“I listened. The darkness deepened. I was not even sure whether he had given me the right bundle. I rather suspect he wanted me to take care of another batch of his papers which, after his death, I saw the manager examining under the lamp. And the girl talked, easing her pain in the certitude of my sympathy; she talked as thirsty men drink. I had heard that her engagement with Kurtz had been disapproved by her people. He wasn’t rich enough or something. And indeed I don’t know whether he had not been a pauper all his life. He had given me some reason to infer that it was his impatience of comparative poverty that drove him out there.
“‘…Who was not his friend who had heard him speak once?’ she was saying. ‘He drew men towards him by what was best in them.’ She looked at me with intensity. ‘It is the gift of the great,’ she went on, and the sound of her low voice seemed to have the accompaniment of all the other sounds, full of mystery, desolation, and sorrow, I had ever heard—the ripple of the river, the soughing of the trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of wild crowds, the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afar, the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshold of an eternal darkness. ‘But you have heard him! You know!’ she cried.
“‘Yes, I know,’ I said with something like despair in my heart, but bowing my head before the faith that was in her, before that great and saving illusion that shone with an unearthly glow in the darkness, in the triumphant darkness from which I could not have defended her—from which I could not even defend myself.
“‘What a loss to me—to us!’—she corrected herself with beautiful generosity; then added in a murmur, ‘To the world.’ By the last gleams of twilight I could see the glitter of her eyes, full of tears—of tears that would not fall.
“‘I have been very happy—very fortunate—very proud,’ she went on. ‘Too fortunate. Too happy for a little while. And now I am unhappy for—for life.’
“She stood up; her fair hair seemed to catch all the remaining light in a glimmer of gold.e13 I rose too.
“‘And of all this,’ she went on, mournfully, ‘of all his promise, and of all his greatness, of his generous mind, of his noble heart, nothing remains—nothing but a memory. You and I——’
“‘We shall always remember him,’ I said, hastily.
“‘No!’ she cried. ‘It is impossible that all this should be lost—that such a life should be sacrificed to leave nothing—but sorrow. You know what vast plans he had. I knew of them too—I could not perhaps understand—but others knew of them. Something must remain. His words, at least, have not died.’
“‘His words will remain,’ I said.
“‘And his example,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Men looked up to him—his goodness shone in every act. His example——’
“‘True,’ I said; ‘his example too. Yes, his example. I forgot that.’
“‘But I do not. I cannot—I cannot believe—not yet. I cannot believe that I shall never see him again, that nobody will see him again, never, never, never!’12
“She put out her arms as if after a retreating figure, stretching them black and with clasped pale hands across the fading and narrow sheen of the window. Never see him! I saw him clearly enough then. I shall see this eloquent phantom as long as I live, and I shall see her too, a tragic and familiar Shade,13 resembling in this gesture another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless charms, stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the infernal stream, the stream of darkness. She said suddenly very low, ‘He died as he lived.’
“‘His end,’ said I, with dull anger stirring in me, ‘was in every way worthy of his life.’
“‘And I was not with him,’ she murmured. My anger subsided before a feeling of infinite pity.
“‘Everything that could be done——’ I mumbled.
“‘Ah, but I believed in him more than any one on earth—more than his own mother, more than—himself. He needed me! Me! I would have treasured every sigh, every word, every sign, every glance.’
“I felt like a chill grip on my chest.14 ‘Don’t,’ I said, in a muffled voice.
“‘Forgive me. I—I—have mourned so long in silence—in silence…. You were with him—to the last? I think of his loneliness. Nobody near to understand him as I would have understood. Perhaps no one to hear…’
“‘To the very end,’ I said, shakily. ‘I heard his very last words….’ I stopped in a fright.
“‘Repeat them,’ she said in a heart-broken tone. ‘I want—I want—something—something—to—to live with.’
“I was on the point of crying at her, ‘Don’t you hear them?’ The dusk was repeating them in a persistent whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. ‘The horror! the horror!’
“‘His last word—to live with,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t you understand I loved him—I loved him—I loved him!’
“I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.
“‘The last word he pronounced was—your name.’
“I heard a light sigh, and then my heart stood still, stopped dead short by an exulting and terrible cry, by the cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain. ‘I knew it—I was sure!’…She knew. She was sure. I heard her weeping; she had hidden her face in her hands. It seemed to me that the house would collapse before I could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head. But nothing happened. The heavens do not fall for such a trifle.15 Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn’t he said he wanted only justice? But I couldn’t. I could not tell her. It would have been too dark—too dark altogether….”
Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent, in the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a time. “We have lost the first of the ebb,” said the Director, suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky—seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.
The Congo Diary
Arrived at Matadi1 on the 13th of June 1890.–
Mr Gosse2 chief of the station (O.K.) retaining us for some reason of his own.
Made the acquaintance of Mr Roger Casement,3 which I should consider as a great pleasure under any circumstances and now it becomes a positive piece of luck.
Thinks, speaks well, most intelligent and very sympathetic.–
Feel considerably in doubt about the future. Think just now that my life amongst the people (white) around here can not be very comfortable. Intend avoid acquaintances as much as possible.
Through Mr R. C. Have made the acquaint[tan]ce of Mr Underwood the manager of the English factory (Hatton & Cookson,4 in Kalla Kalla). Av[era]ge com[merci]al–hearty and kind. Lunched there on the 21st.–
24th Gosse and R. C. gone with a large lot of ivory down to Boma. On G[’s] return intend to start up the river. Have been myself busy packing ivory in casks. Idiotic employment. Health good up to now.
Wrote to Simpson,5 to Gov. B.6 to Purd.7 to Hope,8 to Cap Froud,9 and to Mar.10 Prominent characteristic of the social life here: People speaking ill of each other.11–
Saturday 28th June left Matadi with Mr Harou12 and a caravan of 31 men. Parted with Casement in a very friendly manner. Mr Gosse saw us off as far as the State station.–
First halt. M’poso. 2 Danes13 in Comp[a]ny.
Sund. 29th. Ascent of Palaballa. Sufficiently fatiguing–Camped at 11h am at Nsoke-River. Mosquitos.14
Monday. 30th to Congo da Lemba after passing black rocks long ascent. Harou giving up. Bother. Camp bad. Water far. Dirty. At night Harou better.
1st July.
Tuesday. 1st. Left early in a heavy mist marching towards Lufu River.–Part route through forest on the sharp slope of a high mountain. Very long descent. Then, market place, from where short walk to the bridge (good) and camp. V[ery] G[ood]. Bath. Clear river. Feel well. Harou all right. 1st chicken. 2p.[m.]<
br />
No sunshine today–
Wednesday 2d July–
Started at 5h 30 after a sleepless night. Country more open–Gently andulating15 hills. Road good in perfect order. (District of Lukungu). Great market at 9.30. bought eggs & chickens–
Feel not well today. Heavy cold in the head. Arrived at 11h at Banza Manteka. Camped on the market place. Not well enough to call on the missionary.16 Water scarce and bad–Camp[in]g place dirty.–
2 Danes still in company.
Thursday 3d July.
Left at 6am. after a good night’s rest. Crossed a low range of hills and entered a broad valley or rather plain with a break in the middle–Met an off[ic]er of the State inspecting. A few minutes afterwards saw at a camp[in]g place the dead body of a Backongo.17 Shot? Horrid smell.–Crossed a range of mountains running NW-SE. by a low pass. Another broad flat valley with a deep ravine through the centre.–Clay and gravel. Another range parallel to the first-mentioned with a chain of low foothills running close to it. Between the two came to camp on the banks of the Luinzono River. Camp[in]g place clean. River clear. Gov[ernmen]t Zanzibari18 with register. Canoe. 2 Danes camp[in]g on the other bank.–Health good.
General tone of landscape grey yellowish (Dry grass) with reddish patches (Soil) and clumps of dark green vegetation scattered sparsely about. Mostly in steep gorges between the higher mountains or in ravines cutting the plain–Noticed Palma Christi19–Oil palm. Very straight tall and thick trees in some places. Name not known to me. Villages quite invisible. Infer their existence from cal[a]bashes20 suspended to palm trees for the ‘malafu’.21–
Good many caravans and travellers. No women unless on the market place.–
Bird notes charming–One especially a flute-like note. Another kind of ‘boom’ ressembling22 the very distant baying of a hound.–Saw only pigeons and a few green parroquets; very small and not many. No birds of prey seen by me. Up to 9am–sky clouded and calm–Afterwards gentle breeze from the N[or]th generally and sky clearing–Nights damp and cool.–White mists on the hills up about halfway. Water effects, very beautiful this morning. Mists generally raising before sky clears.
[Sketch: ‘Section of today’s road.’ Marked on the sketch: ‘Banza Manteka, 3 hills and Luinzono River.’ Beneath the sketch: ‘Distance 15 miles. General direction NNE-SSW.’]
Friday–4th July.–
Left camp at 6h am–after a very unpleasant night–Marching across a chain of hills and then in a maze of hills–At 8.15 opened out into an andulating plain. Took bearings of a break in the chain of mountains on the other side–Bearing NNE–Road passes through that. Sharp ascents up very steep hills not very high. The higher mountains recede sharply and show a low hilly country–
At 9.30 Market place.
At 10h passed R. Lukanga and at 10.30 camped on the Mpwe R.
[Sketch: ‘Today’ smarch.’ Beneath title: ‘Direction NNE½N Dist[a]nce 13 miles.’ Marked on sketch: ‘Luinzono, Camp.’]
Saw another dead body lying by the path in an attitude of meditative repose.–In the evening 3 women of whom one albino passed our camp–Horrid chalky white with pink blotches. Red eyes. Red hair. Features very negroid and ugly.–
Mosquitos. At night when the moon rose heard shouts and drumming in distant villages. Passed a bad night.
Saturday 5th July. [18]90.
Left at 6.15. Morning cool, even cold and very damp–Sky densely overcast. Gentle breeze from NE. Road through a narrow plain up to R. Kwilu. Swift flowing and deep 50 yds wide–Passed in canoes–After[war]ds up and down very steep hills intersected by deep ravines–Main chain of heights running mostly NW-SE or W and E at times. Stopped at Manyamba.
–Camp[in]g place bad–in a hollow–Water very indifferent. Tent set at 10h 15m
[Sketch: ‘Section of today’s road.’ Underneath title: NNE Dist[an]ce 12m.’ Marked on sketch: ‘Kwilu River, Camp Manyamba.’]
Today fell into a muddy puddle. Beastly. The fault of the man that carried me. After camp[in]g went to a small stream bathed and washed clothes.–Getting jolly well sick of this fun.–
Tomorrow expect a long march to get to Nsona. 2 days from Manyanga.–
No sunshine to-day.–
Sunday 6th July–
Started at 5.40.–the route at first hilly then after a sharp descent traversing a broad plain. At the end of it a large market place
At 10h sun came out.–
After leaving the market passed another plain then walking on the crest of a chain of hills passed 2 villages and at 11h arrived at Nsona.–Village invisible–
[Sketch: ‘Section of day’s march.’ Sketch marked: ‘Market, Camp Nsona.’ Beneath: ‘Direction about NNE Distance–18 miles.’]
In this camp (Nsona–) there is a good camp[in]g place. Shady. Water far and not very good.–This night no mosquitos owing to large fires lit all round our tent.–
Afternoon very close
Night clear and starry.
Monday-7th July.–
Left at 6h after a good night’s rest on the road to Inkandu which is some distance past Lukungu gov[ernmen]t station.–
Route very accidented.23 Succession of round steep hills. At times walking along the crest of a chain of hills.–
Just before Lukunga our carriers took a wide sweep to the southward till the station bore N[or]th.–Walking through long grass for 1½ hours.–Crossed a broad river about 100 feet wide and 4 deep.–After another ½ hours walk through manioc plantations24 in good order rejoined our route to the E[astwar]d of the Lukunga Sta[ti]on. Walking along an undulating plain towards the Inkandu market on a hill.–Hot, thirsty and tired. At 11h arrived on the m[ar]ketplace–About 200 people.–Brisk business. No water. No camp[in]g place–After remaining for one hour left in search of a resting place.–
Row with carriers.–No water. At last about 1½ p.m. camped on an exposed hill side near a muddy creek. No shade. Tent on a slope. Sun heavy. Wretched.
[Untitled sketch of day’s journey. Marked on sketch: ‘Nsona, Lukunga, River bearing N[or]th, Inkandu, Camp.’ Underneath: ‘Direction NE by N. Distance 22 miles.’]
Night miserably cold.
No sleep. Mosquitos–
Tuesday 8th July
Left at 6h am
About ten minutes from camp left main gov[ernmen]t path for the Manyanga track. Sky overcast. Road up and down all the time–Passing a couple of villages
The country presents a confused wilderness of hills, land slips on their sides showing red. Fine effect of red hill covered in places by dark green vegetation
½ hour before beginning the descent got a glimpse of the Congo.–Sky clouded.
[Sketch: ‘Today’s march–3h.’ Marked on sketch: ‘Camp, River, Hill, Congo, Manyanga.’ Underneath: NbyE← SbyW General direction NbyE Dist[an]ce 9½ miles.’]
Arrived at Manyanga at 9h a.m.
Received most kindly by Messrs Heyn & Jaeger.25–
Most comfortable and pleasant halt.–
Stayed here till the 25.26 Both have been sick.–Most kindly care taken of us. Leave with sincere regret.
(Mafiela)
Fridy 25th
–
Nkenghe
–
left
Sat. 26
Nsona
Nkendo K
Sund. 27
Nkandu
Luasi
Mond 28
Nkonzo
Nzungi (Ngoma)
Tues. 29
Nkenghe
Inkissi
Wedn: 30
Nsona
mercredi
Stream
Thurs: 31
Nkandu
Luila
Fridy 1st Aug
Nkonzo
Nselemba
Saty 2d
Nkenghe
Sund. 3d
Nsona
Mond. 4th
Nkandu
Tuesd: 5th
Nkonzo.
Wedny 6th
&nb
sp; Nkenghe.27
Friday the 5th July 1890.–
Left Manyanga at 2½ p.m–with plenty of hammock carriers. H[arou] lame and not in very good form. Myself ditto but not lame. Walked as far as Mafiela and camped–2h
Saturday–26th
Left very early–Road ascending all the time.–Passed villages. Country seems thickly inhabited. At 11h arrived at large Market place. Left at noon and camped at 1h pm.
[Untitled sketch of day’s journey marked: ‘Mafiela, Crocodile pond, mount, gov[ernmen]t path, market, a white man died here, camp.’ Underneath: ‘General direction E½N ← W½S. / Sun visible at 8 am. Very hot / distance–18 miles.’]
Sunday. 27th
Left at 8h am. Sent luggage carriers straight on to Luasi and went ourselves round by the Mission of Sutili.
Hospitable reception by Mrs Comber28–all the missio[n-aries] absent.–
The looks of the whole establishment eminently civilized and very refreshing to see after lots of tumble down hovels in which the state & company agents are content to live.–
Fine buildings. Position on a hill. Rather breezy.–
Left at 3h pm. At the first heavy ascent met Mr Davis29 Miss[ionary] returning from a preaching trip. Rev. Bentley30 away in the south with his wife.–
This being off the road no section given–Distance traversed about 15 miles–Gen[eral] Direction ENE.–
At Luasi we get on again on to the gov[ernmen]t road.–
Camped at 4½ pm. with Mr Heche in company.–
Today no sunshine–