to where you are now."</p> + +<p>And he answers her: "I believe you are the only one now alive who +remembers me as a child. I have heard of you from time to time, but I +wonder what sort of person you are now. Perhaps if I did know I wouldn't +dare put pen to paper. But I don't know. I only re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>member that we were +great chums. In fact, I chummed with you even more than with your +brothers. But I am like the pigeon that went away in the fable of the +Two Pigeons. If I once start to tell you I would want you to feel that +you have been there yourself. I may overtax your patience with the story +of my life so different from yours, not only in all the facts but +altogether in spirit. You may not understand. You may even be shocked. I +say all this to myself; but I know I shall succumb! I have a distinct +recollection that in the old days, when you were about fifteen, you +always could make me do whatever you liked."</p> + +<p>He succumbed. He begins his story for her with the minute narration of +this adventure which took about twelve months to develop. In the form in +which it is presented here it has been pruned of all allusions to their +common past, of all asides, disquisitions, and explanations addressed +directly to the friend of his childhood. And even as it is the whole +thing is of considerable length. It seems that he had not only a memory +but that he also knew how to remember. But as to that opinions may +differ.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>This, his first great adventure, as he calls it, begins in Marseilles. +It ends there, too. Yet it might have happened anywhere. This does not +mean that the people concerned could have come together in pure space. +The locality had a definite importance. As to the time, it is easily +fixed by the events at about the middle years of the seventies, when Don +Carlos de Bourbon, encouraged by the general reaction of all Europe +against the excesses of communistic Republicanism, made his attempt for +the throne of Spain, arms in hand, amongst the hills and gorges of +Guipuzcoa. It is perhaps the last instance of a Pretender's adventure +for a Crown that History will have to record with the usual grave moral +disapproval tinged by a shamefaced regret for the departing romance. +Historians are very much like other people.</p> + +<p>However, History has nothing to do with this tale. Neither is the moral +justification or condemnation of conduct aimed at here. If anything it +is perhaps a little sympathy that the writer expects for his buried +youth, as he lives it over again at the end of his insignificant course +on this earth. Strange person—yet perhaps not so very different from +ourselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>A few words as to certain facts may be added.</p> + +<p>It may seem that he was plunged very abruptly into this long adventure. +But from certain passages (suppressed here because mixed up with +irrelevant matter) it appears clearly that at the time of the meeting in +the café, Mills had already gathered, in various quarters, a definite +view of the eager youth who had been introduced to him in that +ultra-legitimist salon. What Mills had learned represented him as a +young gentleman who had arrived furnished with proper credentials and +who apparently was doing his best to waste his life in an eccentric +fashion, with a bohemian set (one poet, at least, emerged out of it +later) on one side, and on the other making friends with the people of +the Old Town, pilots, coasters, sailors, workers of all sorts. He +pretended rather absurdly to be a seaman himself and was already +credited with an ill-defined and vaguely illegal enterprise in the Gulf +of Mexico. At once it occurred to Mills that this eccentric youngster +was the very person for what the legitimist sympathizers had very much +at heart just then; to organize a supply by sea of arms and ammunition +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> the Carlist detachments in the South. It was precisely to confer on +that matter with Doña Rita that Captain Blunt had been despatched from +Headquarters.</p> + +<p>Mills got in touch with Blunt at once and put the suggestion before him. +The Captain thought this the very thing. As a matter of fact, on that +evening of Carnival, those two, Mills and Blunt, had been actually +looking everywhere for our man. They had decided that he should be drawn +into the affair if it could be done. Blunt naturally wanted to see him +first. He must have estimated him a promising person, but, from another +point of view, not dangerous. Thus lightly was the notorious (and at the +same time mysterious) Monsieur George brought into the world; out of the +contact of two minds which did not give a single thought to his flesh +and blood.</p> + +<p>This purpose explains the intimate tone given to their first +conversation and the sudden introduction of Doña Rita's history. Mills, +of course, wanted to hear all about it. As to Captain Blunt I suspect +that, at the time, he was thinking of nothing else. In addition it was +Doña Rita who would have to do the persuading; for, after all, such an +enterprise with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> its ugly and desperate risks was not a trifle to put +before a man—however young.</p> + +<p>It cannot be denied that Mills seems to have acted somewhat +unscrupulously. He himself appears to have had some doubt about it, at a +given moment, as they were driving to the Prado. But perhaps Mills, with +his penetration, understood very well the nature he was dealing with. He +might even have envied it. But it's not my business to excuse Mills. As +to him whom we may regard as Mills' victim it is obvious that he has +never harboured a single reproachful thought. For him Mills is not to be +criticized. A remarkable instance of the great power of mere +individuality over the young.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Having named all the short prefaces written for my books, Author's +Notes, this one too must have the same heading for the sake of +uniformity if at the risk of some confusion. "The Arrow of Gold," as its +sub-title states, is a story between two Notes. But these Notes are +embodied in its very frame, belong to its texture, and their mission is +to prepare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> and close the story. They are material to the comprehension +of the experience related in the narrative and are meant to determine +the time and place together with certain historical circumstances +conditioning the existence of the people concerned in the transactions +of the twelve months covered by the narrative. It was the shortest way +of getting over the preliminaries of a piece of work which could not +have been of the nature of a chronicle.</p> + +<p>"The Arrow of Gold" is my first after-the-war publication. The writing +of it was begun in the autumn of 1917 and finished in the summer of +1918. Its memory is associated with that of the darkest hour of the war, +which, in accordance with the well known proverb, preceded the dawn—the +dawn of peace.</p> + +<p>As I look at them now, these pages, written in the days of stress and +dread, wear a look of strange serenity. They were written calmly, yet +not in cold blood, and are perhaps the only kind of pages I could have +written at that time full of menace, but also full of faith.</p> + +<p>The subject of this book I have been carrying about with me for many +years, not so much a possession of my memory as an in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>herent part of +myself. It was ever present to my mind and ready to my hand, but I was +loth to touch it from a feeling of what I imagined to be mere shyness +but which in reality was a very comprehensible mistrust of myself.</p> + +<p>In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, +especially if it has got to be carried into the market-place. This being +the product of my private garden my reluctance can be easily understood; +though some critics have expressed their regret that I had not written +this book fifteen years earlier I do not share that opinion. If I took +it up so late in life it is because the right moment had not arrived +till then. I mean the positive feeling of it, which is a thing that +cannot be discussed. Neither will I discuss here the regrets of those +critics, which seem to me the most irrelevant thing that could have been +said in connection with literary criticism.</p> + +<p>I never tried to conceal the origins of the subject matter of this book +which I have hesitated so long to write; but some reviewers indulged +themselves with a sense of triumph in discovering in it my Dominic of +"The Mirror of the Sea" under his own name (a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> truly wonderful +discovery) and in recognizing the balancelle <i>Tremolino</i> in the unnamed +little craft in which Mr. George plied his fantastic trade and sought to +allay the pain of his incurable wound. I am not in the least +disconcerted by this display of perspicacity. It is the same man and the +same balancelle. But for the purposes of a book like "The Mirror of the +Sea" all I could make use of was the personal history of the little +<i>Tremolino</i>. The present work is not in any sense an attempt to develop +a subject lightly touched upon in former years and in connection with +quite another kind of love. What the story of the <i>Tremolino</i> in its +anecdotic character has in common with the story of "The Arrow of Gold" +is the quality of initiation (through an ordeal which required some +resolution to face) into the life of passion. In the few pages at the +end of "The Mirror of the Sea" and in the whole volume of "The Arrow of +Gold," <i>that</i> and no other is the subject offered to the public. The +pages and the book form together a complete record; and the only +assurance I can give my readers is, that as it stands here with all its +imperfections it is given to them complete.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>I venture this explicit statement because, amidst much sympathetic +appreciation, I have detected here and there a note, as it were, of +suspicion. Suspicion of facts concealed, of explanations held back, of +inadequate motives. But what is lacking in the facts is simply what I +did not know, and what is not explained is what I did not understand +myself, and what seems inadequate is the fault of my imperfect insight. +And all that I could not help. In the case of this book I was unable to +supplement these deficiences by the exercise of my inventive faculty. It +was never very strong; and on this occasion its use would have seemed +exceptionally dishonest. It is from that ethical motive and not from +timidity that I elected to keep strictly within the limits of unadorned +sincerity and to try to enlist the sympathies of my readers without +assuming lofty omniscience or descending to the subterfuge of +exaggerated emotions.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RESCUE" id="THE_RESCUE"></a>THE RESCUE</h2> + + +<p>Of the three long novels of mine which suffered an interruption, "The +Rescue" was the one that had to wait the longest for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> good pleasure +of the Fates. I am betraying no secret when I state here that it had to +wait precisely for twenty years. I laid it aside at the end of the +summer of 1898 and it was about the end of the summer of 1918 that I +took it up again with the firm determination to see the end of it and +helped by the sudden feeling that I might be equal to the task.</p> + +<p>This does not mean that I turned to it with elation. I was well aware +and perhaps even too much aware of the dangers of such an adventure. The +amazingly sympathetic kindness which men of various temperaments, +diverse views and different literary tastes have been for years +displaying towards my work has done much for me, has done all—except +giving me that overweening self-confidence which may assist an +adventurer sometimes but in the long run ends by leading him to the +gallows.</p> + +<p>As the characteristic I want most to impress upon these short Author's +Notes prepared for my first Collected Edition is that of absolute +frankness, I hasten to declare that I founded my hopes not on my +supposed merits but on the continued goodwill of my readers. I may say +at once that my hopes have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> justified out of all proportion to my +deserts. I met with the most considerate, most delicately expressed +criticism free from all antagonism and in its conclusions showing an +insight which in itself could not fail to move me deeply, but was +associated also with enough commendation to make me feel rich beyond the +dreams of avarice—I mean an artist's avarice which seeks its treasure +in the hearts of men and women.</p> + +<p>No! Whatever the preliminary anxieties might have been this adventure +was not to end in sorrow. Once more Fortune favoured audacity; and yet I +have never forgotten the jocular translation of <i>Audaces fortuna juvat</i> +offered to me by my tutor when I was a small boy: "The Audacious get +bitten." However he took care to mention that there were various kinds +of audacity. Oh, there are, there are!... There is, for instance, the +kind of audacity almost indistinguishable from impudence.... I must +believe that in this case I have not been impudent for I am not +conscious of having been bitten.</p> + +<p>The truth is that when "The Rescue" was laid aside it was not laid aside +in despair.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> Several reasons contributed to this abandonment and, no +doubt, the first of them was the growing sense of general difficulty in +the handling of the subject. The contents and the course of the story I +had clearly in my mind. But as to the way of presenting the facts, and +perhaps in a certain measure as to the nature of the facts themselves, I +had many doubts. I mean the telling, representative facts, helpful to +carry on the idea, and, at the same time, of such a nature as not to +demand an elaborate creation of the atmosphere to the detriment of the +action. I did not see how I could avoid becoming wearisome in the +presentation of detail and in the pursuit of clearness. I saw the action +plainly enough. What I had lost for the moment was the sense of the +proper formula of expression, of the only formula that would suit. This, +of course, weakened my confidence in the intrinsic worth and in the +possible interest of the story—that is in my invention. But I suspect +that all the trouble was, in reality, the doubt of my prose, the doubt +of its adequacy, of its power to master both the colours and the shades.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to describe, exactly as I re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>member it, the complex +state of my feelings; but those of my readers who take an interest in +artistic perplexities will understand me best when I point out that I +dropped "The Rescue" not to give myself up to idleness, regrets, or +dreaming, but to begin "The Nigger of the Narcissus" and to go on with +it without hesitation and without a pause. A comparison of any page of +"The Rescue" with any page of "The Nigger" will furnish an ocular +demonstration of the nature and the inward meaning of this first crisis +of my writing life. For it was a crisis undoubtedly. The laying aside of +a work so far advanced was a very awful decision to take. It was wrung +from me by a sudden conviction that <i>there</i> only was the road of +salvation, the clear way out for an uneasy conscience. The finishing of +"The Nigger" brought to my troubled mind the comforting sense of an +accomplished task, and the first consciousness of a certain sort of +mastery which could accomplish something with the aid of propitious +stars. Why I did not return to "The Rescue" at once then, was not for +the reason that I had grown afraid of it. Being able now to assume a +firm attitude I said to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> myself deliberately: "That thing can wait." At +the same time I was just as certain in my mind that "Youth," a story +which I had then, so to speak, on the tip of my pen, could <i>not</i> wait. +Neither could Heart of Darkness be put off; for the practical reason +that Mr. Wm. Blackwood having requested me to write something for the +No. M. of his magazine I had to stir up at once the subject of that tale +which had been long lying quiescent in my mind, because, obviously, the +venerable Maga at her patriarchal age of 1000 numbers could not be kept +waiting. Then "Lord Jim," with about seventeen pages already written at +odd times, put in his claim which was irresistible. Thus every stroke of +the pen was taking me further away from the abandoned "Rescue," not +without some compunction on my part but with a gradually diminishing +resistance; till at last I let myself go as if recognizing a superior +influence against which it was useless to contend.</p> + +<p>The years passed and the pages grew in number, and the long reveries of +which they were the outcome stretched wide between me and the deserted +"Rescue" like the smooth hazy spaces of a dreamy sea. Yet I never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +actually lost sight of that dark speck in the misty distance. It had +grown very small but it asserted itself with the appeal of old +associations. It seemed to me that it would be a base thing for me to +slip out of the world leaving it out there all alone, waiting for its +fate—that would never come!</p> + +<p>Sentiment, pure sentiment as you see, prompted me in the last instance +to face the pains and hazards of that return. As I moved slowly towards +the abandoned body of the tale it loomed up big amongst the glittering +shallows of the coast, lonely but not forbidding. There was nothing +about it of a grim derelict. It had an air of expectant life. One after +another I made out the familiar faces watching my approach with faint +smiles of amused recognition. They had known well enough that I was +bound to come back to them. But their eyes met mine seriously as was +only to be expected since I myself felt very serious as I stood amongst +them again after years of absence. At once, without wasting words, we +went to work together on our renewed life; and every moment I felt more +strongly that They Who had Waited bore no grudge to the man who however +widely he may have wan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>dered at times had played truant only once in his +life.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOTES_ON_LIFE_AND_LETTERS" id="NOTES_ON_LIFE_AND_LETTERS"></a>NOTES ON LIFE AND LETTERS</h2> + + +<p>I don't know whether I ought to offer an apology for this collection +which has more to do with life than with letters. Its appeal is made to +orderly minds. This, to be frank about it, is a process of tidying up, +which, from the nature of things, can not be regarded as premature. The +fact is that I wanted to do it myself because of a feeling that had +nothing to do with the considerations of worthiness or unworthiness of +the small (but unbroken) pieces collected within the covers of this +volume. Of course it may be said that I might have taken up a broom and +used it without saying anything about it. That certainly is one way of +tidying up.</p> + +<p>But it would have been too much to have expected me to treat all this +matter as removable rubbish. All those things had a place in my life. +Whether any of them deserve to have been picked up and ranged on the +shelf—this shelf—I cannot say, and, frankly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> I have not allowed my +mind to dwell on the question. I was afraid of thinking myself into a +mood that would hurt my feelings; for those pieces of writing, whatever +may be the comment on their display, appertain to the character of the +man.</p> + +<p>And so here they are, dusted, which was but a decent thing to do, but in +no way polished, extending from the year '98 to the year '20, a thin +array (for such a stretch of time) of really innocent attitudes: Conrad +literary, Conrad political, Conrad reminiscent, Conrad controversial. +Well, yes! A one-man show—or is it merely the show of one man?</p> + +<p>The only thing that will not be found amongst those Figures and Things +that have passed away will be Conrad "<i>en pantoufles</i>." It is a +constitutional inability. <i>Schlafrock und pantoffeln!</i> Not that! Never! +I don't know whether I dare boast like a certain South American general +who used to say that no emergency of war or peace had ever found him +"with his boots off"; but I may say that whenever the various +periodicals mentioned in this book called on me to come out and blow the +trumpet of personal opinions or strike the pensive lute that speaks of +the past, I always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> tried to pull on my boots first. I didn't want to do +it, God knows! Their Editors, to whom I beg to offer my thanks here, +made me perform mainly by kindness but partly by bribery. Well, yes! +Bribery. What can you expect? I never pretended to be better than the +people in the next street and even in the same street.</p> + +<p>This volume (including these embarrassed introductory remarks) is as +near as I shall ever come to déshabillé in public; and perhaps it will +do something to help towards a better vision of the man, if it gives no +more than a partial view of a piece of his back, a little dusty (after +the process of tidying up), a little bowed, and receding from the world +not because of weariness or misanthropy but for other reasons that +cannot be helped: because the leaves fall, the water flows, the clock +ticks with that horrid pitiless solemnity which you must have observed +in the ticking of the hall clock at home. For reasons like that. Yes! It +recedes. And this was the chance to afford one more view of it—even to +my own eyes.</p> + +<p>The section within this volume called Letters explains itself though I +do not pretend to say that it justifies its own existence. It claims +nothing in its defence except the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> right of speech which I believe +belongs to everybody outside a Trappist monastery. The part I have +ventured, for shortness' sake, to call Life, may perhaps justify itself +by the emotional sincerity of the feelings to which the various papers +included under that head owe their origin. And as they relate to events +of which everyone has a date, they are in the nature of sign-posts +pointing out the direction my thoughts were compelled to take at the +various crossroads. If anybody detects any sort of consistency in the +choice, this will be only proof positive that wisdom had nothing to do +with it. Whether right or wrong, instinct alone is invariable; a fact +which only adds a deeper shade to its inherent mystery. The appearance +of intellectuality these pieces may present at first sight is merely the +result of the arrangement of words. The logic that may be found there is +only the logic of the language. But I need not labour the point. There +will be plenty of people sagacious enough to perceive the absence of all +wisdom from these pages. But I believe sufficiently in human sympathies +to imagine that very few will question their sincerity. Whatever +delusions I may have suffered from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> I have had no delusions as to the +nature of the facts commented on here. I may have misjudged their +import: but that is the sort of error for which one may expect a certain +amount of toleration.</p> + +<p>The only paper of this collection which has never been published before +is the Note on the Polish problem. It was written at the request of a +friend to be shown privately, and its "Protectorate" idea, sprung from a +strong sense of the critical nature of the situation, was shaped by the +actual circumstances of the time. The time was about a month before the +entrance of Roumania into the war, and though, honestly, I had seen +already the shadow of coming events I could not permit my misgivings to +enter into and destroy the structure of my plan. I still believe that +there was some sense in it. It may certainly be charged with the +appearance of lack of faith and it lays itself open to the throwing of +many stones; but my object was practical and I had to consider warily +the preconceived notions of the people to whom it was implicitly +addressed and also their unjustifiable hopes. They were unjustifiable, +but who was to tell them that? I mean who was wise enough and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +convincing enough to show them the inanity of their mental attitude? The +whole atmosphere was poisoned with visions that were not so much false +as simply impossible. They were also the result of vague and unconfessed +fears, and that made their strength. For myself, with a very definite +dread in my heart, I was careful not to allude to their character +because I did not want the Note to be thrown away unread. And then I had +to remember that the impossible has sometimes the trick of coming to +pass to the confusion of minds and often to the crushing of hearts.</p> + +<p>Of the other papers I have nothing special to say. They are what they +are, and I am by now too hardened a sinner to feel ashamed of +insignificant indiscretions. And as to their appearance in this form I +claim that indulgence to which all sinners against themselves are +entitled.</p> + +<p><span class="left">1920.</span><span class="right">J. C.</span><br /></p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Notes on My Books, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON MY BOOKS *** + +***** This file should be named 20150-h.htm or 20150-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/5/20150/ + +Produced by Janet Blenkinship and also, thanks to Michael +Kerwin of Occidental College for supplying images of the +missing pages from the book I had in hand, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Notes on My Books + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: December 20, 2006 [EBook #20150] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON MY BOOKS *** + + + + +Produced by Janet Blenkinship and also, thanks to Michael +Kerwin of Occidental College for supplying images of the +missing pages from the book I had in hand, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + This "O-P Book" Is an Authorized Reprint of the Original Edition, + Produced by Microfilm-Xerography by University Microfilms, Inc., Ann + Arbor, Michigan, 1966 + + + + + NOTES ON MY BOOKS + + BY + JOSEPH CONRAD + + + + + GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + MCMXXI + + COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + + + +NOTES ON MY BOOKS + + + + +ALMAYER'S FOLLY + + +I am informed that in criticizing that literature which preys on +strange people and prowls in far-off countries, under the shade of +palms, in the unsheltered glare of sunbeaten beaches, amongst honest +cannibals and the more sophisticated pioneers of our glorious virtues, a +lady--distinguished in the world of letters--summed up her disapproval +of it by saying that the tales it produced were "de-civilized." And in +that sentence not only the tales but, I apprehend, the strange people +and the far-off countries also, are finally condemned in a verdict of +contemptuous dislike. + +A woman's judgment: intuitive, clever, expressed with felicitous +charm--infallible. A judgment that has nothing to do with justice. The +critic and the judge seems to think that in those distant lands all joy +is a yell and a war dance, all pathos is a howl and a ghastly grin of +filed teeth, and that the solution of all problems is found in the +barrel of a revolver or on the point of an assegai. And yet it is not +so. But the erring magistrate may plead in excuse the misleading nature +of the evidence. + +The picture of life, there as here, is drawn with the same elaboration +of detail, coloured with the same tints. Only in the cruel serenity of +the sky, under the merciless brilliance of the sun, the dazzled eye +misses the delicate detail, sees only the strong outlines, while the +colours, in the steady light, seem crude and-without shadow. +Nevertheless it is the same picture. + +And there is a bond between us and that humanity so far away. I am +speaking here of men and women--not of the charming and graceful +phantoms that move about in our mud and smoke and are softly luminous +with the radiance of all our virtues; that are possessed of all +refinements, of all sensibilities, of all wisdom--but, being only +phantoms, possess no heart. + +The sympathies of those are (probably) with the immortals: with the +angels above or the devils below. I am content to sympathize with +common mortals, no matter where they live; in houses or in tents, in the +streets under a fog, or in the forests behind the dark line of dismal +mangroves that fringe the vast solitude of the sea. For, their +land--like ours--lies under the inscrutable eyes of the Most High. Their +hearts--like ours--must endure the load of the gifts from Heaven: the +curse of facts and the blessing of illusions, the bitterness of our +wisdom and the deceptive consolation of our folly. + + J. C. + + 1895. + + + + +AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS + + +"An Outcast of the Islands" is my second novel in the absolute sense of +the word; second in conception, second in execution, second as it were +in its essence. There was no hesitation, half-formed plan, vague idea, +or the vaguest reverie of anything else between it and "Almayer's +Folly." The only doubt I suffered from, after the publication of +"Almayer's Folly," was whether I should write another line for print. +Those days, now grown so dim, had their poignant moments. Neither in my +mind nor in my heart had I then given up the sea. In truth I was +clinging to it desperately, all the more desperately because, against my +will, I could not help feeling that there was something changed in my +relation to it. "Almayer's Folly" had been finished and done with. The +mood itself was gone. But it had left the memory of an experience that, +both in thought and emotion, was unconnected with the sea, and I suppose +that part of my moral being which is rooted in consistency was badly +shaken. I was a victim of contrary stresses which produced a state of +immobility. I gave myself up to indolence. Since it was impossible for +me to face both ways I had elected to face nothing. The discovery of new +values in life is a very chaotic experience; there is a tremendous +amount of jostling and confusion and a momentary feeling of darkness. I +let my spirit float supine over that chaos. + +A phrase of Edward Garnett's is, as a matter of fact, responsible for +this book. The first of the friends I made for myself by my pen it was +but natural that he should be the recipient, at that time, of my +confidences. One evening when we had dined together and he had listened +to the account of my perplexities (I fear he must have been growing a +little tired of them) he pointed out that there was no need to determine +my future absolutely. Then he added: "You have the style, you have the +temperament; why not write another?" I believe that as far as one man +may wish to influence another man's life Edward Garnett had a great +desire that I should go on writing. At that time, and I may say, ever +afterwards, he was always very patient and gentle with me. What strikes +me most, however, in the phrase quoted above which was offered to me in +a tone of detachment is not its gentleness but its effective wisdom. Had +he said, "Why not go on writing," it is very probable he would have +scared me away from pen and ink for ever; but there was nothing either +to frighten one or arouse one's antagonism in the mere suggestion to +"write another." And thus a dead point in the revolution of my affairs +was insidiously got over. The word "another" did it. At about eleven +o'clock of a nice London night, Edward and I walked along interminable +streets talking of many things, and I remember that on getting home I +sat down and wrote about half a page of "An Outcast of the Islands" +before I slept. This was committing myself definitely, I won't say to +another life, but to another book. There is apparently something in my +character which will not allow me to abandon for good any piece of work +I have begun. I have laid aside many beginnings. I have laid them aside +with sorrow, with disgust, with rage, with melancholy and even with +self-contempt; but even at the worst I had an uneasy consciousness that +I would have to go back to them. + +"An Outcast of the Islands" belongs to those novels of mine that were +never laid aside; and though it brought me the qualification of "exotic +writer" I don't think the charge was at all justified. For the life of +me I don't see that there is the slightest exotic spirit in the +conception or style of that novel. It is certainly the most _tropical_ +of my eastern tales. The mere scenery got a great hold on me as I went +on, perhaps because (I may just as well confess that) the story itself +was never very near my heart. It engaged my imagination much more than +my affection. As to my feeling for Willems it was but the regard one +cannot help having for one's own creation. Obviously I could not be +indifferent to a man on whose head I had brought so much evil simply by +imagining him such as he appears in the novel--and that, too, on a very +slight foundation. + +The man who suggested Willems to me was not particularly interesting in +himself. My interest was aroused by his dependent position, his strange, +dubious status of a mistrusted, disliked, worn-out European living on +the reluctant toleration of that Settlement hidden in the heart of the +forest-land, up that sombre stream which our ship was the only white +men's ship to visit. With his hollow, clean-shaved cheeks, a heavy grey +moustache and eyes without any expression whatever, clad always in a +spotless sleeping suit much befrogged in front, which left his lean neck +wholly uncovered, and with his bare feet in a pair of straw slippers, he +wandered silently amongst the houses in daylight, almost as dumb as an +animal and apparently much more homeless. I don't know what he did with +himself at night. He must have had a place, a hut, a palm-leaf shed, +some sort of hovel where he kept his razor and his change of sleeping +suits. An air of futile mystery hung over him, something not exactly +dark but obviously ugly. The only definite statement I could extract +from anybody was that it was he who had "brought the Arabs into the +river." That must have happened many years before. But how did he bring +them into the river? He could hardly have done it in his arms like a lot +of kittens. I knew that Almayer founded the chronology of all his +misfortunes on the date of that fateful advent; and yet the very first +time we dined with Almayer there was Willems sitting at table with us in +the manner of the skeleton at the feast, obviously shunned by everybody, +never addressed by any one, and for all recognition of his existence +getting now and then from Almayer a venomous glance which I observed +with great surprise. In the course of the whole evening he ventured one +single remark which I didn't catch because his articulation was +imperfect, as of a man who had forgotten how to speak. I was the only +person who seemed aware of the sound. Willems subsided. Presently he +retired, pointedly unnoticed--into the forest maybe? Its immensity was +there, within three hundred yards of the verandah, ready to swallow up +anything. Almayer conversing with my captain did not stop talking while +he glared angrily at the retreating back. Didn't that fellow bring the +Arabs into the river! Nevertheless Willems turned up next morning on +Almayer's verandah. From the bridge of the steamer I could see plainly +these two, breakfasting together, tete a tete and, I suppose, in dead +silence, one with his air of being no longer interested in this world +and the other raising his eyes now and then with intense dislike. + +It was clear that in those days Willems lived on Almayer's charity. Yet +on returning two months later to Sambir I heard that he had gone on an +expedition up the river in charge of a steam-launch belonging to the +Arabs, to make some discovery or other. On account of the strange +reluctance that everyone manifested to talk about Willems it was +impossible for me to get at the rights of that transaction. Moreover, I +was a newcomer, the youngest of the company, and, I suspect, not judged +quite fit as yet for a full confidence. I was not much concerned about +that exclusion. The faint suggestion of plots and mysteries pertaining +to all matters touching Almayer's affairs amused me vastly. Almayer was +obviously very much affected. I believe he missed Willems immensely. He +wore an air of sinister preoccupation and talked confidentially with my +captain. I could catch only snatches of mumbled sentences. Then one +morning as I came along the deck to take my place at the breakfast table +Almayer checked himself in his low-toned discourse. My captain's face +was perfectly impenetrable. There was a moment of profound silence and +then as if unable to contain himself Almayer burst out in a loud vicious +tone: + +"One thing's certain; if he finds anything worth having up there they +will poison him like a dog." + +Disconnected though it was, that phrase, as food for thought, was +distinctly worth hearing. We left the river three days afterwards and I +never returned to Sambir; but whatever happened to the protagonist of my +Willems nobody can deny that I have recorded for him a less squalid +fate. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + +NIGGER OF THE 'NARCISSUS' + +TO MY READERS IN AMERICA + + +From that evening when James Wait joined the ship--late for the muster +of the crew--to the moment when he left us in the open sea, shrouded in +sailcloth, through the open port, I had much to do with him. He was in +my watch. A negro in a British forecastle is a lonely being. He has no +chums. Yet James Wait, afraid of death and making her his accomplice, +was an impostor of some character--mastering our compassion, scornful of +our sentimentalism, triumphing over our suspicions. + +But in the book he is nothing; he is merely the centre of the ship's +collective psychology and the pivot of the action. Yet he, who in the +family circle and amongst my friends is familiarly referred to as the +Nigger, remains very precious to me. For the book written round him is +not the sort of thing that can be attempted more than once in a +life-time. It is the book by which, not as a novelist perhaps, but as an +artist striving for the utmost sincerity of expression, I am willing to +stand or fall. Its pages are the tribute of my unalterable and profound +affection for the ships, the seamen, the winds and the great sea--the +moulders of my youth, the companions of the best years of my life. + +After writing the last words of that book, in the revulsion of feeling +before the accomplished task, I understood that I had done with the sea, +and that henceforth I had to be a writer. And almost without laying down +the pen I wrote a preface, trying to express the spirit in which I was +entering on the task of my new life. That preface on advice (which I now +think was wrong) was never published with the book. But the late W. E. +Henley, who had the courage at that time (1897) to serialize my "Nigger" +in the _New Review_ judged it worthy to be printed as an afterword at +the end of the last instalment of the tale. + +I am glad that this book which means so much to me is coming out again, +under its proper title of "The Nigger of the _Narcissus_" and under the +auspices of my good friends and publishers Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. +into the light of publicity. + +Half the span of a generation has passed since W. E. Henley, after +reading two chapters, sent me a verbal message: "Tell Conrad that if +the rest is up to the sample it shall certainly come out in the _New +Review_." The most gratifying recollection of my writer's life! + +And here is the Suppressed Preface. + + JOSEPH CONRAD. + + 1914. + + + + +PREFACE + + +A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should +carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be defined as +a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the +visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, +underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in +its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and +in the facts of life what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and +essential--their one illuminating and convincing quality--the very truth +of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, +seeks the truth and makes his appeal. Impressed by the aspect of the +world the thinker plunges into ideas, the scientist into facts--whence, +presently, emerging, they make their appeal to those qualities of our +being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. They +speak authoritatively to our common-sense, to our intelligence, to our +desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our +prejudices, sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism--but always to +our credulity. And their words are heard with reverence, for their +concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and +the proper care of our bodies, with the attainment of our ambitions, +with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious +aims. + +It is otherwise with the artist. + +Confronted by the same enigmatical spectacle the artist descends within +himself, and in that lonely region of stress and strife, if he be +deserving and fortunate, he finds the terms of his appeal. His appeal is +made to our less obvious capacities: to that part of our nature which, +because of the warlike conditions of existence, is necessarily kept out +of sight within the more resisting and hard qualities--like the +vulnerable body within a steel armour. His appeal is less loud, more +profound, less distinct, more stirring--and sooner forgotten. Yet its +effect endures for ever. The changing wisdom of successive generations +discards ideas, questions facts, demolishes theories. But the artist +appeals to that part of our being which is not dependent on wisdom; to +that in us which is a gift and not an acquisition--and, therefore, more +permanently enduring. He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, +to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and +beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all +creation--and to the subtle but invincible conviction of solidarity that +knits together the loneliness of innumerable hearts, to the solidarity +in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in +fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together all +humanity--the dead to the living and the living to the unborn. + +It is only some such train of thought, or rather of feeling, that can in +a measure explain the aim of the attempt, made in the tale which +follows, to present an unrestful episode in the obscure lives of a few +individuals out of all the disregarded multitude of the bewildered, the +simple and the voiceless. For, if any part of truth dwells in the belief +confessed above, it becomes evident that there is not a place of +splendour or a dark corner of the earth that does not deserve, if only a +passing glance of wonder and pity. The motive, then, may be held to +justify the matter of the work; but this preface, which is simply an +avowal of endeavour, cannot end here--for the avowal is not yet +complete. + +Fiction--if it at all aspires to be art--appeals to temperament. And in +truth it must be, like painting, like music, like all art, the appeal of +one temperament to all the other innumerable temperaments whose subtle +and resistless power endows passing events with their true meaning, and +creates the moral, the emotional atmosphere of the place and time. Such +an appeal to be effective must be an impression conveyed through the +senses; and, in fact, it cannot be made in any other way, because +temperament, whether individual or collective, is not amenable to +persuasion. All art, therefore, appeals primarily to the senses, and the +artistic aim when expressing itself in written words must also make its +appeal through the senses, if its high desire is to reach the secret +spring of responsive emotions. It must strenuously aspire to the +plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic +suggestiveness of music--which is the art of arts. And it is only +through complete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blending of form +and substance; it is only through an unremitting never-discouraged care +for the shape and ring of sentences that an approach can be made to +plasticity, to colour, and that the light of magic suggestiveness may be +brought to play for an evanescent instant over the commonplace surface +of words: of the old, old words, worn thin, defaced by ages of careless +usage. + +The sincere endeavour to accomplish that creative task, to go as far on +that road as his strength will carry him, to go undeterred by faltering, +weariness or reproach, is the only valid justification for the worker in +prose. And if his conscience is clear, his answer to those who in the +fulness of a wisdom which looks for immediate profit, demand +specifically to be edified, consoled, amused; who demand to be promptly +improved, or encouraged, or frightened, or shocked, or charmed, must run +thus:--My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the +written word to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to +make you _see_. That--and no more, and it is everything. If I succeed, +you shall find there according to your deserts: encouragement, +consolation, fear, charm--all you demand--and, perhaps, also that +glimpse of truth for which you have forgotten to ask. + +To snatch in a moment of courage, from the remorseless rush of time, a +passing phase of life, is only the beginning of the task. The task +approached in tenderness and faith is to hold up unquestioningly, +without choice and without fear, the rescued fragment before all eyes in +the light of a sincere mood. It is to show its vibration, its colour, +its form; and through its movement, its form, and its colour, reveal the +substance of its truth--disclose its inspiring secret: the stress and +passion within the core of each convincing moment. In a single-minded +attempt of that kind, if one be deserving and fortunate, one may +perchance attain to such clearness of sincerity that at last the +presented vision of regret or pity, of terror or mirth, shall awaken in +the hearts of the beholders that feeling of unavoidable solidarity; of +the solidarity in mysterious origin, in toil, in joy, in hope, in +uncertain fate, which binds men to each other and all mankind to the +visible world. + +It is evident that he who, rightly or wrongly, holds by the convictions +expressed above cannot be faithful to any one of the temporary formulas +of his craft. The enduring part of them--the truth which each only +imperfectly veils--should abide with him as the most precious of his +possessions, but they all: Realism, Romanticism, Naturalism, even the +unofficial sentimentalism (which, like the poor, is exceedingly +difficult to get rid of), all these gods must, after a short period of +fellowship, abandon him--even on the very threshold of the temple--to +the stammerings of his conscience and to the outspoken consciousness of +the difficulties of his work. In that uneasy solitude the supreme cry of +Art for Art, itself, loses the exciting ring of its apparent immorality. +It sounds far off. It has ceased to be a cry, and is heard only as a +whisper, often incomprehensible, but at times and faintly encouraging. + +Sometimes, stretched at ease in the shade of a roadside tree, we watch +the motions of a labourer in a distant field, and after a time begin to +wonder languidly as to what the fellow may be at. We watch the movements +of his body, the waving of his arms, we see him bend down, stand up, +hesitate, begin again. It may add to the charm of an idle hour to be +told the purpose of his exertions. If we know he is trying to lift a +stone, to dig a ditch, to uproot a stump, we look with a more real +interest at his efforts; we are disposed to condone the jar of his +agitation upon the restfulness of the landscape; and even, if in a +brotherly frame of mind, we may bring ourselves to forgive his failure. +We understood his object, and, after all, the fellow has tried, and +perhaps he had not the strength--and perhaps he had not the knowledge. +We forgive, go on our way--and forget. + +And so it is with the workman of art. Art is long and life is short, and +success is very far off. And thus, doubtful of strength to travel so +far, we talk a little about the aim--the aim of art, which, like life +itself, is inspiring, difficult--obscured by mists. It is not in the +clear logic of a triumphant conclusion; it is not in the unveiling of +one of those heartless secrets which are called the Laws of Nature. It +is not less great, but only more difficult. + +To arrest, for the space of a breath, the hands busy about the work of +the earth, and compel men entranced by the sight of distant goals to +glance for a moment at the surrounding vision of form and colour, of +sunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look, for a sigh, for a +smile--such is the aim, difficult and evanescent, and reserved only for +a very few to achieve. But sometimes, by the deserving and the +fortunate, even that task is accomplished. And when it is +accomplished--behold!--all the truth of life is there: a moment of +vision, a sigh, a smile--and the return to an eternal rest. + + J. C. + + 1897. + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + + +Of the five stories in this volume The Lagoon, the last in order, is the +earliest in date. It is the first short story I ever wrote and marks, in +a manner of speaking, the end of my first phase, the Malayan phase with +its special subject and its verbal suggestions. Conceived in the same +mood which produced "Almayer's Folly" and "An Outcast of the Islands," +it is told in the same breath (with what was left of it, that is, after +the end of "An Outcast"), seen with the same vision rendered in the same +method--if such a thing as method did exist then in my conscious +relation to this new adventure of writing for print. I doubt it very +much. One does one's work first and theorizes about it afterwards. It is +a very amusing and egotistical occupation of no use whatever to any one +and just as likely as not to lead to false conclusions. + +Anybody can see that between the last paragraph of "An Outcast" and the +first of The Lagoon there has been no change of pen, figuratively +speaking. It happens also to be literally true. It was the same pen: a +common steel pen. Having been charged with a certain lack of emotional +faculty I am glad to be able to say that on one occasion at least I did +give way to a sentimental impulse. I thought the pen had been a good pen +and that it had done enough for me, and so, with the idea of keeping it +for a sort of memento on which I could look later with tender eyes, I +put it into my waistcoat pocket. Afterwards it used to turn up in all +sorts of places, at the bottom of small drawers, among my studs in +cardboard boxes, till at last it found permanent rest in a large wooden +bowl containing some loose keys, bits of sealing wax, bits of string, +small broken chains, a few buttons, and similar minute wreckage that +washes out of a man's life into such receptacles. I would catch sight of +it from time to time with a distinct feeling of satisfaction till, one +day, I perceived with horror that there were two old pens in there. How +the other pen found its way into the bowl instead of the fireplace or +waste-paper basket I can't imagine, but there the two were, lying side +by side, both encrusted with ink and completely undistinguishable from +each other. It was very distressing, but being determined not to share +my sentiment between two pens or run the risk of sentimentalizing over a +mere stranger, I threw them both out of the window into a flower +bed--which strikes me now as a poetical grave for the remnants of one's +past. + +But the tale remained. It was first fixed in print in the _Cornhill +Magazine_, being my first appearance in a serial of any kind; and I have +lived long enough to see it most agreeably guyed by Mr. Max Beerbohm in +a volume of parodies entitled "A Christmas Garland," where I found +myself in very good company. I was immensely gratified. I began to +believe in my public existence. I have much to thank The Lagoon for. + +My next effort in short story writing was a departure--I mean a +departure from the Malay Archipelago. Without premeditation, without +sorrow, without rejoicing and almost without noticing it, I stepped into +the very different atmosphere of An Outpost of Progress. I found there a +different moral attitude. I seemed able to capture new reactions, new +suggestions, and even new rhythms for my paragraphs. For a moment I +fancied myself a new man--a most exciting illusion. It clung to me for +some time, monstrous, half conviction and half hope as to its body with +an iridescent tail of dreams and with a changeable head like a plastic +mask. It was only later that I perceived that in common with the rest of +men nothing could deliver me from my fatal consistency. We cannot escape +from ourselves. + +An Outpost of Progress is the lightest part of the loot I carried off +from Central Africa, the main portion being of course The Heart of +Darkness. Other men have found a lot of quite different things there and +I have the comfortable conviction that what I took would not have been +of much use to anybody else. And it must be said that it was but a very +small amount of plunder. All of it could go into one's breast pocket +when folded neatly. As for the story itself it is true enough in its +essentials. The sustained invention of a really telling lie demands a +talent which I do not possess. + +The Idiots is such an obviously derivative piece of work that it is +impossible for me to say anything about it here. The suggestion of it +was not mental but visual: the actual idiots. It was after an interval +of long groping amongst vague impulses and hesitations which ended in +the production of "The Nigger" that I turned to my third short story in +the order of time, the first in this volume: Karain: A Memory. + +Reading it after many years Karain produced on me the effect of +something seen through a pair of glasses from a rather advantageous +position. In that story I had not gone back to the Archipelago, I had +only turned for another look at it. I admit that I was absorbed by the +distant view, so absorbed that I didn't notice then that the _motif_ of +the story is almost identical with the _motif_ of The Lagoon. However, +the idea at the back is very different; but the story is mainly made +memorable to me by the fact that it was my first contribution to +_Blackwood's Magazine_ and that it led to my personal acquaintance with +Mr. William Blackwood whose guarded appreciation I felt nevertheless to +be genuine, and prized accordingly. Karain was begun on a sudden impulse +only three days after I wrote the last line of "The Nigger," and the +recollection of its difficulties is mixed up with the worries of the +unfinished Return, the last pages of which I took up again at the time; +the only instance in my life when I made an attempt to write with both +hands at once as it were. + +Indeed my innermost feeling, now, is that The Return is a left-handed +production. Looking through that story lately I had the material +impression of sitting under a large and expensive umbrella in the loud +drumming of a furious rain-shower. It was very distracting. In the +general uproar one could hear every individual drop strike on the stout +and distended silk. Mentally, the reading rendered me dumb for the +remainder of the day, not exactly with astonishment but with a sort of +dismal wonder. I don't want to talk disrespectfully of any pages of +mine. Psychologically there were no doubt good reasons for my attempt; +and it was worth while, if only to see of what excesses I was capable in +that sort of virtuosity. In this connection I should like to confess my +surprise on finding that notwithstanding all its apparatus of analysis +the story consists for the most part of physical impressions; +impressions of sound and sight, railway station, streets, a trotting +horse, reflections in mirrors and so on, rendered as if for their own +sake and combined with a sublimated description of a desirable middle +class town-residence which somehow manages to produce a sinister effect. +For the rest any kind word about The Return (and there have been such +words said at different times) awakens in me the liveliest gratitude, +for I know how much the writing of that fantasy has cost me in sheer +toil, in temper and in disillusion. + + J. C. + + + + +LORD JIM + + +When this novel first appeared in book form a notion got about that I +had been bolted away with. Some reviewers maintained that the work +starting as a short story had got beyond the writer's control. One or +two discovered internal evidence of the fact, which seemed to amuse +them. They pointed out the limitations of the narrative form. They +argued that no man could have been expected to talk all that time, and +other men to listen so long. It was not, they said, very credible. + +After thinking it over for something like sixteen years I am not so sure +about that. Men have been known, both in tropics and in the temperate +zone, to sit up half the night "swapping yarns." This, however, is but +one yarn, yet with interruptions affording some measure of relief; and +in regard to the listeners' endurance, the postulate must be accepted +that the story _was_ interesting. It is the necessary preliminary +assumption. If I hadn't believed that it _was_ interesting I could never +have begun to write it. As to the mere physical possibility we all know +that some speeches in Parliament have taken nearer six than three hours +in delivery; whereas all that part of the book which is Marlow's +narrative can be read through aloud, I should say, in less than three +hours. Besides--though I have kept strictly all such insignificant +details out of the tale--we may presume that there must have been +refreshments on that night, a glass of mineral water of some sort to +help the narrator on. + +But, seriously, the truth of the matter is, that my first thought was of +a short story, concerned only with the pilgrim ship episode; nothing +more. And that was a legitimate conception. After writing a few pages, +however, I became for some reason discontented and I laid them aside for +a time. I didn't take them out of the drawer till the late Mr. William +Blackwood suggested I should give something again to his magazine. + +It was only then that I perceived that the pilgrim ship episode was a +good starting-point for a free and wandering tale; that it was an event, +too, which could conceivably colour the whole "sentiment of existence" +in a simple and sensitive character. But all these preliminary moods and +stirrings of spirit were rather obscure at the time, and they do not +appear clearer to me now after the lapse of so many years. + +The few pages I had laid aside were not without their weight in the +choice of subject. But the whole was re-written deliberately. When I +sat down to it I knew it would be a long book, though I didn't foresee +that it would spread itself over thirteen numbers of _Maga_. + +I have been asked at times whether this was not the book of mine I liked +best. I am a great foe to favouritism in public life, in private life, +and even in the delicate relationship of an author to his works. As a +matter of principle I will have no favourites; but I don't go so far as +to feel grieved and annoyed by the preference some people give to my +"Lord Jim." I won't even say that I "fail to understand...." No! But +once I had occasion to be puzzled and surprised. + +A friend of mine returning from Italy had talked with a lady there who +did not like the book. I regretted that, of course, but what surprised +me was the ground of her dislike. "You know," she said, "it is all so +morbid." + +The pronouncement gave me food for an hour's anxious thought. Finally I +arrived at the conclusion that, making due allowances for the subject +itself being rather foreign to women's normal sensibilities, the lady +could not have been an Italian. I wonder whether she was European at +all? In any case, no Latin temperament would have perceived anything +morbid in the acute consciousness of lost honour. Such a consciousness +may be wrong, or it may be right, or it may be condemned as artificial; +and, perhaps, my Jim is not a type of wide commonness. But I can safely +assure my readers that he is not the product of coldly perverted +thinking. He's not a figure of Northern Mists either. One sunny morning +in the commonplace surroundings of an Eastern roadstead, I saw his form +pass by--appealing--significant--under a cloud--perfectly silent. Which +is as it should be. It was for me, with all the sympathy of which I was +capable, to seek fit words for his meaning. He was "one of us." + + J. C. + + June, 1917. + + + + +YOUTH + + +The three stories in this volume lay no claim to unity of artistic +purpose. The only bond between them is that of the time in which they +were written. They belong to the period immediately following the +publication of "The Nigger of the _Narcissus_," and preceding the first +conception of "Nostromo," two books which, it seems to me, stand apart +and by themselves in the body of my work. It is also the period during +which I contributed to _Maga_; a period dominated by "Lord Jim" and +associated in my grateful memory with the late Mr. William Blackwood's +encouraging and helpful kindness. + +"Youth" was not my first contribution to _Maga_. It was the second. But +that story marks the first appearance in the world of the man Marlow, +with whom my relations have grown very intimate in the course of years. +The origins of that gentleman (nobody as far as I know had ever hinted +that he was anything but that)--his origins have been the subject of +some literary speculation of, I am glad to say, a friendly nature. + +One would think that I am the proper person to throw a light on the +matter; but in truth I find that it isn't so easy. It is pleasant to +remember that nobody had charged him with fraudulent purposes or looked +down on him as a charlatan; but apart from that he was supposed to be +all sorts of things: a clever screen, a mere device, a "personator," a +familiar spirit, a whispering "daemon." I myself have been suspected of +a meditated plan for his capture. + +That is not so. I made no plans. The man Marlow and I came together in +the casual manner of those health-resort acquaintances which sometimes +ripen into friendships. This one has ripened. For all his assertiveness +in matters of opinion he is not an intrusive person. He haunts my hours +of solitude, when, in silence, we lay our heads together in great +comfort and harmony; but as we part at the end of a tale I am never sure +that it may not be for the last time. Yet I don't think that either of +us would care much to survive the other. In his case, at any rate, his +occupation would be gone and he would suffer from that extinction, +because I suspect him of some vanity. I don't mean vanity in the +Solomonian sense. Of all my people he's the one that has never been a +vexation to my spirit. A most discreet, understanding man.... + +Even before appearing in book-form "Youth" was very well received. It +lies on me to confess at last, and this is as good a place for it as +another, that I have been all my life--all my two lives--the spoiled +adopted child of Great Britain and even of the Empire; for it was +Australia that gave me my first command. I break out into this +declaration not because of a lurking tendency to megalomania, but, on +the contrary, as a man who has no very notable illusions about himself. +I follow the instinct of vain-glory and humility natural to all mankind. +For it can hardly be denied that it is not their own deserts that men +are most proud of, but rather of their prodigious luck, of their +marvellous fortune: of that in their lives for which thanks and +sacrifices must be offered on the altars of the inscrutable gods. + +Heart of Darkness also received a certain amount of notice from the +first; and of its origins this much may be said: it is well known that +curious men go prying into all sorts of places (where they have no +business) and come out of them with all kinds of spoil. This story, and +one other, not in this volume, are all the spoil I brought out from the +centre of Africa, where, really, I had no sort of business. More +ambitious in its scope and longer in the telling, Heart of Darkness is +quite as authentic in fundamentals as Youth. It is, obviously, written +in another mood. I won't characterize the mood precisely, but anybody +can see that it is anything but the mood of wistful regret, of +reminiscent tenderness. + +One more remark may be added. Youth is a feat of memory. It is a record +of experience; but that experience, in its facts, in its inwardness and +in its outward colouring, begins and ends in myself. Heart of Darkness +is experience, too; but it is experience pushed a little (and only very +little) beyond the actual facts of the case for the perfectly +legitimate, I believe, purpose of bringing it home to the minds and +bosoms of the readers. There it was no longer a matter of sincere +colouring. It was like another art altogether. That sombre theme had to +be given a sinister resonance, a tonality of its own, a continued +vibration that, I hoped, would hang in the air and dwell on the ear +after the last note had been struck. + +After saying so much there remains the last tale of the book, still +untouched. The End of the Tether is a story of sea-life in a rather +special way; and the most intimate thing I can say of it is this: that +having lived that life fully, amongst its men, its thoughts and +sensations, I have found it possible, without the slightest misgiving, +in all sincerity of heart and peace of conscience, to conceive the +existence of Captain Whalley's personality and to relate the manner of +his end. This statement acquires some force from the circumstance that +the pages of that story--a fair half of the book--are also the product +of experience. That experience belongs (like "Youth's") to the time +before I ever thought of putting pen to paper. As to its "reality" that +is for the readers to determine. One had to pick up one's facts here and +there. More skill would have made them more real and the whole +composition more interesting. But here we are approaching the veiled +region of artistic values which it would be improper and indeed +dangerous for me to enter. I have looked over the proofs, have corrected +a misprint or two, have changed a word or two--and that's all. It is not +very likely that I shall ever read The End of the Tether again. No more +need be said. It accords best with my feelings to part from Captain +Whalley in affectionate silence. + + J. C. + + 1917. + + + + +TYPHOON + + +The main characteristic of this volume consists in this, that all the +stories composing it belong not only to the same period but have been +written one after another in the order in which they appear in the book. + +The period is that which follows on my connection with _Blackwood's +Magazine_. I had just finished writing The End of the Tether and was +casting about for some subject which could be developed in a shorter +form than the tales in the volume of "Youth" when the instance of a +steamship full of returning coolies from Singapore to some port in +northern China occurred to my recollection. Years before I had heard it +being talked about in the East as a recent occurrence. It was for us +merely one subject of conversation amongst many others of the kind. Men +earning their bread in any very specialized occupation will talk shop, +not only because it is the most vital interest of their lives but also +because they have not much knowledge of other subjects. They have never +had the time to get acquainted with them. Life, for most of us, is not +so much a hard as an exacting taskmaster. + +I never met anybody personally concerned in this affair, the interest of +which for us was, of course, not the bad weather but the extraordinary +complication brought into the ship's life at a moment of exceptional +stress by the human element below her deck. Neither was the story itself +ever enlarged upon in my hearing. In that company each of us could +imagine easily what the whole thing was like. The financial difficulty +of it, presenting also a human problem, was solved by a mind much too +simple to be perplexed by anything in the world except men's idle talk +for which it was not adapted. + +From the first the mere anecdote, the mere statement I might say, that +such a thing had happened on the high seas, appeared to me a sufficient +subject for meditation. Yet it was but a bit of a sea yarn after all. I +felt that to bring out its deeper significance which was quite apparent +to me, something other, something more was required; a leading motive +that would harmonize all these violent noises, and a point of view that +would put all that elemental fury into its proper place. + +What was needed of course was Captain MacWhirr. Directly I perceived him +I could see that he was the man for the situation. I don't mean to say +that I ever saw Captain MacWhirr in the flesh, or had ever come in +contact with his literal mind and his dauntless temperament. MacWhirr is +not an acquaintance of a few hours, or a few weeks, or a few months. He +is the product of twenty years of life. My own life. Conscious invention +had little to do with him. If it is true that Captain MacWhirr never +walked and breathed on this earth (which I find for my part extremely +difficult to believe) I can also assure my readers that he is perfectly +authentic. I may venture to assert the same of every aspect of the +story, while I confess that the particular typhoon of the tale was not a +typhoon of my actual experience. + +At its first appearance "Typhoon," the story, was classed by some +critics as a deliberately intended storm-piece. Others picked out +MacWhirr, in whom they perceived a definite symbolic intention. Neither +was exclusively my intention. Both the typhoon and Captain MacWhirr +presented themselves to me as the necessities of the deep conviction +with which I approached the subject of the story. It was their +opportunity. It was also my opportunity, and it would be vain to +discourse about what I made of it in a handful of pages, since the +pages themselves are here, between the covers of this volume, to speak +for themselves. + +This is a belated reflection. If it had occurred to me before it would +have perhaps done away with the existence of this Author's Note; for, +indeed, the same remark applies to every story in this volume. None of +them are stories of experience in the absolute sense of the word. +Experience in them is but the canvas of the attempted picture. Each of +them has its more than one intention. With each the question is what the +writer has done with his opportunity; and each answers the question for +itself in words which, if I may say so without undue solemnity, were +written with a conscientious regard for the truth of my own sensations. +And each of those stories, to mean something, must justify itself in its +own way to the conscience of each successive reader. + +Falk--the second story in the volume--offended the delicacy of one +critic at least by certain peculiarities of its subject. But what is the +subject of Falk? I personally do not feel so very certain about it. He +who reads must find out for himself. My intention in writing Falk was +not to shock anybody. As in most of my writings I insist not on the +events but on their effect upon the persons in the tale. But in +everything I have written there is always one invariable intention, and +that is to capture the reader's attention, by securing his interest and +enlisting his sympathies for the matter in hand, whatever it may be, +within the limits of the visible world and within the boundaries of +human emotions. + +I may safely say that Falk is absolutely true to my experience of +certain straightforward characters combining a perfectly natural +ruthlessness with a certain amount of moral delicacy. Falk obeys the law +of self-preservation without the slightest misgivings as to right, but +at a crucial turn of that ruthlessly preserved life he will not +condescend to dodge the truth. As he is presented as sensitive enough to +be affected permanently by a certain unusual experience, that experience +had to be set by me before the reader vividly; but it is not the subject +of the tale. If we go by mere facts then the subject is Falk's attempt +to get married; in which the narrator of the tale finds himself +unexpectedly involved both on its ruthless and its delicate side. + +Falk shares with one other of my stories (The Return in the "Tales of +Unrest" volume) the distinction of never having been serialized. I think +the copy was shown to the editor of some magazine who rejected it +indignantly on the sole ground that "the girl never says anything." This +is perfectly true. From first to last Hermann's niece utters no word in +the tale--and it is not because she is dumb, but for the simple reason +that whenever she happens to come under the observation of the narrator +she has either no occasion or is too profoundly moved to speak. The +editor, who obviously had read the story, might have perceived that for +himself. Apparently he did not, and I refrained from pointing out the +impossibility to him because, since he did not venture to say that "the +girl" did not live, I felt no concern at his indignation. + +All the other stories were serialized. "Typhoon" appeared in the early +numbers of the _Pall Mall Magazine_, then under the direction of the +late Mr. Halkett. It was on that occasion too, that I saw for the first +time my conceptions rendered by an artist in another medium. Mr. Maurice +Greiffenhagen knew how to combine in his illustrations the effect of +his own most distinguished personal vision with an absolute fidelity to +the inspiration of the writer. Amy Foster was published in _The +Illustrated London News_ with a fine drawing of Amy on her day out +giving tea to the children at her home in a hat with a big feather. +To-morrow appeared first in the _Pall Mall Magazine_. Of that story I +will only say that it struck many people by its adaptability to the +stage and that I was induced to dramatize it under the title of "One Day +More"; up to the present my only effort in that direction. I may also +add that each of the four stories on their appearance in book form was +picked out on various grounds as the "best of the lot" by different +critics, who reviewed the volume with a warmth of appreciation and +understanding, a sympathetic insight and a friendliness of expression +for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + +NOSTROMO + + +"Nostromo" is the most anxiously meditated of the longer novels which +belong to the period following upon the publication of the "Typhoon" +volume of short stories. + +I don't mean to say that I became then conscious of any impending change +in my mentality and in my attitude towards the tasks of my writing life. +And perhaps there was never any change, except in that mysterious, +extraneous thing which has nothing to do with the theories of art; a +subtle change in the nature of the inspiration; a phenomenon for which I +can not in any way be held responsible. What, however, did cause me some +concern was that after finishing the last story of the "Typhoon" volume +it seemed somehow that there was nothing more in the world to write +about. + +This so strangely negative but disturbing mood lasted some little time; +and then, as with many of my longer stories, the first hint for +"Nostromo" came to me in the shape of a vagrant anecdote completely +destitute of valuable details. + +As a matter of fact in 1875 or '6, when very young, in the West Indies +or rather in the Gulf of Mexico, for my contacts with land were short, +few, and fleeting, I heard the story of some man who was supposed to +have stolen single-handed a whole lighter-full of silver, somewhere on +the Tierra Firme seaboard during the troubles of a revolution. + +On the face of it this was something of a feat. But I heard no details, +and having no particular interest in crime _qua_ crime I was not likely +to keep that one in my mind. And I forgot it till twenty-six or seven +years afterwards I came upon the very thing in a shabby volume picked up +outside a second-hand book-shop. It was the life story of an American +seaman written by himself with the assistance of a journalist. In the +course of his wanderings that American sailor worked for some months on +board a schooner, the master and owner of which was the thief of whom I +had heard in my very young days. I have no doubt of that because there +could hardly have been two exploits of the peculiar kind in the same +part of the world and both connected with a South American revolution. + +The fellow had actually managed to steal a lighter with silver, and +this, it seems only because he was implicitly trusted by his employers, +who must have been singularly poor judges of character. In the sailor's +story he is represented as an unmitigated rascal, a small cheat, +stupidly ferocious, morose, of mean appearance, and altogether unworthy +of the greatness this opportunity had thrust upon him. What was +interesting was that he would boast of it openly. + +He used to say: "People think I make a lot of money in this schooner of +mine. But that is nothing. I don't care for that. Now and then I go away +quietly and lift a bar of silver. I must get rich slowly--you +understand." + +There was also another curious point about the man. Once in the course +of some quarrel the sailor threatened him: "What's to prevent me +reporting ashore what you have told me about that silver?" + +The cynical ruffian was not alarmed in the least. He actually laughed. +"You fool, if you dare talk like that on shore about me you will get a +knife stuck in your back. Every man, woman, and child in that port is my +friend. And who's to prove the lighter wasn't sunk? I didn't show you +where the silver is hidden. Did I? So you know nothing. And suppose I +lied? Eh?" + +Ultimately the sailor, disgusted with the sordid meanness of that +impenitent thief, deserted from the schooner. The whole episode takes +about three pages of his autobiography. Nothing to speak of; but as I +looked them over, the curious confirmation of the few casual words heard +in my early youth evoked the memories of that distant time when +everything was so fresh, so surprising, so venturesome, so interesting; +bits of strange coasts under the stars, shadows of hills in the +sunshine, men's passions in the dusk, gossip half-forgotten, faces grown +dim.... Perhaps, perhaps, there still was in the world something to +write about. Yet I did not see anything at first in the mere story. A +rascal steals a large parcel of a valuable commodity--so people say. +It's either true or untrue; and in any case it has no value in itself. +To invent a circumstantial account of the robbery did not appeal to me, +because my talents not running that way I did not think that the game +was worth the candle. It was only when it dawned upon me that the +purloiner of the treasure need not necessarily be a confirmed rogue, +that he could be even a man of character, an actor and possibly a victim +in the changing scenes of a revolution, it was only then that I had the +first vision of a twilight country which was to become the province of +Sulaco, with its high shadowy Sierra and its misty Campo for mute +witnesses of events flowing from the passions of men short-sighted in +good and evil. + +Such are in very truth the obscure origins of "Nostromo"--the book. From +that moment, I suppose, it had to be. Yet even then I hesitate, as if +warned by the instinct of self-preservation from venturing on a distant +and toilsome journey into a land full of intrigues and revolutions. But +it had to be done. + +It took the best part of the years 1903-4 to do; with many intervals of +renewed hesitation, lest I should lose myself in the ever-enlarging +vistas opening before me as I progressed deeper in my knowledge of the +country. Often, also, when I had thought myself to a standstill over the +tangled-up affairs of the Republic, I would, figuratively speaking, pack +my bag, rush away from Sulaco for a change of air and write a few pages +of "The Mirror of the Sea." But generally, as I've said before, my +sojourn on the Continent of Latin America, famed for its hospitality, +lasted for about two years. On my return I found (speaking somewhat in +the style of Captain Gulliver) my family all well, my wife heartily +glad to learn that the fuss was all over, and our small boy considerably +grown during my absence. + +My principal authority for the history of Costaguana is, of course, my +venerated friend, the late Don Jose Avellanos, Minister to the Courts of +England and Spain, etc., etc., in his impartial and eloquent "History of +Fifty Years of Misrule." That work was never published--the reader will +discover why--and I am in fact the only person in the world possessed of +its contents. I have mastered them in not a few hours of earnest +meditation, and I hope that my accuracy will be trusted. In justice to +myself, and to allay the fears of prospective readers, I beg to point +out that the few historical allusions are never dragged in for the sake +of parading my unique erudition, but that each of them is closely +related to actuality; either throwing a light on the nature of current +events or affecting directly the fortunes of the people of whom I speak. + +As to their own histories I have tried to set them down, Aristocracy and +People, men and women, Latin and Anglo-Saxon, bandit and politician, +with as cool a hand as was possible in the heat and clash of my own +conflicting emotions. And after all this is also the story of their +conflicts. It is for the reader to say how far they are deserving of +interest in their actions and in the secret purposes of their hearts +revealed in the bitter necessities of the time. I confess that, for me, +that time is the time of firm friendships and unforgotten hospitalities. +And in my gratitude I must mention here Mrs. Gould, "the first lady of +Sulaco," whom we may safely leave to the secret devotion of Dr. +Monygham, and Charles Gould, the Idealist-creator of Material Interests +whom we must leave to his Mine--from which there is no escape in this +world. + +About Nostromo, the second of the two racially and socially contrasted +men, both captured by the silver of the San Tome Mine, I feel bound to +say something more. + +I did not hesitate to make that central figure an Italian. First of all +the thing is perfectly credible: Italians were swarming into the +Occidental Province at the time, as anybody who will read further can +see; and secondly, there was no one who could stand so well by the side +of Giorgio Viola the Garibaldino, the Idealist of the old, humanitarian +revolutions. For myself I needed there a man of the People as free as +possible from his class-conventions and all settled modes of thinking. +This is not a side snarl at conventions. My reasons were not moral but +artistic. Had he been an Anglo-Saxon he would have tried to get into +local politics. But Nostromo does not aspire to be a leader in a +personal game. He does not want to raise himself above the mass. He is +content to feel himself a power--within the People. + +But mainly Nostromo is what he is because I received the inspiration for +him in my early days from a Mediterranean sailor. Those who have read +certain pages of mine will see at once what I mean when I say that +Dominic, the padrone of the _Tremolino_, might under given circumstances +have been a Nostromo. At any rate Dominic would have understood the +younger man perfectly--if scornfully. He and I were engaged together in +a rather absurd adventure, but the absurdity does not matter. It is a +real satisfaction to think that in my very young days there must, after +all, have been something in me worthy to command that man's half-bitter +fidelity, his half-ironic devotion. Many of Nostromo's speeches I have +heard first in Dominic's voice. His hand on the tiller and his fearless +eyes roaming the horizon from within the monkish hood shadowing his +face, he would utter the usual exordium of his remorseless wisdom: "Vous +autres gentilhommes!" in a caustic tone that hangs on my ear yet. Like +Nostromo! "You hombres finos!" Very much like Nostromo. But Dominic the +Corsican nursed a certain pride of ancestry from which my Nostromo is +free; for Nostromo's lineage had to be more ancient still. He is a man +with the weight of countless generations behind him and no parentage to +boast of.... Like the People. + +In his firm grip on the earth he inherits, in his improvidence and +generosity, in his lavishness with his gifts, in his manly vanity, in +the obscure sense of his greatness and in his faithful devotion with +something despairing as well as desperate in its impulses, he is a Man +of the People, their very own unenvious force, disdaining to lead but +ruling from within. Years afterwards, grown older as the famous Captain +Fidanza, with a stake in the country, going about his many affairs +followed by respectful glances in the modernized streets of Sulaco, +calling on the widow of the cargador, attending the Lodge, listening in +unmoved silence to anarchist speeches at the meeting, the enigmatical +patron of the new revolutionary agitation, the trusted, the wealthy +comrade Fidanza with the knowledge of his moral ruin locked up in his +breast, he remains essentially a man of the People. In his mingled love +and scorn of life and in the bewildered conviction of having been +betrayed, of dying betrayed he hardly knows by what or by whom, he is +still of the People, their undoubted Great Man--with a private history +of his own. + +One more figure of those stirring times I would like to mention: and +that is Antonia Avellanos--the "beautiful Antonia." Whether she is a +possible variation of Latin-American girlhood I wouldn't dare to affirm. +But, for me, she _is_. Always a little in the background by the side of +her father (my venerated friend) I hope she has yet relief enough to +make intelligible what I am going to say. Of all the people who had seen +with me the birth of the Occidental Republic, she is the only one who +has kept in my memory the aspect of continued life. Antonia the +Aristocrat and Nostromo the Man of the People are the artisans of the +New Era, the true creators of the New State; he by his legendary and +daring feat, she, like a woman, simply by the force of what she is: the +only being capable of inspiring a sincere passion in the heart of a +trifler. + +If anything could induce me to revisit Sulaco (I should hate to see all +these changes) it would be Antonia. And the true reason for that--why +not be frank about it?--the true reason is that I have modelled her on +my first love. How we, a band of tallish school-boys, the chums of her +two brothers, how we used to look up to that girl just out of the +schoolroom herself, as the standard-bearer of a faith to which we all +were born but which she alone knew how to hold aloft with an unflinching +hope! She had perhaps more glow and less serenity in her soul than +Antonia, but she was an uncompromising Puritan of patriotism with no +taint of the slightest worldliness in her thoughts. I was not the only +one in love with her; but it was I who had to hear oftenest her scathing +criticism of my levities--very much like poor Decoud--or stand the brunt +of her austere, unanswerable invective. She did not quite +understand--but never mind. That afternoon when I came in, a shrinking +yet defiant sinner, to say the final good-bye I received a hand-squeeze +that made my heart leap and saw a tear that took my breath away. She was +softened at the last as though she had suddenly perceived (we were such +children still!) that I was really going away for good, going very far +away--even as far as Sulaco, lying unknown, hidden from our eyes in the +darkness of the Placid Gulf. + +That's why I long sometimes for another glimpse of the "beautiful +Antonia" (or can it be the Other?) moving in the dimness of the great +cathedral, saying a short prayer at the tomb of the first and last +Cardinal-Archbishop of Sulaco, standing absorbed in filial devotion +before the monument of Don Jose Avellanos, and, with a lingering, +tender, faithful glance at the medallion-memorial to Martin Decoud, +going out serenely into the sunshine of the Plaza with her upright +carriage and her white head; a relic of the past disregarded by men +awaiting impatiently the Dawns of other New Eras, the coming of more +Revolutions. + +But this is the idlest of dreams; for I did understand perfectly well at +the time that the moment the breath left the body of the Magnificent +Capataz, the Man of the People, freed at last from the toils of love and +wealth, there was nothing more for me to do in Sulaco. + + J. C. + + October, 1917. + + + + +MIRROR OF THE SEA + + +Less perhaps than any other book written by me, or anybody else, does +this volume require a Preface. Yet since all the others including even +the "Personal Record", which is but a fragment of biography, are to have +their Author's Notes, I cannot possibly leave this one without, lest a +false impression of indifference or weariness should be created. I can +see only too well that it is not going to be an easy task. +Necessity--the mother of invention--being even unthinkable in this case, +I do not know what to invent in the way of discourse; and necessity +being also the greatest possible incentive to exertion I don't even know +how to begin to exert myself. Here too the natural inclination comes in. +I have been all my life averse from exertion. + +Under these discouraging circumstances I am, however, bound to proceed +from a sense of duty. This Note is a thing promised. In less than a +minute's time by a few incautious words I entered into a bond which has +lain on my heart heavily ever since. + +For, this book is a very intimate revelation; and what that is revealing +can a few more pages add to some three hundred others of most sincere +disclosures? I have attempted here to lay bare with the unreserve of a +last hour's confession the terms of my relation with the sea, which +beginning mysteriously, like any great passion the inscrutable Gods send +to mortals, went on unreasoning and invincible, surviving the test of +disillusion, defying the disenchantment that lurks in every day of a +strenuous life; went on full of love's delight and love's anguish, +facing them in open-eyed exultation, without bitterness and without +repining, from the first hour to the last. + +Subjugated but never unmanned I surrendered my being to that passion +which various and great like life itself had also its periods of +wonderful serenity which even a fickle mistress can give sometimes on +her soothed breast, full of wiles, full of fury, and yet capable of an +enchanting sweetness. And if anybody suggest that this must be the lyric +illusion of an old, romantic heart, I can answer that for twenty years I +had lived like a hermit with my passion! Beyond the line of the sea +horizon the world for me did not exist as assuredly as it does not exist +for the mystics who take refuge on the tops of high mountains. I am +speaking now of that innermost life, containing the best and the worst +that can happen to us in the temperamental depths of our being, where a +man indeed must live alone but need not give up all hope of holding +converse with his kind. + +This perhaps is enough for me to say on this particular occasion about +these, my parting words, about this, my last mood in my great passion +for the sea. I call it great because it was great to me. Others may call +it a foolish infatuation. Those words have been applied to every love +story. But whatever it may be the fact remains that it was something too +great for words. + +This is what I always felt vaguely; and therefore the following pages +rest like a true confession on matters of fact which to a friendly and +charitable person may convey the inner truth of almost a life-time. From +sixteen to thirty-six cannot be called an age, yet it is a pretty long +stretch of that sort of experience which teaches a man slowly to see and +feel. It is for me a distinct period; and when I emerged from it into +another air, as it were, and said to myself: "Now I must speak of these +things or remain unknown to the end of my days," it was with the +ineradicable hope, that accompanies one through solitude as well as +through a crowd, of ultimately, some day, at some moment, making myself +understood. + +And I have been! I have been understood as completely as it is possible +to be understood in this, our world, which seems to be mostly composed +of riddles. There have been things said about this book which have moved +me profoundly; the more profoundly because they were uttered by men +whose occupation was avowedly to understand, and analyze, and +expound--in a word, by literary critics. They spoke out according to +their conscience, and some of them said things that made me feel both +glad and sorry of ever having entered upon my confession. Dimly or +clearly, they perceived the character of my intention and ended by +judging me worthy to have made the attempt. They saw it was of a +revealing character, but in some cases they thought that the revelation +was not complete. + +One of them said: "In reading these chapters one is always hoping for +the revelation; but the personality is never quite revealed. We can only +say that this thing happened to Mr. Conrad, that he knew such a man and +that thus life passed him leaving those memories. They are the records +of the events of his life, not in every instance striking or decisive +events but rather those haphazard events which for no definite reason +impress themselves upon the mind and recur in memory long afterward as +symbols of one knows not what sacred ritual taking place behind the +veil." + +To this I can only say that this book written in perfect sincerity holds +back nothing--unless the mere bodily presence of the writer. Within +these pages I make a full confession not of my sins but of my emotions. +It is the best tribute my piety can offer to the ultimate shapers of my +character, convictions, and, in a sense, destiny--to the imperishable +sea, to the ships that are no more and to the simple men who have had +their day. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + +THE SECRET AGENT + + +The origin of "The Secret Agent": subject, treatment, artistic purpose +and every other motive that may induce an author to take up his pen, +can, I believe, be traced to a period of mental and emotional reaction. + +The actual facts are that I began this book impulsively and wrote it +continuously. When in due course it was bound and delivered to the +public gaze I found myself reproved for having produced it at all. Some +of the admonitions were severe, others had a sorrowful note. I have not +got them textually before me but I remember perfectly the general +argument, which was very simple; and also my surprise at its nature. All +this sounds a very old story now! And yet it is not such a long time +ago. I must conclude that I had still preserved much of my pristine +innocence in the year 1907. It seems to me now that even an artless +person might have foreseen that some criticisms would be based on the +ground of sordid surroundings and the moral squalor of the tale. + +That, of course, is a serious objection. It was not universal. In fact, +it seems ungracious to remember so little reproof amongst so much +intelligent and sympathetic appreciation; and I trust that the readers +of this Preface will not hasten to put it down to wounded vanity of a +natural disposition to ingratitude. I suggest that a charitable heart +could very well ascribe my choice to natural modesty. Yet it isn't +exactly modesty that makes me select reproof for the illustration of my +case. No, it isn't exactly modesty. I am not at all certain that I am +modest; but those who have read so far through my work will credit me +with enough decency, tact, savoir faire, what you will, to prevent me +from making a song for my own glory out of the words of other people. +No! The true motive of my selection lies in quite a different trait. I +have always had a propensity to justify my action. Not to defend. To +justify. Not to insist that I was right but simply to explain that there +was no perverse intention, no secret scorn for the natural sensibilities +of mankind at the bottom of my impulses. + +That kind of weakness is dangerous only so far that it exposes one to +the risk of becoming a bore; for the world generally is not interested +in the motives of any overt act but in its consequences. Man may smile +and smile but he is not an investigating animal. He loves the obvious. +He shrinks from explanations. Yet I will go on with mine. It's obvious +that I need not have written that book. I was under no necessity to deal +with that subject; using the word subject both in the sense of the tale +itself and in the larger one of a special manifestation in the life of +mankind. This I fully admit. But the thought of elaborating mere +ugliness in order to shock, or even simply to surprise my readers by a +change of front, has never entered my head. In making this statement I +expect to be believed, not only on the evidence of my general character +but also for the reason, which anybody can see, that the whole treatment +of the tale, its inspiring indignation and underlying pity and contempt, +prove my detachment from the squalor and sordidness which lie simply in +the outward circumstances of the setting. + +The inception of "The Secret Agent" followed immediately on a two +years' period of intense absorption in the task of writing that remote +novel, "Nostromo," with its far off Latin-American atmosphere; and the +profoundly personal "Mirror of the Sea." The first an intense creative +effort on what I suppose will always remain my largest canvas, the +second an unreserved attempt to unveil for a moment the profounder +intimacies of the sea and the formative influences of nearly half my +life-time. It was a period, too, in which my sense of the truth of +things was attended by a very intense imaginative and emotional +readiness which, all genuine and faithful to facts as it was, yet made +me feel (the task once done) as if I were left behind, aimless amongst +mere husks of sensations and lost in a world of other, of inferior, +values. + +I don't know whether I really felt that I wanted a change, change in my +imagination, in my vision and in my mental attitude. I rather think that +a change in the fundamental mood had already stolen over me unawares. I +don't remember anything definite happening. With "The Mirror of the Sea" +finished in the full consciousness that I had dealt honestly with myself +and my readers in every line of that book, I gave myself up to a not +unhappy pause. Then, while I was yet standing still, as it were, and +certainly not thinking of going out of my way to look for anything ugly, +the subject of "The Secret Agent"--I mean the tale--came to me in the +shape of a few words uttered by a friend in a casual conversation about +anarchists or rather anarchist activities; how brought about I don't +remember now. + +I remember, however, remarking on the criminal futility of the whole +thing, doctrine, action, mentality; and on the contemptible aspect of +the half-crazy pose as of a brazen cheat exploiting the poignant +miseries and passionate credulities of a mankind always so tragically +eager for self-destruction. That was what made for me its philosophical +pretences so unpardonable. Presently, passing to particular instances, +we recalled the already old story of the attempt to blow up the +Greenwich Observatory; a blood-stained inanity of so fatuous a kind that +it was impossible to fathom its origin by any reasonable or even +unreasonable process of thought. For perverse unreason has its own +logical processes. But that outrage could not be laid hold of mentally +in any sort of way, so that one remained faced by the fact of a man +blown to bits for nothing even most remotely resembling an idea, +anarchistic or other. As to the outer wall of the Observatory it did not +show as much as the faintest crack. + +I pointed all this out to my friend who remained silent for a while and +then remarked in his characteristically casual and omniscient manner: +"Oh, that fellow was half on idiot. His sister committed suicide +afterwards." These were absolutely the only words that passed between +us; for extreme surprise at this unexpected piece of information kept me +dumb for a moment and he began at once to talk of something else. It +never occurred to me later to ask how he arrived at his knowledge. I am +sure that if he had seen once in his life the back of an anarchist that +must have been the whole extent of his connection with the underworld. +He was, however, a man who liked to talk with all sorts of people, and +he may have gathered those illuminating facts at second or third hand, +from a crossing-sweeper, from a retired police officer, from some vague +man in his club, or even, perhaps, from a Minister of State met at some +public or private reception. + +Of the illuminating quality there could be no doubt whatever. One felt +like walking out of a forest on to a plain--there was not much to see +but one had plenty of light. No, there was not much to see and, frankly, +for a considerable time I didn't even attempt to perceive anything. It +was only the illuminating impression that remained. It remained +satisfactory but in a passive way. Then, about a week later, I came upon +a book which as far as I know had never attained any prominence, the +rather summary recollections of an Assistant Commissioner of Police, an +obviously able man with a strong religious strain in his character who +was appointed to his post at the time of the dynamite outrages in +London, away back in the eighties. The book was fairly interesting, very +discreet of course; and I have by now forgotten the bulk of its +contents. It contained no revelations, it ran over the surface +agreeably, and that was all. I won't even try to explain why I should +have been arrested by a little passage of about seven lines, in which +the author (I believe his name was Anderson) reproduced a short dialogue +held in the Lobby of the House of Commons after some unexpected +anarchist outrage, with the Home Secretary. I think it was Sir William +Harcourt then. He was very much irritated and the official was very +apologetic. The phrase, amongst the three which passed between them, +that struck me most was Sir W. Harcourt's angry sally: "All that's very +well. But your idea of secrecy over there seems to consist of keeping +the Home Secretary in the dark." Characteristic enough of Sir W. +Harcourt's temper but not much in itself. There must have been, however, +some sort of atmosphere in the whole incident because all of a sudden I +felt myself stimulated. And then ensued in my mind what a student of +chemistry would best understand from the analogy of the addition of the +tiniest little drop of the right kind, precipitating the process of +crystallization in a test tube containing some colourless solution. + +It was at first for me a mental change, disturbing a quieted-down +imagination, in which strange forms, sharp in outline but imperfectly +apprehended, appeared and claimed attention as crystals will do by their +bizarre and unexpected shapes. One fell to musing before the +phenomenon--even of the past: of South America, a continent of crude +sunshine and brutal revolutions, of the sea, the vast expanse of salt +waters, the mirror of heaven's frowns and smiles, the reflector of the +world's light. Then the vision of an enormous town presented itself, of +a monstrous town more populous than some continents and in its man-made +might as if indifferent to heaven's frowns and smiles; a cruel devourer +of the world's light. There was room enough there to place any story, +depth enough there for any passion, variety enough there for any +setting, darkness enough to bury five millions of lives. + +Irresistibly the town became the background for the ensuing period of +deep and tentative meditations. Endless vistas opened before me in +various directions. It would take years to find the right way! It seemed +to take years!... Slowly the dawning conviction of Mrs. Verloc's +maternal passion grew up to a flame between me and that background, +tingeing it with its secret ardour and receiving from it in exchange +some of its own sombre colouring. At last the story of Winnie Verloc +stood out complete from the days of her childhood to the end, +unproportioned as yet, with everything still on the first plan, as it +were; but ready now to be dealt with. It was a matter of about three +days. + +_This_ book is _that_ story, reduced to manageable proportions, its +whole course suggested and centred round the absurd cruelty of the +Greenwich Park explosion. I had there a task I will not say arduous but +of the most absorbing difficulty. But it had to be done. It was a +necessity. The figures grouped about Mrs. Verloc and related directly or +indirectly to her tragic suspicion that "life doesn't stand much looking +into," are the outcome of that very necessity. Personally I have never +had any doubt of the reality of Mrs. Verloc's story; but it had to be +disengaged from its obscurity in that immense town, it had to be made +credible, I don't mean so much as to her soul but as to her +surroundings, not so much as to her psychology but as to her humanity. +For the surroundings hints were not lacking. I had to fight hard to keep +at arms-length the memories of my solitary and nocturnal walks all over +London in my early days, lest they should rush in and overwhelm each +page of the story as these emerged one after another from a mood as +serious in feeling and thought as any in which I ever wrote a line. In +that respect I really think that "The Secret Agent" is a perfectly +genuine piece of work. Even the purely artistic purpose, that of +applying an ironic method to a subject of that kind, was formulated with +deliberation and in the earnest belief that ironic treatment alone would +enable me to say all I felt I would have to say in scorn as well as in +pity. It is one of the minor satisfactions of my writing life that +having taken that resolve I did manage, it seems to me, to carry it +right through to the end. As to the personages whom the absolute +necessity of the case--Mrs. Verloc's case--brings out in front of the +London background, from them, too, I obtained those little satisfactions +which really count for so much against the mass of oppressive doubts +that haunt so persistently on every attempt at creative work. For +instance, of Mr. Vladimir himself (who was fair game for a caricatural +presentation) I was gratified to hear that an experienced man of the +world had said "that Conrad must have been in touch with that sphere or +else has an excellent intuition of things," because Mr. Vladimir was +"not only possible in detail but quite right in essentials." Then a +visitor from America informed me that all sorts of revolutionary +refugees in New York would have it that the book was written by somebody +who knew a lot about them. This seemed to me a very high compliment, +considering that, as a matter of hard fact, I had seen even less of +their kind than the omniscient friend who gave me the first suggestion +for the novel. I have no doubt, however, that there had been moments +during the writing of the book when I was an extreme revolutionist, I +won't say more convinced than they but certainly cherishing a more +concentrated purpose than any of them had ever done in the whole course +of his life. I don't say this to boast. I was simply attending to my +business. In the matter of all my books I have always attended to my +business. I have attended to it with complete self-surrender. And this +statement, too, is not a boast. I could not have done otherwise. It +would have bored me too much to make-believe. + +The suggestions for certain personages of the tale, both law-abiding and +lawless, came from various sources which, perhaps, here and there, some +reader may have recognized. They are not very recondite. But I am not +concerned here to legitimize any of those people, and even as to my +general view of the moral reactions as between the criminal and the +police all I will venture to say is that it seems to me to be at least +arguable. + +The twelve years that have elapsed since the publication of the book +have not changed my attitude. I do not regret having written it. Lately, +circumstances, which have nothing to do with the general tenor of this +Preface, have compelled me to strip this tale of the literary robe of +indignant scorn it has cost me so much to fit on it decently, years ago. +I have been forced, so to speak, to look upon its bare bones. I confess +that it makes a grisly skeleton. But still I will submit that telling +Winnie Verloc's story to its anarchistic end of utter desolation, +madness and despair, and telling it as I have told it here, I have not +intended to commit gratuitous outrage on the feelings of mankind. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +A SET OF SIX + + +The six stories in this volume are the result of some three or four +years of occasional work. The dates of their writing are far apart, +their origins are various. None of them are connected directly with +personal experiences. In all of them the facts are inherently true, by +which I mean that they are not only possible but that they have actually +happened. For instance, the last story in the volume the one I call +Pathetic, whose first title is Il Conde (mis-spelt by-the-by) is an +almost verbatim transcript of the tale told me by a very charming old +gentleman whom I met in Italy. I don't mean to say it is only that. +Anybody can see that it is something more than a verbatim report, but +where he left off and where I began must be left to the acute +discrimination of the reader who may be interested in the problem. I +don't mean to say that the problem is worth the trouble. What I am +certain of, however, is that it is not to be solved, for I am not at all +clear about it myself by this time. All I can say is that the +personality of the narrator was extremely suggestive quite apart from +the story he was telling me. I heard a few years ago that he had died +far away from his beloved Naples where that "abominable adventure" did +really happen to him. + +Thus the genealogy of Il Conde is simple. It is not the case with the +other stories. Various strains contributed to their composition, and the +nature of many of those I have forgotten, not having the habit of making +notes either before or after the fact. I mean the fact of writing a +story. What I remember best about Caspar Ruiz is that it was written, or +at any rate begun, within a month of finishing "Nostromo," but apart +from the locality, and that a pretty wide one (all the South American +Continent), the novel and the story have nothing in common, neither +mood, nor intention and, certainly, not the style. The manner for the +most part is that of General Santierra, and that old warrior, I note +with satisfaction, is very true to himself all through. Looking now +dispassionately at the various ways in which this story could have been +presented I can't honestly think the General superfluous. It is he, an +old man talking of the days of his youth, who characterizes the whole +narrative and gives it an air of actuality which I doubt whether I could +have achieved without his help. In the mere writing his existence of +course was of no help at all, because the whole thing had to be +carefully kept within the frame of his simple mind. But all this is but +a laborious searching of memories. My present feeling is that the story +could not have been told otherwise. The hint for Gaspar Ruiz, the man, I +found in a book by Captain Basil Hall, R. N., who was for some time, +between the years 1824 and 1828, senior officer of a small British +Squadron on the West Coast of South America. His book published in the +thirties obtained a certain celebrity and I suppose is to be found still +in some libraries. The curious who may be mistrusting my imagination are +referred to that printed document, Vol. II, I forget the page, but it is +somewhere not far from the end. Another document connected with this +story is a letter of a biting and ironic kind from a friend then in +Burma, passing certain strictures upon "the gentleman with the gun on +his back" which I do not intend to make accessible to the public. Yet +the gun episode did really happen, or at least I am bound to believe it +because I remember it, described in an extremely matter-of-fact tone, in +some book I read in my boyhood; and I am not going to discard the +beliefs of my boyhood for anybody on earth. + +The Brute, which is the only sea-story in the volume, is, like Il Conde, +associated with a direct narrative and based on a suggestion gathered on +warm human lips. I will not disclose the real name of the criminal ship +but the first I heard of her homicidal habits was from the late Captain +Blake, commanding a London ship in which I served in 1884 as Second +Officer. Captain Blake was, of all my commanders, the one I remember +with the greatest affection. I have sketched in his personality, without +however mentioning his name, in the first paper of "The Mirror of the +Sea." In his young days he had had a personal experience of the brute +and it is perhaps for that reason that I have put the story into the +mouth of a young man and made of it what the reader will see. The +existence of the brute was a fact. The end of the brute as related in +the story is also a fact, well-known at the time though it really +happened to another ship, of great beauty of form and of blameless +character, which certainly deserved a better fate. I have unscrupulously +adapted it to the needs of my story thinking that I had there something +in the nature of poetical justice. I hope that little villainy will not +cast a shadow upon the general honesty of my proceedings as a writer of +tales. + +Of The Informer and The Anarchist I will say next to nothing. The +pedigree of these tales is hopelessly complicated and not worth +disentangling at this distance of time. I found them and here they are. +The discriminating reader will guess that I have found them within my +mind; but how they or their elements came in there I have forgotten for +the most part; and for the rest I really don't see why I should give +myself away more than I have done already. + +It remains for me only now to mention The Duel, the longest story in the +book. That story attained the dignity of publication all by itself in a +small illustrated volume, under the title, "The Point of Honour." That +was many years ago. It has been since reinstated in its proper place, +which is the place it occupies in this volume, in all the subsequent +editions of my work. Its pedigree is extremely simple. It springs from a +ten-line paragraph in a small provincial paper published in the South of +France. That paragraph, occasioned by a duel with a fatal ending between +two well-known Parisian personalities, referred for some reason or +other to the "well-known fact" of two officers in Napoleon's Grand Army +having fought a series of duels in the midst of great wars and on some +futile pretext. The pretext was never disclosed. I had therefore to +invent it; and I think that, given the character of the two officers +which I had to invent, too, I have made it sufficiently convincing by +the mere force of its absurdity. The truth is that in my mind the story +is nothing but a serious and even earnest attempt at a bit of historical +fiction. I had heard in my boyhood a good deal of the great Napoleonic +legend. I had a genuine feeling that I would find myself at home in it, +and The Duel is the result of that feeling, or, if the reader prefers, +of that presumption. Personally I have no qualms of conscience about +this piece of work. The story might have been better told of course. All +one's work might have been better done; but this is the sort of +reflection a worker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every +one of his conceptions to remain for ever a private vision, an +evanescent reverie. How many of those visions have I seen vanish in my +time! This one, however, has remained, a testimony, if you like, to my +courage or a proof of my rashness. What I care to remember best is the +testimony of some French readers who volunteered the opinion that in +those hundred pages or so I had managed to render "wonderfully" the +spirit of the whole epoch. Exaggeration of kindness no doubt; but even +so I hug it still to my breast, because in truth that is exactly what I +was trying to capture in my small net: the Spirit of the Epoch--never +purely militarist in the long clash of arms, youthful, almost childlike +in its exaltation of sentiment--naively heroic in its faith. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +UNDER WESTERN EYES + + +It must be admitted that by the mere force of circumstances "Under +Western Eyes" has become already a sort of historical novel dealing with +the past. + +This reflection bears entirely upon the events of the tale; but being as +a whole an attempt to render not so much the political state as the +psychology of Russia itself, I venture to hope that it has not lost all +its interest. I am encouraged in this flattering belief by noticing +that in many articles on Russian affairs of the present day reference is +made to certain sayings and opinions uttered in the pages that follow, +in a manner testifying to the clearness of my vision and the correctness +of my judgment. I need not say that in writing this novel I had no other +object in view than to express imaginatively the general truth which +underlies its action, together with my honest convictions as to the +moral complexion of certain facts more or less known to the whole world. + +As to the actual creation I may say that when I began to write I had a +distinct conception of the first part only, with the three figures of +Haldin, Razumov, and Councillor Mikulin, defined exactly in my mind. It +was only after I had finished writing the first part that the whole +story revealed itself to me in its tragic character and in the march of +its events as unavoidable and sufficiently ample in its outline to give +free play to my creative instinct and to the dramatic possibilities of +the subject. + +The course of action need not be explained. It has suggested itself more +as a matter of feeling than a matter of thinking. It is the result not +of a special experience but of general knowledge, fortified by earnest +meditation. My greatest anxiety was in being able to strike and sustain +the note of scrupulous fairness. The obligation of absolute fairness was +imposed on me historically and hereditarily, by the peculiar experience +of race and family, and, in addition, by my primary conviction that +truth alone is the justification of any fiction which can make the least +claim to the quality of art or may hope to take its place in the culture +of men and women of its time. I had never been called before to a +greater effort of detachment: detachment from all passions, prejudices +and even from personal memories. "Under Western Eyes" on its first +appearance in England was a failure with the public, perhaps because of +that very detachment. I obtained my reward some six years later when I +first heard that the book had found universal recognition in Russia and +had been re-published there in many editions. + +The various figures playing their part in the story also owe their +existence to no special experience but to the general knowledge of the +condition of Russia and of the moral and emotional reactions of the +Russian temperament to the pressure of tyrannical lawlessness, which, in +general human terms, could be reduced to the formula of senseless +desperation provoked by senseless tyranny. What I was concerned with +mainly was the aspect, the character, and the fate of the individuals as +they appeared to the Western Eyes of the old teacher of languages. He +himself has been much criticized; but I will not at this late hour +undertake to justify his existence. He was useful to me and therefore I +think that he must be useful to the reader both in the way of comment +and by the part he plays in the development of the story. In my desire +to produce the effect of actuality it seemed to me indispensable to have +an eye-witness of the transactions in Geneva. I needed also a +sympathetic friend for Miss Haldin, who otherwise would have been too +much alone and unsupported to be perfectly credible. She would have had +no one to whom she could give a glimpse of her idealistic faith, of her +great heart, and of her simple emotions. + +Razumov is treated sympathetically. Why should he not be? He is an +ordinary young man, with a healthy capacity for work and sane +ambitions. He has an average conscience. If he is slightly abnormal it +is only in his sensitiveness to his position. Being nobody's child he +feels rather more keenly than another would that he is a Russian--or he +is nothing. He is perfectly right in looking on all Russia as his +heritage. The sanguinary futility of the crimes and the sacrifices +seething in that amorphous mass envelops and crushes him. But I don't +think that in his distraction he is ever monstrous. Nobody is exhibited +as a monster here--neither the simple-minded Tekla nor the wrong-headed +Sophia Antonovna. Peter Ivanovitch and Madame de S. are fair game. They +are the apes of a sinister jungle and are treated as their grimaces +deserve. As to Nikita--nicknamed Necator--he is the perfect flower of +the terroristic wilderness. What troubled me most in dealing with him +was not his monstrosity but his banality. He has been exhibited to the +public eye for years in so-called "disclosures" in newspaper articles, +in secret histories, in sensational novels. + +The most terrifying reflection (I am speaking now for myself) is that +all these people are not the product of the exceptional but of the +general--of the normality of their place, and time, and race. The +ferocity and imbecility of an autocratic rule rejecting all legality and +in fact basing itself upon complete moral anarchism provokes the no less +imbecile and atrocious answer of a purely Utopian revolutionism +encompassing destruction by the first means to hand, in the strange +conviction that a fundamental change of hearts must follow the downfall +of any given human institutions. These people are unable to see that all +they can effect is merely a change of names. The oppressors and the +oppressed are all Russians together; and the world is brought once more +face to face with the truth of the saying that the tiger cannot change +his stripes nor the leopard his spots. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +A PERSONAL RECORD + + +The re-issue of this book in a new form does not, strictly speaking, +require another Preface. But since this is distinctly a place for +personal remarks I take the opportunity to refer in this Author's Note +to two points arising from certain statements about myself I have +noticed of late in the press. + +One of them bears upon the question of language. I have always felt +myself looked upon somewhat in the light of a phenomenon, a position +which outside the circus world cannot be regarded as desirable. It needs +a special temperament for one to derive much gratification from the fact +of being able to do freakish things intentionally, and, as it were, from +mere vanity. + +The fact of my not writing in my native language has been of course +commented upon frequently in reviews and notices of my various works and +in the more extended critical articles. I suppose that was unavoidable; +and indeed these comments were of the most flattering kind to one's +vanity. But in that matter I have no vanity that could be flattered. I +could not have it. The first object of this Note is to disclaim any +merit there might have been in an act of deliberate volition. + +The impression of my having exercised a choice between the two +languages, French and English, both foreign to me, has got abroad +somehow. That impression is erroneous. It originated, I believe, in an +article written by Sir Hugh Clifford and published in the year '98, I +think, of the last century. Some time before, Sir Hugh Clifford came to +see me. He is, if not the first, then one of the first two friends I +made for myself by my work, the other being Mr. Cunninghame Graham, who, +characteristically enough, had been captivated by my story An Outpost of +Progress. These friendships which have endured to this day I count +amongst my precious possessions. + +Mr. Hugh Clifford (he was not decorated then) had just published his +first volume of Malay sketches. I was naturally delighted to see him and +infinitely gratified by the kind things he found to say about my first +books and some of my early short stories, the action of which is placed +in the Malay Archipelago. I remember that after saying many things which +ought to have made me blush to the roots of my hair with outraged +modesty, he ended by telling me with the uncompromising yet kindly +firmness of a man accustomed to speak unpalatable truths even to +Oriental potentates (for their own good of course) that as a matter of +fact I didn't know anything about Malays. I was perfectly aware of +this. I have never pretended to any such knowledge, and I was moved--I +wonder to this day at my impertinence--to retort: "Of course I don't +know anything about Malays. If I knew only one hundredth part of what +you and Frank Swettenham know of Malays I would make everybody sit up." +He went on looking kindly (but firmly) at me and then we both burst out +laughing. In the course of that most welcome visit twenty years ago, +which I remember so well, we talked of many things; the characteristics +of various languages was one of them, and it is on that day that my +friend carried away with him the impression that I had exercised a +deliberate choice between French and English. Later, when moved by his +friendship (no empty word to him) to write a study in the _North +American Review_ on Joseph Conrad he conveyed that impression to the +public. + +This misapprehension, for it is nothing else, was no doubt my fault. I +must have expressed myself badly in the course of a friendly and +intimate talk when one doesn't watch one's phrases carefully. My +recollection of what I meant to say is: that _had I been under the +necessity_ of making a choice between the two, and though I knew French +fairly well and was familiar with it from infancy, I would have been +afraid to attempt expression in a language so perfectly "crystallized." +This, I believe, was the word I used. And then we passed to other +matters. I had to tell him a little about myself; and what he told me of +his work in the East, his own particular East of which I had but the +mistiest, short glimpse, was of the most absorbing interest. The present +Governor of Nigeria may not remember that conversation as well as I do, +but I am sure that he will not mind this, what in diplomatic language is +called "rectification" of a statement made to him by an obscure writer +his generous sympathy had prompted him to seek out and make his friend. + +The truth of the matter is that my faculty to write in English is as +natural as any other aptitude with which I might have been born. I have +a strange and overpowering feeling that it had always been an inherent +part of myself. English was for me neither a matter of choice nor +adoption. The merest idea of choice had never entered my head. And as +to adoption--well, yes, there was adoption; but it was I who was adopted +by the genius of the language, which directly I came out of the +stammering stage made me its own so completely that its very idioms I +truly believe had a direct action on my temperament and fashioned my +still plastic character. + +It was a very intimate action and for that very reason it is too +mysterious to explain. The task would be as impossible as trying to +explain love at first sight. There was something in this conjunction of +exulting, almost physical recognition, the same sort of emotional +surrender and the same pride of possession, all united in the wonder of +a great discovery; but there was on it none of that shadow of dreadful +doubt that falls on the very flame of our perishable passions. One knew +very well that this was for ever. + +A matter of discovery and not of inheritance, that very inferiority of +the title makes the faculty still more precious, lays the possessor +under a lifelong obligation to remain worthy of his great fortune. But +it seems to me that all this sounds as if I were trying to explain--a +task which I have just pronounced to be impossible. If in action we may +admit with awe that the Impossible recedes before men's indomitable +spirit, the Impossible in matters of analysis will always make a stand +at some point or other. All I can claim after all those years of devoted +practice, with the accumulated anguish of its doubts, imperfections and +falterings in my heart, is the right to be believed when I say that if I +had not written in English I would not have written at all. + +The other remark which I wish to make here is also a rectification but +of a less direct kind. It has nothing to do with the medium of +expression. It bears on the matter of my authorship in another way. It +is not for me to criticize my judges, the more so because I always felt +that I was receiving more than justice at their hands. But it seems to +me that their unfailingly interested sympathy has ascribed to racial and +historical influences much, of what, I believe, appertains simply to the +individual. Nothing is more foreign than what in the literary world is +called Sclavonism, to the Polish temperament with its tradition of +self-government, its chivalrous view of moral restraints and an +exaggerated respect for individual rights: not to mention the important +fact that the whole Polish mentality, Western in complexion, had +received its training from Italy and France and, historically, had +always remained, even in religious matters, in sympathy with the most +liberal currents of European thought. An impartial view of humanity in +all its degrees of splendour and misery together with a special regard +for the rights of the unprivileged of this earth, not on any mystic +ground but on the ground of simple fellowship and honourable +reciprocity of services, was the dominant characteristic of the +mental and moral atmosphere of the houses which sheltered my hazardous +childhood:--matters of calm and deep conviction both lasting and +consistent, and removed as far as possible from that humanitarianism +that seems to be merely a matter of crazy nerves or a morbid conscience. + +One of the most sympathetic of my critics tried to account for certain +characteristics of my work by the fact of my being, in his own words, +"the son of a Revolutionist." No epithet could be more inapplicable to a +man with such a strong sense of responsibility in the region of ideas +and action and so indifferent to the promptings of personal ambition as +my father. Why the description "revolutionary" should have been applied +all through Europe to the Polish risings of 1831 and 1863 I really +cannot understand. These risings were purely revolts against foreign +domination. The Russians themselves called them "rebellions," which, +from their point of view, was the exact truth. Amongst the men concerned +in the preliminaries of the 1863 movement my father was no more +revolutionary than the others, in the sense of working for the +subversion of any social or political scheme of existence. He was simply +a patriot in the sense of a man who believing in the spirituality of a +national existence could not bear to see that spirit enslaved. + +Called out publicly in a kindly attempt to justify the work of the son, +that figure of my past cannot be dismissed without a few more words. As +a child of course I knew very little of my father's activities, for I +was not quite twelve when he died. What I saw with my own eyes was the +public funeral, the cleared streets, the hushed crowds; but I understood +perfectly well that this was a manifestation of the national spirit +seizing a worthy occasion. That bareheaded mass of work people, youths +of the University, women at the windows, school-boys on the pavement, +could have known nothing positive about him except the fame of his +fidelity to the one guiding emotion in their hearts. I had nothing but +that knowledge myself; and this great silent demonstration seemed to me +the most natural tribute in the world--not to the man but to the Idea. + +What had impressed me much more intimately was the burning of his +manuscripts a fortnight or so before his death. It was done under his +own superintendence. I happened to go into his room a little earlier +than usual that evening, and remaining unnoticed stayed to watch the +nursing-sister feeding the blaze in the fireplace. My father sat in a +deep armchair propped up with pillows. This is the last time I saw him +out of bed. His aspect was to me not so much that of a man desperately +ill, as mortally weary--a vanquished man. That act of destruction +affected me profoundly by its air of surrender. Not before death, +however. To a man of such strong faith death could not have been an +enemy. + +For many years I believed that every scrap of his writings had been +burnt, but in July of 1914 the Librarian of the University of Cracow +calling on me during our short visit to Poland, mentioned the existence +of a few manuscripts of my father and especially of a series of letters +written before and during his exile to his most intimate friend who had +sent them to the University for preservation. I went to the Library at +once, but had only time then for a mere glance. I intended to come back +next day and arrange for copies being made of the whole correspondence. +But next day there was war. So perhaps I shall never know now what he +wrote to his most intimate friend in the time of his domestic happiness, +of his new paternity, of his strong hopes--and later, in the hours of +disillusion, bereavement and gloom. + +I had also imagined him to be completely forgotten forty-five years +after his death. But this was not the case. Some young men of letters +had discovered him, mostly as a remarkable translator of Shakespeare, +Victor Hugo and Alfred de Vigny, to whose drama _Chatterton_, translated +by himself, he had written an eloquent Preface defending the poet's deep +humanity and his ideal of noble stoicism. The political side of his life +was being recalled too; for some men of his time, his co-workers in the +task of keeping the national spirit firm in the hope of an independent +future, had been in their old age publishing their memoirs, where the +part he played was for the first time publicly disclosed to the world. I +learned then of things in his life I never knew before, things which +outside the group of the initiated could have been known to no living +being except my mother. It was thus that from a volume of posthumous +memoirs dealing with those bitter years I learned the fact that the +first inception of the secret National Committee intended primarily to +organize moral resistance to the augmented pressure of Russianism arose +on my father's initiative, and that its first meetings were held in our +Warsaw house, of which all I remember distinctly is one room, white and +crimson, probably the drawing room. In one of its walls there was the +loftiest of all archways. Where it led to remains a mystery, but to this +day I cannot get rid of the belief that all this was of enormous +proportions, and that the people appearing and disappearing in that +immense space were beyond the usual stature of mankind as I got to know +it in later life. Amongst them I remember my mother, a more familiar +figure than the others, dressed in the black of the national mourning +worn in defiance of ferocious police regulations. I have also preserved +from that particular time the awe of her mysterious gravity which, +indeed, was by no means smileless. For I remember her smiles, too. +Perhaps for me she could always find a smile. She was young then, +certainly not thirty yet. She died four years later in exile. + +In the pages which follow I mentioned her visit to her brother's house +about a year before her death. I also speak a little of my father as I +remember him in the years following what was for him the deadly blow of +her loss. And now, having been again evoked in answer to the words of a +friendly critic, these Shades may be allowed to return to their place of +rest where their forms in life linger yet, dim but poignant, and +awaiting the moment when their haunting reality, their last trace on +earth, shall pass for ever with me out of the world. + + J. C. + + 1919. + + + + + +A FAMILIAR PREFACE + +A PERSONAL RECORD + + +As a general rule we do not want much encouragement to talk about +ourselves; yet this little book is the result of a friendly suggestion, +and even of a little friendly pressure. I defended myself with some +spirit; but, with characteristic tenacity, the friendly voice insisted, +"You know, you really must." + +It was not an argument, but I submitted at once. If one must!... + +You perceive the force of a word. He who wants to persuade should put +his trust not in the right argument, but in the right word. The power of +sound has always been greater than the power of sense. I don't say this +by way of disparagement. It is better for mankind to be impressionable +than reflective. Nothing humanely great--great, I mean, as affecting a +whole mass of lives--has come from reflection. On the other hand, you +cannot fail to see the power of mere words; such words as Glory, for +instance, or Pity. I won't mention any more. They are not far to seek. +Shouted with perseverance, with ardour, with conviction, these two by +their sound alone have set whole nations in motion and upheaved the +dry, hard ground on which rests our whole social fabric. There's +"virtue" for you if you like!... Of course the accent must be attended +to. The right accent. That's very important. The capacious lung, the +thundering or the tender vocal chords. Don't talk to me of your +Archimedes' lever. He was an absent-minded person with a mathematical +imagination. Mathematics commands all my respect, but I have no use for +engines. Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the +world. + +What a dream for a writer! Because written words have their accent, too. +Yes! Let me only find the right word! Surely it must be lying somewhere +among the wreckage of all the plaints and all the exultations poured out +aloud since the first day when hope, the undying, came down on earth. It +may be there, close by, disregarded, invisible, quite at hand. But it's +no good. I believe there are men who can lay hold of a needle in a +pottle of hay at the first try. For myself, I have never had such luck. + +And then there is that accent. Another difficulty. For who is going to +tell whether the accent is right or wrong till the word is shouted, and +fails to be heard, perhaps, and goes down-wind, leaving the world +unmoved? Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a sage and +something of a literary man. He jotted down on ivory tablets thoughts, +maxims, reflections which chance has preserved for the edification of +posterity. Among other sayings--I am quoting from memory--I remember +this solemn admonition: "Let all thy words have the accent of heroic +truth." The accent of heroic truth! This is very fine, but I am thinking +that it is an easy matter for an austere emperor to jot down grandiose +advice. Most of the working truths on this earth are humble, not heroic; +and there have been times in the history of mankind when the accents of +heroic truth have moved it to nothing but derision. + +Nobody will expect to find between the covers of this little book words +of extraordinary potency or accents of irresistible heroism. However +humiliating for my self-esteem, I must confess that the counsels of +Marcus Aurelius are not for me. They are more fit for a moralist than +for an artist. Truth of a modest sort I can promise you, and also +sincerity. That complete, praiseworthy sincerity which, while it +delivers one into the hands of one's enemies, is as likely as not to +embroil one with one's friends. + +"Embroil" is perhaps too strong an expression. I can't imagine among +either my enemies or my friends a being so hard up for something to do +as to quarrel with me. "To disappoint one's friends" would be nearer the +mark. Most, almost all, friendships of the writing period of my life +have come to me through my books; and I know that a novelist lives in +his work. He stands there, the only reality in an invented world, among +imaginary things, happenings, and people. Writing about them, he is only +writing about himself. But the disclosure is not complete. He remains, +to a certain extent, a figure behind the veil; a suspected rather than a +seen presence--a movement and a voice behind the draperies of fiction. +In these personal notes there is no such veil. And I cannot help +thinking of a passage in the "Imitation of Christ" where the ascetic +author, who knew life so profoundly, says that "there are persons +esteemed on their reputation who by showing themselves destroy the +opinion one had of them." This is the danger incurred by an author of +fiction who sets out to talk about himself without disguise. + +While these reminiscent pages were appearing serially I was remonstrated +with for bad economy; as if such writing were a form of self-indulgence +wasting the substance of future volumes. It seems that I am not +sufficiently literary. Indeed, a man who never wrote a line for print +till he was thirty-six cannot bring himself to look upon his existence +and his experience, upon the sum of his thoughts, sensations, and +emotions, upon his memories and his regrets, and the whole possession of +his past, as only so much material for his hands. Once before, some +three years ago, when I published "The Mirror of the Sea," a volume of +impressions and memories, the same remarks were made to me. Practical +remarks. But, truth to say, I have never understood the kind of thrift +they recommend. I wanted to pay my tribute to the sea, its ships and its +men, to whom I remain indebted for so much which has gone to make me +what I am. That seemed to me the only shape in which I could offer it to +their shades. There could not be a question in my mind of anything else. +It is quite possible that I am a bad economist; but it is certain that +I am incorrigible. + +Having matured in the surroundings and under the special conditions of +sea life, I have a special piety towards that form of my past; for its +impressions were vivid, its appeal direct, its demands such as could be +responded to with the natural elation of youth and strength equal to the +call. There was nothing in them to perplex a young conscience. Having +broken away from my origins under a storm of blame from every quarter +which had the merest shadow of right to voice an opinion, removed by +great distances from such natural affections as were still left to me, +and even estranged, in a measure, from them by the totally +unintelligible character of the life which had seduced me so +mysteriously from my allegiance, I may safely say that through the blind +force of circumstances the sea was to be all my world and the merchant +service my only home for a long succession of years. No wonder, then, +that in my two exclusively sea books--"The Nigger of the _Narcissus_," +and "The Mirror of the Sea" (and in the few short sea stories like +"Youth" and "Typhoon")--I have tried with an almost filial regard to +render the vibration of life in the great world of waters, in the hearts +of the simple men who have for ages traversed its solitudes, and also +that something sentient which seems to dwell in ships--the creatures of +their hands and the objects of their care. + +One's literary life must turn frequently for sustenance to memories and +seek discourse with the shades, unless one has made up one's mind to +write only in order to reprove mankind for what it is, or praise it for +what it is not, or--generally--to teach it how to behave. Being neither +quarrelsome, nor a flatterer, nor a sage, I have done none of these +things, and I am prepared to put up serenely with the insignificance +which attaches to persons who are not meddlesome in some way or other. +But resignation is not indifference. I would not like to be left +standing as a mere spectator on the bank of the great stream carrying +onward so many lives. I would fain claim for myself the faculty of so +much insight as can be expressed in a voice of sympathy and compassion. + +It seems to me that in one, at least, authoritative quarter of criticism +I am suspected of a certain unemotional, grim acceptance of facts--of +what the French would call _secheresse du c[oe]ur_. Fifteen years of +unbroken silence before praise or blame testify sufficiently to my +respect for criticism, that fine flower of personal expression in the +garden of letters. But this is more of a personal matter, reaching the +man behind the work, and therefore it may be alluded to in a volume +which is a personal note in the margin of the public page. Not that I +feel hurt in the least. The charge--if it amounted to a charge at +all--was made in the most considerate terms; in a tone of regret. + +My answer is that if it be true that every novel contains an element of +autobiography--and this can hardly be denied, since the creator can only +express himself in his creation--then there are some of us to whom an +open display of sentiment is repugnant. I would not unduly praise the +virtue of restraint. It is often merely temperamental. But it is not +always a sign of coldness. It may be pride. There can be nothing more +humiliating than to see the shaft of one's emotion miss the mark of +either laughter or tears. Nothing more humiliating! And this for the +reason that should the mark be missed, should the open display of +emotion fail to move, then it must perish unavoidably in disgust or +contempt. No artist can be reproached for shrinking from a risk which +only fools run to meet and only genius dare confront with impunity. In a +task which mainly consists in laying one's soul more or less bare to the +world, a regard for decency, even at the cost of success, is but the +regard for one's own dignity which is inseparably united with the +dignity of one's work. + +And then--it is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on this +earth. The comic, when it is human, soon takes upon itself a face of +pain; and some of our griefs (some only, not all, for it is the capacity +for suffering which makes man august in the eyes of men) have their +source in weaknesses which must be recognized with smiling compassion as +the common inheritance of us all. Joy and sorrow in this world pass into +each other, mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of +life as mysterious as an overshadowed ocean, while the dazzling +brightness of supreme hopes lies far off, fascinating and still, on the +distant edge of the horizon. + +Yes! I, too, would like to hold the magic wand giving that command over +laughter and tears which is declared to be the highest achievement of +imaginative literature. Only, to be a great magician one must surrender +oneself to occult and irresponsible powers, either outside or within +one's breast. We have all heard of simple men selling their souls for +love or power to some grotesque devil. The most ordinary intelligence +can perceive without much reflection that anything of the sort is bound +to be a fool's bargain. I don't lay claim to particular wisdom because +of my dislike and distrust of such transactions. It may be my sea +training acting upon a natural disposition to keep good hold on the one +thing really mine, but the fact is that I have a positive horror of +losing even for one moving moment that full possession of myself which +is the first condition of good service. And I have carried my notion of +good service from my earlier into my later existence. I, who have never +sought in the written word anything else but a form of the Beautiful--I +have carried over that article of creed from the decks of ships to the +more circumscribed space of my desk, and by that act, I suppose, I have +become permanently imperfect in the eyes of the ineffable company of +pure esthetes. + +As in political so in literary action a man wins friends for himself +mostly by the passion of his prejudices and by the consistent narrowness +of his outlook. But I have never been able to love what was not lovable +or hate what was not hateful out of deference for some general +principle. Whether there be any courage in making this admission I know +not. After the middle turn of life's way we consider dangers and joys +with a tranquil mind. So I proceed in peace to declare that I have +always suspected in the effort to bring into play the extremities of +emotions the debasing touch of insincerity. In order to move others +deeply we must deliberately allow ourselves to be carried away beyond +the bounds of our normal sensibility--innocently enough, perhaps, and of +necessity, like an actor who raises his voice on the stage above the +pitch of natural conversation--but still we have to do that. And surely +this is no great sin. But the danger lies in the writer becoming the +victim of his own exaggeration, losing the exact notion of sincerity, +and in the end coming to despise truth itself as something too cold, too +blunt for his purpose--as, in fact, not good enough for his insistent +emotion. From laughter and tears the descent is easy to snivelling and +giggles. + +These may seem selfish considerations; but you can't, in sound morals, +condemn a man taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty. +And least of all can you condemn an artist pursuing, however humbly and +imperfectly, a creative aim. In that interior world where his thought +and his emotions go seeking for the experience of imagined adventures, +there are no policemen, no law, no pressure of circumstance or dread of +opinion to keep him within bounds. Who then is going to say Nay to his +temptations if not his conscience? + +And besides--this, remember, is the place and the moment of perfectly +open talk--I think that all ambitions are lawful except those which +climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind. All intellectual +and artistic ambitions are permissible, up to and even beyond the limit +of prudent sanity. They can hurt no one. If they are mad, then so much +the worse for the artist. Indeed, as virtue is said to be, such +ambitions are their own reward. Is it such a very mad presumption to +believe in the sovereign power of one's art, to try for other means, for +other ways of affirming this belief in the deeper appeal of one's work? +To try to go deeper is not to be insensible. An historian of hearts is +not an historian of emotions, yet he penetrates further, restrained as +he may be, since his aim is to reach the very fount of laughter and +tears. The sight of human affairs deserves admiration and pity. They are +worthy of respect, too. And he is not insensible who pays them the +undemonstrative tribute of a sigh which is not a sob, and of a smile +which is not a grin. Resignation, not mystic, not detached, but +resignation open-eyed, conscious, and informed by love, is the only one +of our feelings for which it is impossible to become a sham. + +Not that I think resignation the last word of wisdom. I am too much the +creature of my time for that. But I think that the proper wisdom is to +will what the gods will without, perhaps, being certain what their will +is--or even if they have a will of their own. And in this matter of life +and art it is not the Why that matters so much to our happiness as the +How. As the Frenchman said, "_Il y a toujours la maniere_." Very true. +Yes. There is the manner. The manner in laughter, in tears, in irony, in +indignations and enthusiasms, in judgments--and even in love. The manner +in which, as in the features and character of a human face, the inner +truth is foreshadowed for those who know how to look at their kind. + +Those who read me know my conviction that the world, the temporal world, +rests on a few very simple ideas; so simple that they must be as old as +the hills. It rests notably, among others, on the idea of Fidelity. At a +time when nothing which is not revolutionary in some way or other can +expect to attract much attention I have not been revolutionary in my +writings. The revolutionary spirit is mighty convenient in this, that it +frees one from all scruples as regards ideas. Its hard, absolute +optimism is repulsive to my mind by the menace of fanaticism and +intolerance it contains. No doubt one should smile at these things; but, +imperfect Esthete, I am no better Philosopher. All claim to special +righteousness awakens in me that scorn and danger from which a +philosophical mind should be free.... + +I fear that trying to be conversational I have only managed to be unduly +discursive. I have never been very well acquainted with the art of +conversation--that art which, I understand, is supposed to be lost now. +My young days, the days when one's habits and character are formed, have +been rather familiar with long silences. Such voices as broke into them +were anything but conversational. No. I haven't got the habit. Yet this +discursiveness is not so irrelevant to the handful of pages which +follow. They, too, have been charged with discursiveness, with disregard +of chronological order (which is in itself a crime) with +unconventionality of form (which is an impropriety). I was told severely +that the public would view with displeasure the informal character of my +recollections. "Alas!" I protested, mildly. "Could I begin with the +sacramental words, 'I was born on such a date in such a place'? The +remoteness of the locality would have robbed the statement of all +interest. I haven't lived through wonderful adventures to be related +_seriatim_. I haven't known distinguished men on whom I could pass +fatuous remarks. I haven't been mixed up with great or scandalous +affairs. This is but a bit of psychological document, and even so, I +haven't written it with a view to put forward any conclusion of my own." + +But my objector was not placated. These were good reasons for not +writing at all--not a defence of what stood written already, he said. + +I admit that almost anything, anything in the world, would serve as a +good reason for not writing at all. But since I have written them, all I +want to say in their defence is that these memories put down without any +regard for established conventions have not been thrown off without +system and purpose. They have their hope and their aim. The hope that +from the reading of these pages there may emerge at last the vision of a +personality; the man behind the books so fundamentally dissimilar as, +for instance, "Almayer's Folly" and "The Secret Agent," and yet a +coherent, justifiable personality both in its origin and in its action. +This is the hope. The immediate aim, closely associated with the hope, +is to give the record of personal memories by presenting faithfully the +feelings and sensations connected with the writing of my first book and +with my first contact with the sea. + +In the purposely mingled resonance of this double strain a friend here +and there will perhaps detect a subtle accord. + + J. C. + + + + +TWIXT LAND AND SEA + + +The only bond between these three stories is, so to speak, geographical, +for their scene, be it land, be it sea, is situated in the same region +which may be called the region of the Indian Ocean with its off-shoots +and prolongations north of the equator even as far as the Gulf of Siam. +In point of time they belong to the period immediately after the +publication of that novel with the awkward title "Under Western Eyes" +and, as far as the life of the writer is concerned, their appearance in +a volume marks a definite change in the fortunes of his fiction. For +there is no denying the fact that "Under Western Eyes" found no favour +in the public eye, whereas the novel called "Chance" which followed +"Twixt Land and Sea" was received on its first appearance by many more +readers than any other of my books. + +This volume of three tales was also well received, publicly and +privately and from a publisher's point of view. This little success was +a most timely tonic for my enfeebled bodily frame. For this may indeed +be called the book of a man's convalescence, at least as to +three-fourths of it; because the Secret Sharer, the middle story, was +written much earlier than the other two. + +For in truth the memories of "Under Western Eyes" are associated with +the memory of a severe illness which seemed to wait like a tiger in the +jungle on the turn of a path to jump on me the moment the last words of +that novel were written. The memory of an illness is very much like the +memory of a nightmare. On emerging from it in a much enfeebled state I +was inspired to direct my tottering steps towards the Indian Ocean, a +complete change of surroundings and atmosphere from the Lake of Geneva, +as nobody would deny. Begun so languidly and with such a fumbling hand +that the first twenty pages or more had to be thrown into the +waste-paper basket, A Smile of Fortune, the most purely Indian Ocean +story of the three, has ended by becoming what the reader will see. I +will only say for myself that i have been patted on the back for it by +most unexpected people, personally unknown to me, the chief of them of +course being the editor of a popular illustrated magazine who published +it serially in one mighty instalment. Who will dare say after this that +the change of air had not been an immense success? + +The origins of the middle story, The Secret Sharer, are quite other. It +was written much earlier and was published first in _Harper's Magazine_, +during the early part, I think, of 1911. Or perhaps the latter part? My +memory on that point is hazy. The basic fact of the tale I had in my +possession for a good many years. It was in truth the common possession +of the whole fleet of merchant ships trading to India, China, and +Australia: a great company the last years of which coincided with my +first years on the wider seas. The fact itself happened on board a very +distinguished member of it, _Cutty Sark_ by name and belonging to Mr. +Willis, a notable ship-owner in his day, one of the kind (they are all +underground now) who used personally to see his ships start on their +voyages to those distant shores where they showed worthily the honoured +house-flag of their owner. I am glad I was not too late to get at +least one glimpse of Mr. Willis on a very wet and gloomy morning +watching from the pier head of the New South Dock one of his clippers +starting on a China voyage--an imposing figure of a man under the +invariable white hat so well known in the Port of London, waiting till +the head of his ship had swung down-stream before giving her a dignified +wave of a big gloved hand. For all I know it may have been the _Cutty +Sark_ herself though certainly not on that fatal voyage. I do not know +the date of the occurrence on which the scheme of The Secret Sharer is +founded; it came to light and even got into newspapers about the middle +eighties, though I had heard of it before, as it were privately, among +the officers of the great wool fleet in which my first years in deep +water were served. It came to light under circumstances dramatic enough, +I think, but which have nothing to do with my story. In the more +specially maritime part of my writings this bit of presentation may take +its place as one of my two Calm-pieces. For, if there is to be any +classification by subjects, I have done two Storm-pieces in "The Nigger +of the _Narcissus_" and in "Typhoon"; and two Calm-pieces: this one and +"The Shadow-Line," a book which belongs to a later period. + +Notwithstanding their autobiographical form the above two stories are +not the record of personal experience. Their quality, such as it is, +depends on something larger if less precise: on the character, vision +and sentiment of the first twenty independent years of my life. And the +same may be said of the Freya of the Seven Isles. I was considerably +abused for writing that story on the ground of its cruelty, both in +public prints and private letters. I remember one from a man in America +who was quite furiously angry. He told me with curses and imprecations +that I had no right to write such an abominable thing which, he said, +had gratuitously and intolerably harrowed his feelings. It was a very +interesting letter to read. Impressive too. I carried it for some days +in my pocket. Had I the right? The sincerity of the anger impressed me. +Had I the right? Had I really sinned as he said or was it only that +man's madness? Yet there was a method in his fury.... I composed in my +mind a violent reply, a reply of mild argument, a reply of lofty +detachment; but they never got on paper in the end and I have forgotten +their phrasing. The very letter of the angry man has got lost somehow; +and nothing remains now but the pages of the story which I cannot recall +and would not recall if I could. + +But I am glad to think that the two women in this book: Alice, the +sullen, passive victim of her fate, and the actively individual Freya, +so determined to be the mistress of her own destiny, must have evoked +some sympathies because of all my volumes of short stories this was the +one for which there was the greatest immediate demand. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +CHANCE + + +"Chance" is one of my novels that shortly after having been begun were +laid aside for a few months. Starting impetuously like a sanguine +oarsman setting forth in the early morning I came very soon to a fork in +the stream and found it necessary to pause and reflect seriously upon +the direction I would take. Either presented to me equal fascinations, +at least on the surface, and for that very reason my hesitation extended +over many days. I floated in the calm water of pleasant speculation, +between the diverging currents or conflicting impulses, with an +agreeable but perfectly irrational conviction that neither of those +currents would take me to destruction. My sympathies being equally +divided and the two forces being equal it is perfectly obvious that +nothing but mere chance influenced my decision in the end. It is a +mighty force that of mere chance; absolutely irresistible yet +manifesting itself often in delicate forms such for instance as the +charm, true or illusory, of a human being. It is very difficult to put +one's finger on the imponderable, but I may venture to say that it is +Flora de Barral who is really responsible for this novel which relates, +in fact, the story of her life. + +At the crucial moment of my indecision Flora de Barral passed before me, +but so swiftly that I failed at first to get hold of her. Though loth to +give her up I didn't see the way of pursuit clearly and was on the point +of becoming discouraged when my natural liking for Captain Anthony came +to my assistance. I said to myself that if that man was so determined to +embrace a "wisp of mist" the best thing for me was to join him in that +eminently practical and praiseworthy adventure. I simply followed +Captain Anthony. Each of us was bent on capturing his own dream. The +reader will be able to judge of our success. + +Captain Anthony's determination led him a long and roundabout course and +that is why this book is a long book. That the course was of my own +choosing I will not deny. A critic had remarked that if I had selected +another method of composition and taken a little more trouble the tale +could have been told in about two hundred pages. I confess I do not +perceive exactly the bearings of such criticism or even the use of such +a remark. No doubt that by selecting a certain method and taking great +pains the whole story might have been written out on a cigarette paper. +For that matter, the whole history of mankind could be written thus if +only approached with sufficient detachment. The history of men on this +earth since the beginning of ages may be resumed in one phrase of +infinite poignancy: They were born, they suffered, they died.... Yet it +is a great tale! But in the infinitely minute stories about men and +women it is my lot on earth to narrate I am not capable of such +detachment. + +What makes this book memorable to me apart from the natural sentiment +one has for one's creation is the response it provoked. The general +public responded largely, more largely perhaps than to any other book of +mine, in the only way the general public can respond, that is by buying +a certain number of copies. This gave me a considerable amount of +pleasure, because what I always feared most was drifting unconsciously +into the position of a writer for a limited coterie; a position which +would have been odious to me as throwing a doubt on the soundness of my +belief in the solidarity of all mankind in simple ideas and in sincere +emotions. Regarded as a manifestation of criticism (for it would be +outrageous to deny to the general public the possession of a critical +mind) the reception was very satisfactory. I saw that I had managed to +please a certain number of minds busy attending to their own very real +affairs. It is agreeable to think one is able to please. From the minds +whose business it is precisely to criticize such attempts to please, +this book received an amount of discussion and of a rather searching +analysis which not only satisfied that personal vanity I share with the +rest of mankind but reached my deeper feelings and aroused my gratified +interest. The undoubted sympathy informing the varied appreciations of +that book was, I love to think, a recognition of my good faith in the +pursuit of my art--the art of the novelist which a distinguished French +writer at the end of a successful career complained of as being: _Trop +difficile!_ It is indeed too arduous in the sense that the effort must +be invariably so much greater than the possible achievement. In that +sort of foredoomed task which is in its nature very lonely also, +sympathy is a precious thing. It can make the most severe criticism +welcome. To be told that better things have been expected of one may be +soothing in view of how much better things one had expected from oneself +in this art which, in these days, is no longer justified by the +assumption, somewhere and somehow, of a didactic purpose. + +I do not mean to hint that anybody had ever done me the injury (I don't +mean insult, I mean injury) of charging a single one of my pages with +didactic purpose. But every subject in the region of intellect and +emotion must have a morality of its own if it is treated at all +sincerely; and even the most artful of writers will give himself (and +his morality) away in about every third sentence. The varied shades of +moral significance which have been discovered in my writings are very +numerous. None of them, however, have provoked a hostile manifestation. +It may have happened to me to sin against taste now and then, but +apparently I have never sinned against the basic feelings and elementary +convictions which make life possible to the mass of mankind and, by +establishing a standard of judgment, set their idealism free to look for +plainer ways, for higher feelings, for deeper purposes. + +I cannot say that any particular moral complexion has been put on this +novel but I do not think that anybody had detected in it an evil +intention. And it is only for their intentions that men can be held +responsible. The ultimate effects of whatever they do are far beyond +their control. In doing this book my intention was to interest people in +my vision of things which is indissolubly allied to the style in which +it is expressed. In other words I wanted to write a certain amount of +pages in prose, which, strictly speaking, is my proper business. I have +attended to it conscientiously with the hope of being entertaining or at +least not insufferably boring to my readers. I can not sufficiently +insist upon the truth that when I sit down to write my intentions are +always blameless however deplorable the ultimate effect of the act may +turn out to be. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +WITHIN THE TIDES + + +The tales collected in this book have elicited on their appearance two +utterances in the shape of comment and one distinctly critical charge. A +reviewer observed that I liked to write of men who go to sea or live on +lonely islands untrammeled by the pressure of worldly circumstances +because such characters allowed freer play to my imagination which in +their case was only bounded by natural laws and the universal human +conventions. There is a certain truth in this remark no doubt. It is +only the suggestion of deliberate choice that misses its mark. I have +not sought for special imaginative freedom or a larger play of fancy in +my choice of characters and subjects. The nature of the knowledge, +suggestions or hints used in my imaginative work has depended directly +on the conditions of my active life. It depended more on contacts, and +very slight contacts at that, than on actual experience; because my life +as a matter of fact was far from being adventurous in itself. Even now +when I look back on it with a certain regret (who would not regret his +youth?) and positive affection, its colouring wears the sober hue of +hard work and exacting calls of duty, things which in themselves are not +much charged with a feeling of romance. If these things appeal strongly +to me even in retrospect it is, I suppose, because the romantic feeling +of reality was in me an inborn faculty, that in itself may be a curse +but when disciplined by a sense of personal responsibility and a +recognition of the hard facts of existence shared with the rest of +mankind becomes but a point of view from which the very shadows of life +appear endowed with an internal glow. And such romanticism is not a sin. +It is none the worse for the knowledge of truth. It only tries to make +the best of it, hard as it may be; and in this hardness discovers a +certain aspect of beauty. + +I am speaking here of romanticism in relation to life, not of +romanticism in relation to imaginative literature, which, in its early +days, was associated simply with mediaeval subjects, or, at any rate, +with subjects sought for in a remote past. My subjects are not mediaeval +and I have a natural right to them because my past is very much my own. +If their course lie out of the beaten path of organized social life, it +is, perhaps, because I myself did in a sort break away from it early in +obedience to an impulse which must have been very genuine since it has +sustained me through all the dangers of disillusion. But that origin of +my literary work was very far from giving a larger scope to my +imagination. On the contrary, the mere fact of dealing with matters +outside the general run of everyday experience laid me under the +obligation of a more scrupulous fidelity to the truth of my own +sensations. The problem was to make unfamiliar things credible. To do +that I had to create for them, to reproduce for them, to envelop them in +their proper atmosphere of actuality. This was the hardest task of all +and the most important, in view of that conscientious rendering of truth +in thought and fact which has been always my aim. + +The other utterance of the two I have alluded to above consisted in the +observation that in this volume of mine the whole was greater than its +parts. I pass it on to my readers merely remarking that if this is +really so then I must take it as a tribute to my personality since those +stories which by implication seem to hold so well together as to be +surveyed en bloc and judged as the product of a single mood, were +written at different times, under various influences and with the +deliberate intention of trying several ways of telling a tale. The hints +and suggestions for all of them had been received at various times and +in distant parts of the globe. The book received a good deal of varied +criticism, mainly quite justifiable, but in a couple of instances quite +surprising in its objections. Amongst them was the critical charge of +false realism brought against the opening story: The Planter of Malata. +I would have regarded it as serious enough if I had not discovered on +reading further that the distinguished critic was accusing me simply of +having sought to evade a happy ending out of a sort of moral cowardice, +lest I should be condemned as a superficially sentimental person. Where +(and of what sort) there are to be found in The Planter of Malata any +germs of happiness that could have fructified at the end I am at a loss +to see. Such criticism seems to miss the whole purpose and significance +of a piece of writing the primary intention of which was mainly +aesthetic; an essay in description and narrative around a given +psychological situation. Of more seriousness was the spoken criticism of +an old and valued friend who thought that in the scene near the rock, +which from the point of view of psychology is crucial, neither Felicia +Moorsom nor Geoffrey Renouard find the right things to say to each +other. I didn't argue the point at the time, for, to be candid, I didn't +feel quite satisfied with the scene myself. On re-reading it lately for +the purpose of this edition I have come to the conclusion that there is +that much truth in my friend's criticism that I have made those people a +little too explicit in their emotion and thus have destroyed to a +certain extent the characteristic illusory glamour of their +personalities. I regret this defect very much for I regard The Planter +of Malata as a nearly successful attempt at doing a very difficult thing +which I would have liked to have made as perfect as it lay in my power. +Yet considering the pitch and the tonality of the whole tale it is very +difficult to imagine what else those two people could have found to say +at that time and on that particular spot of the earth's surface. In the +mood in which they both were, and given the exceptional state of their +feelings, anything might have been said. + +The eminent critic who charged me with false realism, the outcome of +timidity, was quite wrong. I should like to ask him what he imagines +the, so to speak, lifelong embrace of Felicia Moorsom and Geoffrey +Renouard could have been like? Could it have been at all? Would it have +been credible? No! I did not shirk anything, either from timidity or +laziness. Perhaps a little mistrust of my own powers would not have been +altogether out of place in this connection. But it failed me; and I +resemble Geoffrey Renouard in so far that when once engaged in an +adventure I cannot bear the idea of turning back. The moment had +arrived for these people to disclose themselves. They had to do it. To +render a crucial point of feelings in terms of human speech is really an +impossible task. Written words can only form a sort of translation. And +if that translation happens, from want of skill or from over-anxiety, to +be too literal, the people caught in the toils of passion, instead of +disclosing themselves, which would be art, are made to give themselves +away, which is neither art nor life. Nor yet truth! At any rate not the +whole truth; for it is truth robbed of all its necessary and sympathetic +reservations and qualifications which give it its fair form, its just +proportions, its semblance of human fellowship. + +Indeed the task of the translator of passions into speech may be +pronounced "too difficult." However, with my customary impenitence I am +glad I have attempted the story with all its implications and +difficulties, including the scene by the side of the gray rock crowning +the height of Malata. But I am not so inordinately pleased with the +result as not to be able to forgive a patient reader who may find it +somewhat disappointing. + +I have left myself no space to talk about the other three stories +because I do not think that they call for detailed comment. Each of them +has its special mood and I have tried purposely to give each its special +tone and a different construction of phrase. A reviewer asked in +reference to the Inn of the Two Witches whether I ever came across a +tale called A Very Strange Bed published in _Household Words_ in 1852 or +54. I never saw a number of _Household Words_ of that decade. A bed of +the sort was discovered in an inn on the road between Rome and Naples at +the end of the 18th century. Where I picked up the information I cannot +say now but I am certain it was not in a tale. This bed is the only +"fact" of the Witches' Inn. The other two stories have considerably more +"fact" in them, derived from my own personal knowledge. + + J. C. + + 1920 + + + + +NOTE TO THE FIRST EDITION + + +The last word of this novel was written on the 29th of May, 1914. And +that last word was the single word of the title. + +Those were the times of peace. Now that the moment of publication +approaches I have been considering the discretion of altering the title +page. The word Victory, the shining and tragic goal of noble effort, +appeared too great, too august, to stand at the head of a mere novel. +There was also the possibility of falling under the suspicion of +commercial astuteness deceiving the public into the belief that the book +had something to do with war. + +Of that, however, I was not afraid very much. What influenced my +decision most were the obscure promptings of that pagan residuum of awe +and wonder which lurks still at the bottom of our old humanity. Victory +was the last word I had written in peace time. It was the last literary +thought which had occurred to me before the doors of the Temple of Janus +flying open with a crash shook the minds, the hearts, the consciences of +men all over the world. Such coincidence could not be treated lightly. +And I made up my mind to let the word stand, in the same hopeful spirit +in which some simple citizen of Old Rome would have "accepted the Omen." + +The second point on which I wish to offer a remark is the existence (in +the novel) of a person named Schomberg. + +That I believe him to be true goes without saying. I am not likely to +offer pinchbeck wares to my public consciously. Schomberg is an old +member of my company. A very subordinate personage in Lord Jim as far +back as the year 1899, he became notably active in a certain short story +of mine published in 1902. Here he appears in a still larger part, true +to life (I hope), but also true to himself. Only, in this instance, his +deeper passions come into play, and thus his grotesque psychology is +completed at last. + +I don't pretend to say that this is the entire Teutonic psychology; but +it is indubitably the psychology of a Teuton. My object in mentioning +him here is to bring out the fact that, far from being the incarnation +of recent animosities, he is the creature of my old, deep-seated and, as +it were, impartial conviction. + + J. C. + + + + +VICTORY + + +On approaching the task of writing this Note for "Victory" the first +thing I am conscious of is the actual nearness of the book, its +nearness to me personally, to the vanished mood in which it was written +and to the mixed feelings aroused by the critical notices the book +obtained when first published almost exactly a year after the beginning +of the great war. The writing of it was finished in 1914 long before the +murder of an Austrian Archduke sounded the first note of warning for a +world already full of doubts and fears. + +The contemporaneous very short Author's Note which is preserved in this +edition bears sufficient witness to the feelings with which I consented +to the publication of the book. The fact of the book having been +published in the United States early in the year made it difficult to +delay its appearance in England any longer. It came out in the +thirteenth month of the war, and my conscience was troubled by the awful +incongruity of throwing this bit of imagined drama into the welter of +reality, tragic enough in all conscience but even more cruel than tragic +and more inspiring than cruel. It seemed awfully presumptuous to think +there would be eyes to spare for those pages in a community which in the +crash of the big guns and in the din of brave words expressing the +truth of an indomitable faith could not but feel the edge of a sharp +knife at its throat. + +The unchanging Man of history is wonderfully adaptable both by his power +of endurance and in his capacity for detachment. The fact seems to be +that the play of his destiny is too great for his fears and too +mysterious for his understanding. Were the trump of the Last Judgment to +sound suddenly on a working day the musician at his piano would go on +with his performance of Beethoven's Sonata and the cobbler at his stall +stick to his last in undisturbed confidence in the virtues of the +leather. And with perfect propriety. For what are we to let ourselves be +disturbed by an angel's vengeful music too mighty for our ears and too +awful for our terrors? Thus it happens to us to be struck suddenly by +the lightning of wrath. The reader will go on reading if the book +pleases him and the critic will go on criticizing with that faculty of +detachment born perhaps from a sense of infinite littleness and which is +yet the only faculty that seems to assimilate man to the immortal gods. + +It is only when the catastrophe matches the natural obscurity of our +fate that even the best representative of the race is liable to lose his +detachment. It is very obvious that on the arrival of the gentlemanly +Mr. Jones, the single-minded Ricardo and the faithful Pedro, Heyst, the +man of universal detachment, loses his mental self-possession, that fine +attitude before the universally irremediable which wears the name of +stoicism. It is all a matter of proportion. There should have been a +remedy for that sort of thing. And yet there is no remedy. Behind this +minute instance of life's hazards Heyst sees the power of blind destiny. +Besides, Heyst in his fine detachment had lost the habit of asserting +himself. I don't mean the courage of self-assertion, either moral or +physical, but the mere way of it, the trick of the thing, the readiness +of mind and the turn of the hand that come without reflection and lead +the man to excellence in life, in art, in crime, in virtue and for the +matter of that, even in love. Thinking is the great enemy of perfection. +The habit of profound reflection, I am compelled to say, is the most +pernicious of all the habits formed by the civilized man. + +But I wouldn't be suspected even remotely of making fun of Axel Heyst. +I have always liked him. The flesh and blood individual who stands +behind the infinitely more familiar figure of the book I remember as a +mysterious Swede right enough. Whether he was a baron, too, I am not so +certain. He himself never laid a claim to that distinction. His +detachment was too great to make any claims big or small on one's +credulity. I will not say where I met him because I fear to give my +readers a wrong impression, since a marked incongruity between a man and +his surroundings is often a very misleading circumstance. We became very +friendly for a time and I would not like to expose him to unpleasant +suspicions though, personally, I am sure he would have been indifferent +to suspicions as he was indifferent to all the other disadvantages of +life. He was not the whole Heyst of course; he is only the physical and +moral foundation of my Heyst laid on the ground of a short acquaintance. +That it was short is certainly not my fault for he had charmed me by the +mere amenity of his detachment which, in this case, I cannot help +thinking he had carried to excess. He went away from his rooms without +leaving a trace. I wondered where he had gone to--but now I know. He +vanished from my ken only to drift into this adventure that, +unavoidable, waited for him in a world which he persisted in looking +upon as a malevolent shadow spinning in the sunlight. Often in the +course of years an expressed sentiment, the particular sense of a phrase +heard casually, would recall him to my mind so that I have fastened on +to him many words heard on other men's lips and belonging to other men's +less perfect, less pathetic moods. + +The same observation will apply _mutatis mutandis_ to Mr. Jones, who is +built on a much slenderer connection. Mr. Jones (or whatever his name +was) did not drift away from me. He turned his back on me and walked out +of the room. It was in a little hotel in the Island of St. Thomas in the +West Indies (in the year '75) where we found him one hot afternoon +extended on three chairs, all alone in the loud buzzing of flies to +which his immobility and his cadaverous aspect gave an almost gruesome +significance. Our invasion must have displeased him because he got off +the chairs brusquely and walked out leaving with me an indelibly weird +impression of his thin shanks. One of the men with me said that the +fellow was the most desperate gambler he had ever come across. I said: +"A professional sharper?" and got for answer: "He's a terror; but I must +say that up to a certain point he will play fair...." I wonder what the +point was. I never saw him again because I believe he went straight on +board a mail-boat which left within the hour for other ports of call in +the direction of Aspinall. Mr. Jones' characteristic insolence belongs +to another man of a quite different type. I will say nothing as to the +origins of his mentality because I don't intend to make any damaging +admissions. + +It so happened that the very same year Ricardo--the physical +Ricardo--was a fellow passenger of mine on board an extremely small and +extremely dirty little schooner, during a four days' passage between two +places in the Gulf of Mexico whose names don't matter. For the most part +he lay on deck aft as it were at my feet, and raising himself from time +to time on his elbow would talk about himself and go on talking, not +exactly to me or even at me (he would not even look up but kept his eyes +fixed on the deck) but more as if communing in a low voice with his +familiar devil. Now and then he would give me a glance and make the +hairs of his stiff little moustache stir quaintly. His eyes were green +and every cat I see to this day reminds me of the exact contour of his +face. What he was travelling for or what was his business in life he +never confided to me. Truth to say the only passenger on board that +schooner who could have talked openly about his activities and purposes +was a very snuffy and conversationally delightful friar, the Superior of +a convent, attended by a very young lay brother, of a particularly +ferocious countenance. We had with us also, lying prostrate in the dark +and unspeakable cuddy of that schooner, an old Spanish gentleman, owner +of much luggage and, as Ricardo assured me, very ill indeed. Ricardo +seemed to be either a servant or the confidant of that aged and +distinguished-looking invalid, who early on the passage held a long +murmured conversation with the friar, and after that did nothing but +groan feebly, smoke cigarettes and now and then call for Martin in a +voice full of pain. Then he who had become Ricardo in the book would go +below into that beastly and noisome hole, remain there mysteriously, +and coming up on deck again with a face on which nothing could be read, +would as likely as not resume for my edification the exposition of his +moral attitude toward life illustrated by striking particular instances +of the most atrocious complexion. Did he mean to frighten me? Or seduce +me? Or astonish me? Or arouse my admiration? All he did was to arouse my +amused incredulity. As scoundrels go he was far from being a bore. For +the rest my innocence was so great then that I could not take his +philosophy seriously. All the time he kept one ear turned to the cuddy +in the manner of a devoted servant, but I had the idea that in some way +or other he had imposed the connection on the invalid for some end of +his own. The reader therefore won't be surprised to hear that one +morning I was told without any particular emotion by the padrone of the +schooner that the "Rich man" down there was dead: He had died in the +night. I don't remember ever being so moved by the desolate end of a +complete stranger. I looked down the skylight, and there was the devoted +Martin busy cording cowhide trunks belonging to the deceased whose +white beard and hooked nose were the only parts I could make out in the +dark depths of a horrible stuffy bunk. + +As it fell calm in the course of the afternoon and continued calm during +all that night and the terrible, flaming day, the late Rich man had to +be thrown overboard at sunset, though as a matter of fact we were in +sight of the low pestilential mangrove-lined coast of our destination. +The excellent Father Superior mentioned to me with an air of immense +commiseration: "The poor man has left a young daughter." Who was to look +after her I don't know, but I saw the devoted Martin taking the trunks +ashore with great care just before I landed myself. I would perhaps have +tracked the ways of that man of immense sincerity for a little while but +I had some of my own very pressing business to attend to, which in the +end got mixed up with an earthquake and so I had no time to give to +Ricardo. The reader need not be told that I have not forgotten him, +though. + +My contact with the faithful Pedro was much shorter and my observation +of him was less complete but incomparably more anxious. It ended in a +sudden inspiration to get out of his way. It was in a hovel of sticks +and mats by the side of a path. As I went in there only to ask for a +bottle of lemonade I have not to this day the slightest idea what in my +appearance or actions could have roused his terrible ire. It became +manifest to me less than two minutes after I had set eyes on him for the +first time, and though immensely surprised of course I didn't stop to +think it out. I took the nearest short cut--through the wall. This +bestial apparition and a certain enormous buck nigger encountered in +Haiti only a couple of months afterwards have fixed my conception of +blind, furious, unreasoning rage, as manifested in the human animal, to +the end of my days. Of the nigger I used to dream for years afterwards. +Of Pedro never. The impression was less vivid. I got away from him too +quickly. + +It seems to me but natural that those three buried in a corner of my +memory should suddenly get out into the light of the world--so natural +that I offer no excuse for their existence. They were there, they had to +come out; and this is a sufficient excuse for a writer of tales who had +taken to his trade without preparation or premeditation and without any +moral intention but that which pervades the whole scheme of this world +of senses. + +Since this Note is mostly concerned with personal contacts and the +origins of the persons in the tale, I am bound also to speak of Lena, +because if I were to leave her out it would look like a slight; and +nothing would be further from my thoughts than putting a slight on Lena. +If of all the personages involved in the "mystery of Samburan" I have +lived longest with Heyst (or with him I call Heyst) it was at her, whom +I call Lena, that I have looked the longest and with a most sustained +attention. This attention originated in idleness for which I have a +natural talent. One evening I wandered into a cafe, in a town not of the +tropics but of the South of France. It was filled with tobacco smoke, +the hum of voices, the rattling of dominoes and the sounds of strident +music. The orchestra was rather smaller than the one that performed at +Schomberg's hotel, had the air more of a family party than of an +enlisted band, and, I must confess, seemed rather more respectable than +the Zangiacomo musical enterprise. It was less pretentious also, more +homely and familiar, so to speak, insomuch that in the intervals when +all the performers left the platform one of them went amongst the marble +tables collecting offerings of sous and francs in a battered tin +receptacle recalling the shape of a sauceboat. It was a girl. Her +detachment from her task seems to me now to have equalled or even +surpassed Heyst's aloofness from all the mental degradations to which a +man's intelligence is exposed in its way through life. Silent and +wide-eyed she went from table to table with the air of a sleep-walker +and with no other sound but the slight rattle of the coins to attract +attention. It was long after the sea-chapter of my life had been closed +but it is difficult to discard completely the characteristics of half a +life-time, and it was in something of the jack-ashore spirit that I +dropped a five-franc piece into the sauceboat; whereupon the +sleep-walker turned her head to gaze at me and said "Merci, Monsieur," +in a tone in which there was no gratitude but only surprise. I must have +been idle indeed to take the trouble to remark on such slight evidence +that the voice was very charming and when the performers resumed their +seats I shifted my position slightly in order not to have that +particular performer hidden from me by the little man with the beard who +conducted, and who might for all I know have been her father, but whose +real mission in life was to be a model for the Zangiacomo of "Victory." +Having got a clear line of sight I naturally (being idle) continued to +look at the girl through all the second part of the programme. The shape +of her dark head inclined over the violin was fascinating, and, while +resting between the pieces of that interminable programme she was, in +her white dress and with her brown hands reposing in her lap, the very +image of dreamy innocence. The mature, bad-tempered woman at the piano +might have been her mother, though there was not the slightest +resemblance between them. All I am certain of in their personal relation +to each other is that cruel pinch on the upper part of the arm. That I +am sure I have seen! There could be no mistake. I was in a too idle mood +to imagine such a gratuitous barbarity. It may have been playfulness, +yet the girl jumped up as if she had been stung by a wasp. It may have +been playfulness. Yet I saw plainly poor "dreamy innocence" rub gently +the affected place as she filed off with the other performers down the +middle aisle between the marble tables in the uproar of voices, the +rattling of dominoes, through a blue atmosphere of tobacco smoke. I +believe that those people left the town next day. + +Or perhaps they had only migrated to the other big cafe, on the other +side of the Place de la Comedie. It is very possible. I did not go +across to find out. It was my perfect idleness that had invested the +girl with a peculiar charm, and I did not want to destroy it by any +superfluous exertion. The receptivity of my indolence made the +impression so permanent that when the moment came for her meeting with +Heyst I felt that she would be heroically equal to every demand of the +risky and uncertain future. I was so convinced of it that I let her go +with Heyst, I won't say without a pang but certainly without misgivings. +And in view of her triumphant end what more could I have done for her +rehabilitation and her happiness? + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +THE SHADOW-LINE + + +This story, which I admit to be in its brevity a fairly complex piece of +work, was not intended to touch on the supernatural. Yet more than one +critic has been inclined to take it in that way, seeing in it an attempt +on my part to give the fullest scope to my imagination by taking it +beyond the confines of the world of the living, suffering humanity. But +as a matter of fact my imagination is not made of stuff so elastic as +all that. I believe that if I attempted to put the strain of the +Supernatural on it it would fail deplorably and exhibit an unlovely gap. +But I could never have attempted such a thing, because all my moral and +intellectual being is penetrated by an invincible conviction that +whatever falls under the dominion of our senses must be in nature and, +however exceptional, cannot differ in its essence from all the other +effects of the visible and tangible world of which we are a +self-conscious part. The world of the living contains enough marvels and +mysteries as it is; marvels and mysteries acting upon our emotions and +intelligence in ways so inexplicable that it would almost justify the +conception of life as an enchanted state. No, I am too firm in my +consciousness of the marvellous to be ever fascinated by the mere +supernatural, which (take it any way you like) is but a manufactured +article, the fabrication of minds insensitive to the intimate delicacies +of our relation to the dead and to the living, in their countless +multitudes; a desecration of our tenderest memories; an outrage on our +dignity. + +Whatever my native modesty may be it will never condescend so low as to +seek help for my imagination within those vain imaginings common to all +ages and that in themselves are enough to fill all lovers of mankind +with unutterable sadness. As to the effect of a mental or moral shock on +a common mind that is quite a legitimate subject for study and +description. Mr. Burns' moral being receives a severe shock in his +relations with his late captain, and this in his diseased state turns +into a mere superstitious fancy compounded of fear and animosity. This +fact is one of the elements of the story, but there is nothing +supernatural in it, nothing so to speak from beyond the confines of this +world, which in all conscience holds enough mystery and terror in +itself. + +Perhaps if I had published this tale, which I have had for a long time +in my mind, under the title of First Command, no suggestion of the +Supernatural would have been found in it by any impartial reader, +critical or otherwise. I will not consider here the origins of the +feeling in which its actual title, The Shadow-Line, occurred to my mind. +Primarily the aim of this piece of writing was the presentation of +certain facts which certainly were associated with the change from +youth, carefree and fervent, to the more self-conscious and more +poignant period of maturer life. Nobody can doubt that before the +supreme trial of a whole generation I had an acute consciousness of the +minute and insignificant character of my own obscure experience. There +could be no question here of any parallelism. That notion never entered +my head. But there was a feeling of identity, though with an enormous +difference of scale--as of one single drop measured against the bitter +and stormy immensity of an ocean. And this was very natural too. For +when we begin to meditate on the meaning of our own past it seems to +fill all the world in its profundity and its magnitude. This book was +written in the last three months of the year 1916. Of all the subjects +of which a writer of tales is more or less conscious within himself this +is the only one I found it possible to attempt at the time. The depth +and the nature of the mood with which I approached it is best expressed +perhaps in the dedication which strikes me now as a most +disproportionate thing--as another instance of the overwhelming +greatness of our own emotion to ourselves. + +This much having been said I may pass on now to a few remarks about the +mere material of the story. As to locality it belongs to that part of +the Eastern Seas from which I have carried away into my writing life the +greatest number of suggestions. From my statement that I thought of this +story for a long time under the title of First Command the reader may +guess that it is concerned with my personal experience. And as a matter +of fact it _is_ personal experience seen in perspective with the eye of +the mind and coloured by that affection one can't help feeling for such +events of one's life as one has no reason to be ashamed of. And that +affection is as intense (I appeal here to universal experience) as the +shame, and almost the anguish with which one remembers some unfortunate +occurrences, down to mere mistakes in speech, that have been perpetrated +by one in the past. The effect of perspective in memory is to make +things loom large because the essentials stand out isolated from their +surroundings of insignificant daily facts which have naturally faded out +of one's mind. I remember that period of my sea-life with pleasure +because begun inauspiciously it turned out in the end a success from a +personal point of view, leaving a tangible proof in the terms of the +letter the owners of the ship wrote to me two years afterwards when I +resigned my command in order to come home. This resignation marked the +beginning of another phase of my seaman's life, its terminal phase, if I +may say so, which in its own way has coloured another portion of my +writings. I didn't know then how near its end my sea-life was, and +therefore I felt no sorrow except at parting with the ship. I was sorry +also to break my connection with the firm which owned her and who were +pleased to receive with friendly kindness and give their confidence to a +man who had entered their service in an accidental manner and in very +adverse circumstances. Without disparaging the earnestness of my purpose +I suspect now that luck had no small part in the success of the trust +reposed in me. And one cannot help remembering with pleasure the time +when one's best efforts were seconded by a run of luck. + +The words "_Worthy of my undying regard_" selected by me for the motto +on the title page are quoted from the text of the book itself; and, +though one of my critics surmised that they applied to the ship, it is +evident from the place where they stand that they refer to the men of +that ship's company: complete strangers to their new captain and yet who +stood by him so well during those twenty days that seemed to have been +passed on the brink of a slow and agonizing destruction. And _that_ is +the greatest memory of all! For surely it is a great thing to have +commanded a handful of men worthy of one's undying regard. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +ARROW OF GOLD + +FIRST NOTE + + +The pages which follow have been extracted from a pile of manuscript +which was apparently meant for the eye of one woman only. She seems to +have been the writer's childhood friend. They had parted as children, or +very little more than children. Years passed. Then something recalled to +the woman the companion of her young days and she wrote to him: "I have +been hearing of you lately. I know where life has brought you. You +certainly selected your own road. But to us, left behind, it always +looked as if you had struck out into a pathless desert. We always +regarded you as a person that must be given up for lost. But you have +turned up again; and though we may never see each other, my memory +welcomes you and I confess to you I should like to know the incidents on +the road which has led you to where you are now." + +And he answers her: "I believe you are the only one now alive who +remembers me as a child. I have heard of you from time to time, but I +wonder what sort of person you are now. Perhaps if I did know I wouldn't +dare put pen to paper. But I don't know. I only remember that we were +great chums. In fact, I chummed with you even more than with your +brothers. But I am like the pigeon that went away in the fable of the +Two Pigeons. If I once start to tell you I would want you to feel that +you have been there yourself. I may overtax your patience with the story +of my life so different from yours, not only in all the facts but +altogether in spirit. You may not understand. You may even be shocked. I +say all this to myself; but I know I shall succumb! I have a distinct +recollection that in the old days, when you were about fifteen, you +always could make me do whatever you liked." + +He succumbed. He begins his story for her with the minute narration of +this adventure which took about twelve months to develop. In the form in +which it is presented here it has been pruned of all allusions to their +common past, of all asides, disquisitions, and explanations addressed +directly to the friend of his childhood. And even as it is the whole +thing is of considerable length. It seems that he had not only a memory +but that he also knew how to remember. But as to that opinions may +differ. + +This, his first great adventure, as he calls it, begins in Marseilles. +It ends there, too. Yet it might have happened anywhere. This does not +mean that the people concerned could have come together in pure space. +The locality had a definite importance. As to the time, it is easily +fixed by the events at about the middle years of the seventies, when Don +Carlos de Bourbon, encouraged by the general reaction of all Europe +against the excesses of communistic Republicanism, made his attempt for +the throne of Spain, arms in hand, amongst the hills and gorges of +Guipuzcoa. It is perhaps the last instance of a Pretender's adventure +for a Crown that History will have to record with the usual grave moral +disapproval tinged by a shamefaced regret for the departing romance. +Historians are very much like other people. + +However, History has nothing to do with this tale. Neither is the moral +justification or condemnation of conduct aimed at here. If anything it +is perhaps a little sympathy that the writer expects for his buried +youth, as he lives it over again at the end of his insignificant course +on this earth. Strange person--yet perhaps not so very different from +ourselves. + +A few words as to certain facts may be added. + +It may seem that he was plunged very abruptly into this long adventure. +But from certain passages (suppressed here because mixed up with +irrelevant matter) it appears clearly that at the time of the meeting in +the cafe, Mills had already gathered, in various quarters, a definite +view of the eager youth who had been introduced to him in that +ultra-legitimist salon. What Mills had learned represented him as a +young gentleman who had arrived furnished with proper credentials and +who apparently was doing his best to waste his life in an eccentric +fashion, with a bohemian set (one poet, at least, emerged out of it +later) on one side, and on the other making friends with the people of +the Old Town, pilots, coasters, sailors, workers of all sorts. He +pretended rather absurdly to be a seaman himself and was already +credited with an ill-defined and vaguely illegal enterprise in the Gulf +of Mexico. At once it occurred to Mills that this eccentric youngster +was the very person for what the legitimist sympathizers had very much +at heart just then; to organize a supply by sea of arms and ammunition +to the Carlist detachments in the South. It was precisely to confer on +that matter with Dona Rita that Captain Blunt had been despatched from +Headquarters. + +Mills got in touch with Blunt at once and put the suggestion before him. +The Captain thought this the very thing. As a matter of fact, on that +evening of Carnival, those two, Mills and Blunt, had been actually +looking everywhere for our man. They had decided that he should be drawn +into the affair if it could be done. Blunt naturally wanted to see him +first. He must have estimated him a promising person, but, from another +point of view, not dangerous. Thus lightly was the notorious (and at the +same time mysterious) Monsieur George brought into the world; out of the +contact of two minds which did not give a single thought to his flesh +and blood. + +This purpose explains the intimate tone given to their first +conversation and the sudden introduction of Dona Rita's history. Mills, +of course, wanted to hear all about it. As to Captain Blunt I suspect +that, at the time, he was thinking of nothing else. In addition it was +Dona Rita who would have to do the persuading; for, after all, such an +enterprise with its ugly and desperate risks was not a trifle to put +before a man--however young. + +It cannot be denied that Mills seems to have acted somewhat +unscrupulously. He himself appears to have had some doubt about it, at a +given moment, as they were driving to the Prado. But perhaps Mills, with +his penetration, understood very well the nature he was dealing with. He +might even have envied it. But it's not my business to excuse Mills. As +to him whom we may regard as Mills' victim it is obvious that he has +never harboured a single reproachful thought. For him Mills is not to be +criticized. A remarkable instance of the great power of mere +individuality over the young. + + * * * * * + +Having named all the short prefaces written for my books, Author's +Notes, this one too must have the same heading for the sake of +uniformity if at the risk of some confusion. "The Arrow of Gold," as its +sub-title states, is a story between two Notes. But these Notes are +embodied in its very frame, belong to its texture, and their mission is +to prepare and close the story. They are material to the comprehension +of the experience related in the narrative and are meant to determine +the time and place together with certain historical circumstances +conditioning the existence of the people concerned in the transactions +of the twelve months covered by the narrative. It was the shortest way +of getting over the preliminaries of a piece of work which could not +have been of the nature of a chronicle. + +"The Arrow of Gold" is my first after-the-war publication. The writing +of it was begun in the autumn of 1917 and finished in the summer of +1918. Its memory is associated with that of the darkest hour of the war, +which, in accordance with the well known proverb, preceded the dawn--the +dawn of peace. + +As I look at them now, these pages, written in the days of stress and +dread, wear a look of strange serenity. They were written calmly, yet +not in cold blood, and are perhaps the only kind of pages I could have +written at that time full of menace, but also full of faith. + +The subject of this book I have been carrying about with me for many +years, not so much a possession of my memory as an inherent part of +myself. It was ever present to my mind and ready to my hand, but I was +loth to touch it from a feeling of what I imagined to be mere shyness +but which in reality was a very comprehensible mistrust of myself. + +In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, +especially if it has got to be carried into the market-place. This being +the product of my private garden my reluctance can be easily understood; +though some critics have expressed their regret that I had not written +this book fifteen years earlier I do not share that opinion. If I took +it up so late in life it is because the right moment had not arrived +till then. I mean the positive feeling of it, which is a thing that +cannot be discussed. Neither will I discuss here the regrets of those +critics, which seem to me the most irrelevant thing that could have been +said in connection with literary criticism. + +I never tried to conceal the origins of the subject matter of this book +which I have hesitated so long to write; but some reviewers indulged +themselves with a sense of triumph in discovering in it my Dominic of +"The Mirror of the Sea" under his own name (a truly wonderful +discovery) and in recognizing the balancelle _Tremolino_ in the unnamed +little craft in which Mr. George plied his fantastic trade and sought to +allay the pain of his incurable wound. I am not in the least +disconcerted by this display of perspicacity. It is the same man and the +same balancelle. But for the purposes of a book like "The Mirror of the +Sea" all I could make use of was the personal history of the little +_Tremolino_. The present work is not in any sense an attempt to develop +a subject lightly touched upon in former years and in connection with +quite another kind of love. What the story of the _Tremolino_ in its +anecdotic character has in common with the story of "The Arrow of Gold" +is the quality of initiation (through an ordeal which required some +resolution to face) into the life of passion. In the few pages at the +end of "The Mirror of the Sea" and in the whole volume of "The Arrow of +Gold," _that_ and no other is the subject offered to the public. The +pages and the book form together a complete record; and the only +assurance I can give my readers is, that as it stands here with all its +imperfections it is given to them complete. + +I venture this explicit statement because, amidst much sympathetic +appreciation, I have detected here and there a note, as it were, of +suspicion. Suspicion of facts concealed, of explanations held back, of +inadequate motives. But what is lacking in the facts is simply what I +did not know, and what is not explained is what I did not understand +myself, and what seems inadequate is the fault of my imperfect insight. +And all that I could not help. In the case of this book I was unable to +supplement these deficiences by the exercise of my inventive faculty. It +was never very strong; and on this occasion its use would have seemed +exceptionally dishonest. It is from that ethical motive and not from +timidity that I elected to keep strictly within the limits of unadorned +sincerity and to try to enlist the sympathies of my readers without +assuming lofty omniscience or descending to the subterfuge of +exaggerated emotions. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +THE RESCUE + + +Of the three long novels of mine which suffered an interruption, "The +Rescue" was the one that had to wait the longest for the good pleasure +of the Fates. I am betraying no secret when I state here that it had to +wait precisely for twenty years. I laid it aside at the end of the +summer of 1898 and it was about the end of the summer of 1918 that I +took it up again with the firm determination to see the end of it and +helped by the sudden feeling that I might be equal to the task. + +This does not mean that I turned to it with elation. I was well aware +and perhaps even too much aware of the dangers of such an adventure. The +amazingly sympathetic kindness which men of various temperaments, +diverse views and different literary tastes have been for years +displaying towards my work has done much for me, has done all--except +giving me that overweening self-confidence which may assist an +adventurer sometimes but in the long run ends by leading him to the +gallows. + +As the characteristic I want most to impress upon these short Author's +Notes prepared for my first Collected Edition is that of absolute +frankness, I hasten to declare that I founded my hopes not on my +supposed merits but on the continued goodwill of my readers. I may say +at once that my hopes have been justified out of all proportion to my +deserts. I met with the most considerate, most delicately expressed +criticism free from all antagonism and in its conclusions showing an +insight which in itself could not fail to move me deeply, but was +associated also with enough commendation to make me feel rich beyond the +dreams of avarice--I mean an artist's avarice which seeks its treasure +in the hearts of men and women. + +No! Whatever the preliminary anxieties might have been this adventure +was not to end in sorrow. Once more Fortune favoured audacity; and yet I +have never forgotten the jocular translation of _Audaces fortuna juvat_ +offered to me by my tutor when I was a small boy: "The Audacious get +bitten." However he took care to mention that there were various kinds +of audacity. Oh, there are, there are!... There is, for instance, the +kind of audacity almost indistinguishable from impudence.... I must +believe that in this case I have not been impudent for I am not +conscious of having been bitten. + +The truth is that when "The Rescue" was laid aside it was not laid aside +in despair. Several reasons contributed to this abandonment and, no +doubt, the first of them was the growing sense of general difficulty in +the handling of the subject. The contents and the course of the story I +had clearly in my mind. But as to the way of presenting the facts, and +perhaps in a certain measure as to the nature of the facts themselves, I +had many doubts. I mean the telling, representative facts, helpful to +carry on the idea, and, at the same time, of such a nature as not to +demand an elaborate creation of the atmosphere to the detriment of the +action. I did not see how I could avoid becoming wearisome in the +presentation of detail and in the pursuit of clearness. I saw the action +plainly enough. What I had lost for the moment was the sense of the +proper formula of expression, of the only formula that would suit. This, +of course, weakened my confidence in the intrinsic worth and in the +possible interest of the story--that is in my invention. But I suspect +that all the trouble was, in reality, the doubt of my prose, the doubt +of its adequacy, of its power to master both the colours and the shades. + +It is difficult to describe, exactly as I remember it, the complex +state of my feelings; but those of my readers who take an interest in +artistic perplexities will understand me best when I point out that I +dropped "The Rescue" not to give myself up to idleness, regrets, or +dreaming, but to begin "The Nigger of the Narcissus" and to go on with +it without hesitation and without a pause. A comparison of any page of +"The Rescue" with any page of "The Nigger" will furnish an ocular +demonstration of the nature and the inward meaning of this first crisis +of my writing life. For it was a crisis undoubtedly. The laying aside of +a work so far advanced was a very awful decision to take. It was wrung +from me by a sudden conviction that _there_ only was the road of +salvation, the clear way out for an uneasy conscience. The finishing of +"The Nigger" brought to my troubled mind the comforting sense of an +accomplished task, and the first consciousness of a certain sort of +mastery which could accomplish something with the aid of propitious +stars. Why I did not return to "The Rescue" at once then, was not for +the reason that I had grown afraid of it. Being able now to assume a +firm attitude I said to myself deliberately: "That thing can wait." At +the same time I was just as certain in my mind that "Youth," a story +which I had then, so to speak, on the tip of my pen, could _not_ wait. +Neither could Heart of Darkness be put off; for the practical reason +that Mr. Wm. Blackwood having requested me to write something for the +No. M. of his magazine I had to stir up at once the subject of that tale +which had been long lying quiescent in my mind, because, obviously, the +venerable Maga at her patriarchal age of 1000 numbers could not be kept +waiting. Then "Lord Jim," with about seventeen pages already written at +odd times, put in his claim which was irresistible. Thus every stroke of +the pen was taking me further away from the abandoned "Rescue," not +without some compunction on my part but with a gradually diminishing +resistance; till at last I let myself go as if recognizing a superior +influence against which it was useless to contend. + +The years passed and the pages grew in number, and the long reveries of +which they were the outcome stretched wide between me and the deserted +"Rescue" like the smooth hazy spaces of a dreamy sea. Yet I never +actually lost sight of that dark speck in the misty distance. It had +grown very small but it asserted itself with the appeal of old +associations. It seemed to me that it would be a base thing for me to +slip out of the world leaving it out there all alone, waiting for its +fate--that would never come! + +Sentiment, pure sentiment as you see, prompted me in the last instance +to face the pains and hazards of that return. As I moved slowly towards +the abandoned body of the tale it loomed up big amongst the glittering +shallows of the coast, lonely but not forbidding. There was nothing +about it of a grim derelict. It had an air of expectant life. One after +another I made out the familiar faces watching my approach with faint +smiles of amused recognition. They had known well enough that I was +bound to come back to them. But their eyes met mine seriously as was +only to be expected since I myself felt very serious as I stood amongst +them again after years of absence. At once, without wasting words, we +went to work together on our renewed life; and every moment I felt more +strongly that They Who had Waited bore no grudge to the man who however +widely he may have wandered at times had played truant only once in his +life. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + +NOTES ON LIFE AND LETTERS + + +I don't know whether I ought to offer an apology for this collection +which has more to do with life than with letters. Its appeal is made to +orderly minds. This, to be frank about it, is a process of tidying up, +which, from the nature of things, can not be regarded as premature. The +fact is that I wanted to do it myself because of a feeling that had +nothing to do with the considerations of worthiness or unworthiness of +the small (but unbroken) pieces collected within the covers of this +volume. Of course it may be said that I might have taken up a broom and +used it without saying anything about it. That certainly is one way of +tidying up. + +But it would have been too much to have expected me to treat all this +matter as removable rubbish. All those things had a place in my life. +Whether any of them deserve to have been picked up and ranged on the +shelf--this shelf--I cannot say, and, frankly, I have not allowed my +mind to dwell on the question. I was afraid of thinking myself into a +mood that would hurt my feelings; for those pieces of writing, whatever +may be the comment on their display, appertain to the character of the +man. + +And so here they are, dusted, which was but a decent thing to do, but in +no way polished, extending from the year '98 to the year '20, a thin +array (for such a stretch of time) of really innocent attitudes: Conrad +literary, Conrad political, Conrad reminiscent, Conrad controversial. +Well, yes! A one-man show--or is it merely the show of one man? + +The only thing that will not be found amongst those Figures and Things +that have passed away will be Conrad "_en pantoufles_." It is a +constitutional inability. _Schlafrock und pantoffeln!_ Not that! Never! +I don't know whether I dare boast like a certain South American general +who used to say that no emergency of war or peace had ever found him +"with his boots off"; but I may say that whenever the various +periodicals mentioned in this book called on me to come out and blow the +trumpet of personal opinions or strike the pensive lute that speaks of +the past, I always tried to pull on my boots first. I didn't want to do +it, God knows! Their Editors, to whom I beg to offer my thanks here, +made me perform mainly by kindness but partly by bribery. Well, yes! +Bribery. What can you expect? I never pretended to be better than the +people in the next street and even in the same street. + +This volume (including these embarrassed introductory remarks) is as +near as I shall ever come to deshabille in public; and perhaps it will +do something to help towards a better vision of the man, if it gives no +more than a partial view of a piece of his back, a little dusty (after +the process of tidying up), a little bowed, and receding from the world +not because of weariness or misanthropy but for other reasons that +cannot be helped: because the leaves fall, the water flows, the clock +ticks with that horrid pitiless solemnity which you must have observed +in the ticking of the hall clock at home. For reasons like that. Yes! It +recedes. And this was the chance to afford one more view of it--even to +my own eyes. + +The section within this volume called Letters explains itself though I +do not pretend to say that it justifies its own existence. It claims +nothing in its defence except the right of speech which I believe +belongs to everybody outside a Trappist monastery. The part I have +ventured, for shortness' sake, to call Life, may perhaps justify itself +by the emotional sincerity of the feelings to which the various papers +included under that head owe their origin. And as they relate to events +of which everyone has a date, they are in the nature of sign-posts +pointing out the direction my thoughts were compelled to take at the +various crossroads. If anybody detects any sort of consistency in the +choice, this will be only proof positive that wisdom had nothing to do +with it. Whether right or wrong, instinct alone is invariable; a fact +which only adds a deeper shade to its inherent mystery. The appearance +of intellectuality these pieces may present at first sight is merely the +result of the arrangement of words. The logic that may be found there is +only the logic of the language. But I need not labour the point. There +will be plenty of people sagacious enough to perceive the absence of all +wisdom from these pages. But I believe sufficiently in human sympathies +to imagine that very few will question their sincerity. Whatever +delusions I may have suffered from I have had no delusions as to the +nature of the facts commented on here. I may have misjudged their +import: but that is the sort of error for which one may expect a certain +amount of toleration. + +The only paper of this collection which has never been published before +is the Note on the Polish problem. It was written at the request of a +friend to be shown privately, and its "Protectorate" idea, sprung from a +strong sense of the critical nature of the situation, was shaped by the +actual circumstances of the time. The time was about a month before the +entrance of Roumania into the war, and though, honestly, I had seen +already the shadow of coming events I could not permit my misgivings to +enter into and destroy the structure of my plan. I still believe that +there was some sense in it. It may certainly be charged with the +appearance of lack of faith and it lays itself open to the throwing of +many stones; but my object was practical and I had to consider warily +the preconceived notions of the people to whom it was implicitly +addressed and also their unjustifiable hopes. They were unjustifiable, +but who was to tell them that? I mean who was wise enough and +convincing enough to show them the inanity of their mental attitude? The +whole atmosphere was poisoned with visions that were not so much false +as simply impossible. They were also the result of vague and unconfessed +fears, and that made their strength. For myself, with a very definite +dread in my heart, I was careful not to allude to their character +because I did not want the Note to be thrown away unread. And then I had +to remember that the impossible has sometimes the trick of coming to +pass to the confusion of minds and often to the crushing of hearts. + +Of the other papers I have nothing special to say. They are what they +are, and I am by now too hardened a sinner to feel ashamed of +insignificant indiscretions. And as to their appearance in this form I +claim that indulgence to which all sinners against themselves are +entitled. + + J. C. + + 1920. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Notes on My Books, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON MY BOOKS *** + +***** This file should be named 20150.txt or 20150.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/5/20150/ + +Produced by Janet Blenkinship and also, thanks to Michael +Kerwin of Occidental College for supplying images of the +missing pages from the book I had in hand, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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