In the ‘Author’s Note’, Dent’s house-style has been silently modified in only one respect: where the original text italicized the titles of short stories, this text places all such titles in inverted commas.
LIST OF EMENDATIONS
The rejected reading of the copy-text appears to the right of the square bracket.
Heart of Darkness
6:3
effective (MS)] direct
6:5
But, as has been said, (MS)] But,
6:9
that, sometimes, (TS)] that sometimes
6:21
of say (MS)] of
7:10
forests (MS)] forest
7:25
and for (MS)] for
8:1
on (MS)] in
9:38
etc., etc.] &c., &c.
12:31
these (TS)] those
13:15
callipers, (MS, TS)] calipers
14:3
Adieu] Adieu
14:4
Adieu] Adieu
14:9
many, many (MS)] many
14:17
two pence (MS)] two-penny
14:28
Charles (MS)] Charlie
14:30
are! (MS)] are.
15:18
along (MS)] away along
15:22
Settlements—settlements, (MS)] Settlements
15:33
Bassam,] Bassam
16:1
toils (MS)] toil
16:18
drooped (MS)] dropped
16:20
shiny (MS)] slimy
16:32
a day] a-day
17:1
thickening (MS)] thickened
17:20
a month] a-month
17:21
told (MS)] said to
17:28
“At] At
17:31
rapids (MS, TS)] the rapids
18:7
thick shade (MS)] shady spot
18:12
way of (MS, TS)] way or
18:28
the meagre (MS)] their meagre
20:30
more, (MS)] more
20:30
angles, (MS)] angles
21:8
clear silk (MS)] clear
21:21
head (MS)] hair
21:23
backbone! (MS)] backbone.
21:29
had, verily, (MS)] had verily
21:33
Caravans, strings (MS, TS)] Strings
21:35
brass wire] brass-wire
21:35
set off] set
21:38
tent (MS)] hut
22:9
‘agent’ (MS)] agent
22:10
was hurriedly (MS)] was
22:20
trading-post] trading post
22:35
these (MS)] those
22:36
death! (MS)] death.
23:17
an empty (MS)] the empty
23:30
sixty-pound (MS)] 60-lb.
25:10
Still…] Still….
25:22
manner (MS)] manners
27:8
Kurtz!’, broke] Kurtz!’ broke
27:9
dumbfounded] dumfounded
27:10
take to——’] take to’…
27:18
borne (MS)] borne in
29:26
so sociable (MS)] sociable
29:34
became also (MS)] became
30:8
by, civilly] by civilly,
31:26
papier-mâché] papier-maché
34:37
Palmers] Palmer
35:31
shouted,] shouted
35:32
exclaiming,] exclaiming
35:38
empty hulk (MS)] hulk
38:26
jerked out (MS)] jerked
42:35
43:1
‘ivory’] ivory
43:22
this (MS)] it
45:24
shore] short
46:16
Towzer (MS)] Tower
46:22
Towzer (MS)] Towser
47:2
pilgrims,] pilgrims
49:31
said nodding (MS)] said
50:29
half-cooked cold (MS)] half-cooked
52:1
serious, very serious (MS)] very serious
54:17
just in (MS)] in
55:8
splashy (MS)] splashing
55:30
opened fire (MS)] opened
57:38
with…] with….
58:34
tell…] tell….
60:6
Everything] everything
61:32
etc., etc.] &c., &c.
66:5
Government] Goverment
68:22
impractical (MS)] unpractical
70:25
talk (MS)] take
71:16
lying here (MS)] lying
74:20
‘short’] short
75:9
Shadow (MS)] shadow
75:36
leggins (MS)] leggings
76:33
in though (MS)] in
77:26
quarters (MS)] quarter
77:31
is (MS)] is
78:34
again…] again….
79:16
etc., etc.] &c., &c.
82:2
Shadow (MS)] shadow
82:10
There] there
83:29
fiery (MS)] fierce
84:21
don’t (MS)] don’t!
84:21
someone (MS)] some one
85:14
Intended, my ivory, (MS)] Intended,
85:26
hand (MS)] you
88:17
all (MS)] all the
88:20
Invisible (MS)] invisible
89:21
not very (MS)] not
89:33
etc., etc.] &c., &c.
90:22
broad black (MS)] broad
90:25
the faith (MS)] faith
95:1
stood up;] stood up
95:21
never! (MS)] never.
The Congo Diary
99:14
hearty] Hearty
99:14
Kalla)] Kalla
100:10
well.] well
100:22
Danes] danes
101:29
that.] that
101:33
camped] Camped
102:8
villages.] villages
104:4
hills,] hills
105:10
Very] very
106:30
Heap] heap
107:10
hammock.] hammock
Author’s Note
111:4
‘Narcissus’] Narcissus
Map of the River Congo
Heart of Darkness
I
The Nellie,1 a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.
The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A haze rested on the l
ow shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend,2 and further back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.e1
The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four3 affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness personified. It was difficult to realise his work was not out there in the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.
Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere,4 the bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns—and even convictions. The Lawyere2—the best of old fellows—had, because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones.5 Marlow sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzenmast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol.6 The Director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we did not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit for nothing but placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds.e3 Only the gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more sombre every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.
And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.7
Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes, “followed the sea” with reverence and affection, than to evoke the great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battles of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake8 to Sir John Franklin,9 knights all, titled and untitled—the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from the Golden Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to be visited by the Queen’s Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests—and that never returned. It had known the ships and the men. They sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith10—the adventurers and the settlers; kings’ ships and the ships of men on ’Change;11 captains, admirals, the dark “interlopers” of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned “generals” of East India fleets.12 Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth!…The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires.e4
The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and lights began to appear along the shore. The Chapman lighthouse,13 a three-legged thing erect on a mudflat, shone strongly. Lights of ships moved in the fairway—a great stir of lights going up and going down. And further west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous town was still marked ominously on the sky, a brooding gloom in sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars.
“And this also,” said Marlowe5 suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.”14
He was the only man of us who still “followed the sea.” The worst that could be said of him was that he did not represent his class. He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer too, while most seamen lead, if one may so express it, a sedentary life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is always with them—the ship; and so is their country—the sea. One ship is very much like another, and the sea is always the same. In the immutability of their surroundings the foreign shores, the foreign faces, the changing immensity of life, glide past, veiled not by a sense of mystery but by a slightly disdainful ignorance; for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself, which is the mistress of his existence and as inscrutable as Destiny. For the rest, after his hours of work, a casual stroll or a casual spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent, and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing. The yarns of seamen have an effective simplicity, the whole meaning of which lies within the shell of a cracked nut. But, as has been said, Marlow was not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these misty halos that, sometimes, are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine.
His remark did not seem at all surprising. It was just like Marlow. It was accepted in silence. No one took the trouble to grunt even; and presently he said, very slow—
“I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here,15 nineteen hundred years ago—the other day…. Light came out of this river since—you say Knights? Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker—may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of say a commander of a fine—what d’ye call ’em?—trireme in the Mediterranean, ordered suddenly to the north; run overland across the Gauls16 in a hurry; put in charge of one of these craft the legionaries—a wonderful lot of handy men they must have been too—used to build, apparently by the hundred, in a month or two, if we may believe what we read.17 Imagine him here—the very end of the world, a sea the colour of lead, a sky the colour of smoke, a kind of ship about as rigid as a concertina—and going up this river18 with stores, or orders, or what you like. Sandbanks, marshes, forests, savages—precious little to eat fit for a civilised man, nothing but Thames water to drink. No Falernian wine19 here, no going ashore. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness like a needle in a bundle of hay—cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and death—death skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must have been dying like flies here. Oh yes—he did it. Did it very well, too, no doubt, and without thinking much about it either, except afterwards to brag of what he had gone through in his time, perhaps. They were men enough to face the darkness. And perhaps he was cheered by keeping his eye on a chance of promotion to the fleet at Ravenna,20 by and bye, if he had good friends in Rome and survived the awful climate. Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga—perhaps too much dice, you know—coming out here in the train of some prefect,21 or tax-gatherer, or trader even, to mend his fortunes. Land in a swamp, march through the woods, and in some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round him—all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forests, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There’s no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is
also detestable. And it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The fascination of the abomination—you know. Imagine the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate.”e6
He paused.
“Mind,” he began again, lifting one arm from the elbow, the palm of the hand outwards, so that, with his legs folded before him, he had the pose of a Buddha preaching in European clothes and without a lotus-flower—“Mind, none of us would feel exactly like this. What saves us is efficiency—the devotion to efficiency. But these chaps were not much account, really. They were no colonists; their administration was merely a squeeze, and nothing more, I suspect. They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force—nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get and for the sake of what was to be got. It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great scale, and men going at it blind—as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness. The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much.e7 What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretence but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the idea—something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to…e8.”