Heart of darkness by joseph conrad pdf

They had started two days before in a sudden hurry up the river with the manager on board, in charge of some volunteer skipper, and before they had been out three hours they tore the bottom out of her on stones, and she sank near the south bank. I asked myself what I was to do there, now my boat was lost. As a matter of fact, I had plenty to do in fishing my command out of the river. I had to set about it the very next day. That, and the repairs when I brought the pieces to the station, took some months.

He did not ask me to sit down after my twenty-mile walk that morning. He was commonplace in complexion, in features, in manners, and in voice. He was of middle size and of ordinary build. His eyes, of the usual blue, were perhaps remarkably cold, and he certainly could make his glance fall on one as trenchant and heavy as an axe. But even at these times the rest of his person seemed to disclaim the intention.

It was unconscious, this smile was, though just after he had said something it got intensified for an instant. It came at the end of his speeches like a seal applied on the words to make the meaning of the commonest phrase appear absolutely inscrutable.

He was a common trader, from his youth up employed in these parts—nothing more. He was obeyed, yet he inspired neither love nor fear, nor even respect. He inspired uneasiness. That was it! Not a definite mistrust—just uneasiness—nothing more. You have no idea how effective such a He had no genius for organizing, for initiative, or for order even. That was evident in such things as the deplorable state of the station.

He had no learning, and no intelligence. His position had come to him—why? Perhaps because he was never ill He had served three terms of three years out there Because triumphant health in the general rout of constitutions is a kind of power in itself. When he went home on leave he rioted on a large scale—pompously. Jack ashore—with a difference—in externals only. This one could gather from his casual talk. But he was great. He was great by this little thing that it was impossible to tell what could control such a man.

He never gave that secret away. Perhaps there was nothing within him. Such a suspicion made one pause—for out there there were no external checks. You fancied you had seen things—but the seal was on. When annoyed at meal-times by the constant quarrels of the white men about precedence, he ordered an immense round table to be made, for which a special house had to be built.

Where he sat was the first place—the rest were nowhere. One felt this to be his unalterable conviction. He was neither civil nor uncivil. He was quiet. I had been very long on the road. He could not wait. Had to start without me. The up-river stations had to be relieved. There had been so many delays already that he did not know who was dead and who was alive, and how they got on—and so on, and so on. Kurtz, was ill. Hoped it was not true. Kurtz was I felt weary and irritable.

Hang Kurtz, I thought. I interrupted him by saying I had heard of Mr. Kurtz on the coast. Then he began again, assuring me Mr. Kurtz was the best agent he had, an exceptional man, of the greatest importance to the Company; therefore I could understand his anxiety. I interrupted him again.

Being hungry, you know, and kept on my feet too. I was getting savage. That ought to do the affair. He was a chattering idiot. In that way only it seemed to me I could keep my hold on the redeeming facts of life. Still, one must look about sometimes; and then I saw this station, these men strolling aimlessly about in the sunshine of the yard.

I asked myself sometimes what it all meant. They wandered here and there with their absurd long staves in their hands, like a lot of faithless pilgrims bewitched inside a rotten fence. You would think they were praying to it. A taint of imbecile rapacity blew through it all, like a whiff from some corpse. By Jove!

And outside, the silent wilderness surrounding this cleared speck on the earth struck me as something great and invincible, like evil or truth, waiting patiently for the passing away of this fantastic invasion.

Well, never mind. Various things happened. I noticed there was a hole in the bottom of his pail. There was no hurry. You see the thing had gone off like a box of matches. It had been hopeless from the very first. The flame had leaped high, driven everybody back, lighted up everything—and collapsed. The shed was already a heap of embers glowing fiercely.

A nigger was being beaten near by. They said he had caused the fire in some way; be that as it may, he was screeching most horribly. I saw him, later, for several days, sitting in a bit of shade looking very sick and trying to recover himself; afterwards he arose and went out—and the wilderness without a sound took him into its bosom again.

As I approached the glow from the dark I found myself at the back of two men, talking. I wished him a good evening. The other man remained. He was a first-class agent, young, gentlemanly, a bit reserved, with a forked little beard and a hooked nose. As to me, I had hardly ever spoken to him before. We got into talk, and by and by we strolled away from the hissing ruins. Then he asked me to his room, which was in the main building of the station.

He struck a match, and I perceived that this young aristocrat had not only a silver-mounted dressing-case but also a whole candle all to himself. Just at that time the manager was the only man supposed to have any right to candles. Native mats covered the clay walls; a collection of spears, assegais, shields, knives was hung up in trophies.

Anyway, it could not be found there and as it was not likely to be sent from Europe, it did not appear clear to me what he was waiting for. An act of special creation perhaps. However, they were all waiting—all the sixteen or twenty pilgrims of them—for something; and upon my word it did not seem an uncongenial occupation, from the way they took it, though the only thing that ever came to them was disease—as far as I could see. They beguiled the time by back-biting and intriguing against each other in a foolish kind of way.

There was an air of plotting about that station, but nothing came of it, of course. It was as unreal as everything else—as the philanthropic pretence of the whole concern, as their talk, as their government, as their show of work. The only real feeling was a desire to get appointed to a trading-post where ivory was to be had, so that they could earn percentages. They intrigued and slandered and hated each other only on that account—but as to effectually lifting a little finger—oh, no.

By heavens! Steal a horse straight out. Very well. He has done it. Perhaps he can ride. But there is a way of looking at a halter that would provoke the most charitable of saints into a kick.

He alluded constantly to Europe, to the people I was supposed to know there—putting leading questions as to my acquaintances in the sepulchral city, and so on. His little eyes glittered like mica discs—with curiosity—though he tried to keep up a bit of superciliousness. At first I was astonished, but very soon I became awfully curious to see what he would find out from me. It was very pretty to see how he baffled himself, for in truth my body was full only of chills, and my head had nothing in it but that wretched steamboat business.

It was evident he took me for a perfectly shameless prevaricator. At last he got angry, and, to conceal a movement of furious annoyance, he yawned. I rose. Then I noticed a small sketch in oils, on a panel, representing a woman, draped and blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch.

The background was sombre—almost black. The movement of the woman was stately, and the effect of the torchlight on the face was sinister. To my question he said Mr. Kurtz had painted this—in this very station more than a year ago—while waiting for means to go to his trading post. Every one knows that. He paid no attention. Today he is chief of the best station, next year he will be assistant-manager, two years more and You are of the new gang—the gang of virtue.

The same people who sent him specially also recommended you. I nearly burst into a laugh. It was great fun. The moon had risen. Black figures strolled about listlessly, pouring water on the glow, whence proceeded a sound of hissing; steam ascended in the moonlight, the beaten nigger groaned somewhere.

Pitiless, pitiless. This will prevent all conflagrations for the future. I was just telling the manager I went on to the riverside, and the other followed me. Several had still their staves in their hands. I verily believe they took these sticks to bed with them. The hurt nigger moaned feebly somewhere near by, and then fetched a deep sigh that made me mend my pace away from there. I felt a hand introducing itself under my arm. Kurtz long before I can have that pleasure.

He talked precipitately, and I did not try to stop him. I had my shoulders against the wreck of my steamer, hauled up on the slope like a carcass of some big river animal.

The smell of mud, of primeval mud, by Jove! The moon had spread over everything a thin layer of silver—over the rank grass, over the mud, upon the wall of matted vegetation standing higher than the wall of a temple, over the great river I could see through a sombre gap glittering, glittering, as it flowed broadly by without a murmur.

All this was great, expectant, mute, while the man jabbered about himself. I wondered whether the stillness on the face of the immensity looking at us two were meant as an appeal or as a menace.

What were we who had strayed in here? Could we handle that dumb thing, or would it handle us? What was in there? I could see a little ivory coming out from there, and I had heard Mr. Kurtz was in there. I had heard enough about it, too—God knows! I believed it in the same way one of you might believe there are inhabitants in the planet Mars. I knew once a Scotch sailmaker who was certain, dead sure, there were people in Mars. I would not have gone so far as to fight for Kurtz, but I went for him near enough to a lie.

There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies—which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world—what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rotten would do. Temperament, I suppose. Well, I went near enough to it by letting the young fool there believe anything he liked to imagine as to my influence in Europe.

I became in an instant as much of a pretence as the rest of the bewitched pilgrims. This simply because I had a notion it somehow would be of help to that Kurtz whom at the time I did not see—you understand. He was just a word for me. I did not see the man in the name any more than you do.

Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream—making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams It is impossible.

We live, as we dream—alone You see me, whom you know It had become so pitch dark that we listeners could hardly see one another. For a long time already he, sitting apart, had been no more to us than a voice. There was not a word from anybody. The others might have been asleep, but I was awake. I listened, I listened on the watch for the sentence, for the word, that would give me the clue to the faint uneasiness inspired by this narrative that seemed to shape itself without human lips in the heavy night-air of the river.

I did! And there was nothing behind me! I saw it. What more did I want? What I really wanted was rivets, by heaven! To get on with the work—to stop the hole. Rivets I wanted. There were cases of them down at the coast—cases—piled up—burst—split! You kicked a loose rivet at every second step in that station-yard on the hillside. Rivets had rolled into the grove of death. We had plates that would do, but nothing to fasten them with.

And every week the messenger, a long negro, letter-bag on shoulder and staff in hand, left our station for the coast. And several times a week a coast caravan came in with trade goods—ghastly glazed calico that made you shudder only to look at it, glass beads value about a penny a quart, confounded spotted cotton handkerchiefs. And no rivets.

Three carriers could have brought all that was wanted to set that steamboat afloat. I said I could see that very well, but what I wanted was a certain quantity of rivets—and rivets were what really Mr.

Kurtz wanted, if he had only known it. Now letters went to the coast every week There was a way—for an intelligent man. There was an old hippo that had the bad habit of getting out on the bank and roaming at night over the station grounds. The pilgrims used to turn out in a body and empty every rifle they could lay hands on at him. All this energy was wasted, though. No man—you apprehend me? I could see he was disturbed and considerably puzzled, which made me feel more hopeful than I had been for days.

It was a great comfort to turn from that chap to my influential friend, the battered, twisted, ruined, tin-pot steamboat. I clambered on board. No influential friend would have served me better. She had given me a chance to come out a bit—to find out what I could do. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done.

Your own reality—for yourself, not for others—what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means. You see I rather chummed with the few mechanics there were in that station, whom the other pilgrims naturally despised—on account of their imperfect manners, I suppose.

This was the foreman—a boiler-maker by trade—a good worker. He was a lank, bony, yellow-faced man, with big intense eyes. His aspect was worried, and his head was as bald as the palm of my hand; but his hair in falling seemed to have stuck to his chin, and had prospered in the new locality, for his beard hung down to his waist. He was a widower with six young children he had left them in charge of a sister of his to come out there , and the passion of his life was pigeon-flying. He was an enthusiast and a connoisseur.

He would rave about pigeons. After work hours he used sometimes to come over from his hut for a talk about his children and his pigeons; at work, when he had to crawl in the mud under the bottom of the steamboat, he would tie up that beard of his in a kind of white serviette he brought for the purpose.

It had loops to go over his ears. In the evening he could be seen squatted on the bank rinsing that wrapper in the creek with great care, then spreading it solemnly on a bush to dry. I put my finger to the side of my nose and nodded mysteriously. I tried a jig. We capered on the iron deck. A frightful clatter came out of that hulk, and the virgin forest on the other bank of the creek sent it back in a thundering roll upon the sleeping station.

It must have made some of the pilgrims sit up in their hovels. We stopped, and the silence driven away by the stamping of our feet flowed back again from the recesses of the land. The great wall of vegetation, an exuberant and entangled mass of trunks, branches, leaves, boughs, festoons, motionless in the moonlight, was like a rioting invasion of soundless life, a rolling wave of plants, piled up, crested, ready to topple over the creek, to sweep every little man of us out of his little existence.

And it moved not. A deadened burst of mighty splashes and snorts reached us from afar, as though an icthyosaurus had been taking a bath of glitter in the great river. Instead of rivets there came an invasion, an infliction, a visitation. It came in sections during the next three weeks, each section headed by a donkey carrying a white man in new clothes and tan shoes, bowing from that elevation right and left to the impressed pilgrims.

A quarrelsome band of footsore sulky niggers trod on the heels of the donkey; a lot of tents, camp-stools, tin boxes, white cases, brown bales would be shot down in the courtyard, and the air of mystery would deepen a little over the muddle of the station.

Five such instalments came, with their absurd air of disorderly flight with the loot of innumerable outfit shops and provision stores, that, one would think, they were lugging, after a raid, into the wilderness for equitable division. It was an inextricable mess of things decent in themselves but that human folly made look like the spoils of thieving.

Their talk, however, was the talk of sordid buccaneers: it was reckless without hardihood, greedy without audacity, and cruel without courage; there was not an atom of foresight or of serious intention in the whole batch of them, and they did not seem aware these things are wanted for the work of the world.

To tear treasure out of the bowels of the land was their desire, with no more moral purpose at the back of it than there is in burglars breaking into a safe.

He carried his fat paunch with ostentation on his short legs, and during the time his gang infested the station spoke to no one but his nephew. You could see these two roaming about all day long with their heads close together in an everlasting confab. I said Hang! I had plenty of time for meditation, and now and then I would give some thought to Kurtz. Still, I was curious to see whether this man, who had come out equipped with moral ideas of some sort, would climb to the top after all and how he would set about his work when there.

Am I the manager—or am I not? I was ordered to send him there. I became aware that the two were standing on the shore alongside the forepart of the steamboat, just below my head. I did not move; it did not occur to me to move: I was sleepy. Look at the influence that man must have. Is it not frightful? Is he alone there?

I had rather be alone than have the kind of men you can dispose of with me. Can you imagine such impudence! Then silence. They had been talking about Kurtz. The other explained that it had come with a fleet of canoes in charge of an English half-caste clerk Kurtz had with him; that Kurtz had apparently intended to return himself, the station being by that time bare of goods and stores, but after coming three hundred miles, had suddenly decided to go back, which he started to do alone in a small dugout with four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to continue down the river with the ivory.

The two fellows there seemed astounded at anybody attempting such a thing. They were at a loss for an adequate motive. As to me, I seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It was a distinct glimpse: the dugout, four paddling savages, and the lone white man turning his back suddenly on the headquarters, on relief, on thoughts of home—perhaps; setting his face towards the depths of the wilderness, towards his empty and desolate station. I did not know the motive.

Perhaps he was just simply a fine fellow who stuck to his work for its own sake. His name, you understand, had not been pronounced once. The two below me moved away then a few paces, and strolled back and forth at some little distance. Why not? Anything—anything can be done in this country. After its publication, it got huge popularity and several of its editions were published and also translated into different languages. You purchase this book from the Amazon Store online in Paperback edition or Hardcover edition.

Moreover, the Pdf eBook can also be purchased for Kindle devices. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

Terms and Conditions. Press ESC to close. Table of Contents. Does using this technique pro- above or below [Kurtz]…. He had vide Conrad with any benefits in telling kicked himself loose of the earth. What is events on the shore?

Kurtz free from or not subject to? Using your own words, describe as fully Why or why not? Marlow says that the heads only show At this point, do you think darkness. What ness represents? As he compares his near-death expe- 6.

Once students have explored the characterization, have Drawing and collage both work biases about Kurtz? Does Kurtz possess well, but remind students that they can only any elements of genius?

As a focus for literary study, this passage, In the context of the novel, are ence possesses understanding that the charac- these views accurate? What does she base ters do not. Here, the reader knows more her beliefs on? To underscore this, the following After Marlow ends his tale, the frame activity may prove useful. What effects does this struc- two versions of Kurtz that Conrad presents.

Do you think that This process may be as simple as having stu- the ending is effective? With a refined of the depictions of women in the novel understanding of each characterization, stu- portray them as weak or deluded. Advanced students exactly that power is. All of the listeners on the Nellie are Darkness, many will have a competent under- Company men—the Director, an standing of the novel, its themes, and its art- Accountant, a Lawyer.

As such, their fulness. These activities provide opportunities biases probably lie with the Company. Kurtz, all of the listen- and concepts that supplement the novel, and ers have been so absorbed that they have to draw from their beliefs and life experiences missed the turn of the tide. Using your to appreciate the novel more fully. Most can understanding of the novel, select three be adapted for completion by individual stu- or four elements or events of the story dents or small groups of students.

Then, share your ideas about why those ele- I. Topics for Discussion ments are most convincing. In his narrative, Marlow gives detailed 1. Although technology has tamed the wil- descriptions of his encounters with Afri- derness in many ways, breakdowns and cans. Using the book as a reap its benefits. Then, share three or Marlow comments on machines or four reasons to support your decision.

Then, using support from 6. And, think your book, review the entire description. However, his final act in the Afri- Africans as irrational, prehistoric men. As you search, sider to be the main reasons Marlow consider ideas such as self-preservation, violates one of his core beliefs. Letters might be evaluated on cans are inferior. Europe to apprise them of his progress, Much is made in the book of civilized to criticize Company business prac- and uncivilized people and actions.

Typi- tices, or to discuss the intrigue between cally, the whites are viewed as civilized, the Station Manager and Kurtz. Although Letters to the Author Marlow consistently tries to depict the This activity allows students to voice their Africans as mysterious savages, do you appreciation or criticism of the novel by writ- think that his efforts fully succeed?

Using ing a letter to Joseph Conrad. In the planning your understanding of the book as a stages, have students brainstorm those ele- basis for your response, argue to prove ments that they liked the most and those they which group in the book is most savage. These II. Group and letters can also include questions to the Individual Projects author about his life, novel elements, or to ask him to respond to criticism of his novel.

In the letters, stu- pretation. Then, suitable elements. In some cases having stu- have students support their interpretations dents create a storyboard rendition of a central with their own ideas and textual support.

To scene produces good results both in improving extend this assignment, have students share a project and helping students understand a their interpretations with the class and, pivotal event in the novel more fully. Chinua Achebe Moodle or on wikis, have the class arrive at a versus Caryl Phillips consensus of the best interpretation of the meaning of the heart in the novel.

Some critics argue that Heart of Darkness is racist, and some students may recognize the The horror! The horror!? The his book reflects that attitude. Provide stu- horror! His methodology? Humanity in general? Using graphic organizers, reading board paper for class consideration, or other comprehension strategies highlighting, media that are available and appropriate.

Many adolescents appreciate and understand Then, ask students to analyze the central modern films, and here they can draw from points, consider their understanding of the one area of expertise to develop a deeper novel, and decide whether or not they think understanding of the novel. Start by identify- that racism figures heavily in Heart of Dark- ing those elements that a film must have: cast, ness.

Then, as individuals or small groups, setting, director, special effects, cinematogra- students should compose a response that phy, and other film elements. As they work, remind students that they must make creative decisions that are Women in Heart of Darkness: appropriate for the novel and that they must A Battle of the Sexes provide justification for their choices. Their goal true; males will argue that the thesis is false. Students might refer to bio- plemental evidence, and use the whole of graphical accounts of explorers like Mungo their evidence to support their perspective.

For this judges like fellow teachers familiar with the assignment, computer presentation software, novel can help determine whose presentation wiki postings, or posters all work well for most successfully made its case.

Then, have students create a Setting and Climate as Adversaries: promotional brochure or a similar publication Marlow as Survivor that celebrates the fact that Marlow survived Two of the greatest obstacles to European his voyage despite the perils he encountered. While the events in that Marlow faced and overcame. Rodrigo Mendoza, ments of the novel that are open to interpre- a slaver, hunts the same jungles to capture tation are most successful as debate topics.

Indians to labor on Portuguese plantations. Working in small groups and using their After he murders his brother in a jealous rage, books as resources to find support for their Mendoza joins the Jesuits for redemption, and stance, ask students to compose effective ultimately, he and Father Gabriel give their lives opening statements that include their thesis to protect the Indians from the Portuguese. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad. Gaspar Ruiz by Joseph Conrad.

Victory by Joseph Conrad. Under Western Eyes by Joseph Conrad.