No More Learning

There was no inclosure or fence of any kind; but there had
been one apparently, for near the house half-a-dozen slim posts remained
in a row, roughly trimmed, and with their upper ends ornamented with
round carved balls. The rails, or whatever there had been between, had
disappeared. Of course the forest surrounded all that. The river-bank
was clear, and on the water-side I saw a white man under a hat like a
cart-wheel beckoning persistently with his whole arm. Examining the
edge of the forest above and below, I was almost certain I could see
movements--human forms gliding here and there. I steamed past prudently,
then stopped the engines and let her drift down. The man on the shore
began to shout, urging us to land. 'We have been attacked,' screamed
the manager. 'I know--I know. It's all right,' yelled back the other, as
cheerful as you please. 'Come along. It's all right. I am glad. '

"His aspect reminded me of something I had seen--something funny I had
seen somewhere. As I maneuvered to get alongside, I was asking myself,
'What does this fellow look like? ' Suddenly I got it. He looked like
a harlequin. His clothes had been made of some stuff that was brown
holland probably, but it was covered with patches all over, with bright
patches, blue, red, and yellow,--patches on the back, patches on front,
patches on elbows, on knees; colored binding round his jacket, scarlet
edging at the bottom of his trousers; and the sunshine made him look
extremely gay and wonderfully neat withal, because you could see how
beautifully all this patching had been done. A beardless, boyish face,
very fair, no features to speak of, nose peeling, little blue eyes,
smiles and frowns chasing each other over that open countenance like
sunshine and shadow on a windswept plain. 'Look out, captain! ' he
cried; 'there's a snag lodged in here last night. ' What! Another snag? I
confess I swore shamefully. I had nearly holed my cripple, to finish off
that charming trip. The harlequin on the bank turned his little pug nose
up to me. 'You English? ' he asked, all smiles. 'Are you? ' I shouted from
the wheel. The smiles vanished, and he shook his head as if sorry for
my disappointment. Then he brightened up. 'Never mind! ' he cried
encouragingly. 'Are we in time? ' I asked. 'He is up there,' he replied,
with a toss of the head up the hill, and becoming gloomy all of a
sudden. His face was like the autumn sky, overcast one moment and bright
the next.

"When the manager, escorted by the pilgrims, all of them armed to the
teeth, had gone to the house, this chap came on board. 'I say, I
don't like this. These natives are in the bush,' I said. He assured me
earnestly it was all right. 'They are simple people,' he added; 'well,
I am glad you came. It took me all my time to keep them off. ' 'But you
said it was all right,' I cried. 'Oh, they meant no harm,' he said; and
as I stared he corrected himself, 'Not exactly. ' Then vivaciously, 'My
faith, your pilot-house wants a clean up! ' In the next breath he advised
me to keep enough steam on the boiler to blow the whistle in case of any
trouble. 'One good screech will do more for you than all your rifles.
They are simple people,' he repeated. He rattled away at such a rate
he quite overwhelmed me. He seemed to be trying to make up for lots of
silence, and actually hinted, laughing, that such was the case. 'Don't
you talk with Mr. Kurtz? ' I said. 'You don't talk with that man--you
listen to him,' he exclaimed with severe exaltation. 'But now--' He
waved his arm, and in the twinkling of an eye was in the uttermost
depths of despondency. In a moment he came up again with a jump,
possessed himself of both my hands, shook them continuously, while he
gabbled: 'Brother sailor . . . honor . . . pleasure . . . delight . . .
introduce myself . . . Russian . . . son of an arch-priest . . .
Government of Tambov . . . What? Tobacco! English tobacco; the excellent
English tobacco! Now, that's brotherly. Smoke? Where's a sailor that
does not smoke? '

"The pipe soothed him, and gradually I made out he had run away from
school, had gone to sea in a Russian ship; ran away again; served some
time in English ships; was now reconciled with the arch-priest. He made
a point of that. 'But when one is young one must see things, gather
experience, ideas; enlarge the mind. ' 'Here! ' I interrupted. 'You can
never tell! Here I have met Mr. Kurtz,' he said, youthfully solemn and
reproachful. I held my tongue after that. It appears he had persuaded a
Dutch trading-house on the coast to fit him out with stores and goods,
and had started for the interior with a light heart, and no more idea of
what would happen to him than a baby. He had been wandering about that
river for nearly two years alone, cut off from everybody and everything.
'I am not so young as I look. I am twenty-five,' he said. 'At first old
Van Shuyten would tell me to go to the devil,' he narrated with keen
enjoyment; 'but I stuck to him, and talked and talked, till at last he
got afraid I would talk the hind-leg off his favorite dog, so he gave
me some cheap things and a few guns, and told me he hoped he would never
see my face again. Good old Dutchman, Van Shuyten. I've sent him one
small lot of ivory a year ago, so that he can't call me a little thief
when I get back. I hope he got it. And for the rest I don't care. I had
some wood stacked for you. That was my old house. Did you see? '

"I gave him Towson's book. He made as though he would kiss me, but
restrained himself. 'The only book I had left, and I thought I had lost
it,' he said, looking at it ecstatically. 'So many accidents happen to
a man going about alone, you know. Canoes get upset sometimes--and
sometimes you've got to clear out so quick when the people get angry. '
He thumbed the pages. 'You made notes in Russian? ' I asked. He nodded.
'I thought they were written in cipher,' I said. He laughed, then became
serious. 'I had lots of trouble to keep these people off,' he said. 'Did
they want to kill you? ' I asked. 'Oh no! ' he cried, and checked
himself. 'Why did they attack us? ' I pursued. He hesitated, then
said shamefacedly, 'They don't want him to go. ' 'Don't they? ' I said,
curiously. He nodded a nod full of mystery and wisdom. 'I tell you,' he
cried, 'this man has enlarged my mind. ' He opened his arms wide, staring
at me with his little blue eyes that were perfectly round. "




III


"I looked at him, lost in astonishment. There he was before me, in
motley, as though he had absconded from a troupe of mimes, enthusiastic,
fabulous. His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and
altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was
inconceivable how he had existed, how he had succeeded in getting so
far, how he had managed to remain--why he did not instantly disappear.
'I went a little farther,' he said, 'then still a little farther--till
I had gone so far that I don't know how I'll ever get back. Never mind.
Plenty time. I can manage. You take Kurtz away quick--quick--I tell
you. ' The glamour of youth enveloped his particolored rags, his
destitution, his loneliness, the essential desolation of his futile
wanderings. For months--for years--his life hadn't been worth a day's
purchase; and there he was gallantly, thoughtlessly alive, to all
appearance indestructible solely by the virtue of his few years and
of his unreflecting audacity. I was seduced into something like
admiration--like envy. Glamour urged him on, glamour kept him unscathed.
He surely wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathe in and
to push on through. His need was to exist, and to move onwards at
the greatest possible risk, and with a maximum of privation. If the
absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventure had ever
ruled a human being, it ruled this be-patched youth. I almost envied
him the possession of this modest and clear flame. It seemed to have
consumed all thought of self so completely, that, even while he was
talking to you, you forgot that it was he--the man before your eyes--who
had gone through these things. I did not envy him his devotion to Kurtz,
though. He had not meditated over it. It came to him, and he accepted it
with a sort of eager fatalism. I must say that to me it appeared about
the most dangerous thing in every way he had come upon so far.

"They had come together unavoidably, like two ships becalmed near
each other, and lay rubbing sides at last. I suppose Kurtz wanted an
audience, because on a certain occasion, when encamped in the forest,
they had talked all night, or more probably Kurtz had talked. 'We talked
of everything,' he said, quite transported at the recollection. 'I
forgot there was such a thing as sleep. The night did not seem to last
an hour. Everything! Everything! . . . Of love too. ' 'Ah, he talked to
you of love! ' I said, much amused. 'It isn't what you think,' he cried,
almost passionately. 'It was in general. He made me see things--things. '

"He threw his arms up. We were on deck at the time, and the headman
of my wood-cutters, lounging near by, turned upon him his heavy and
glittering eyes. I looked around, and I don't know why, but I assure you
that never, never before, did this land, this river, this jungle, the
very arch of this blazing sky, appear to me so hopeless and so dark, so
impenetrable to human thought, so pitiless to human weakness. 'And, ever
since, you have been with him, of course? ' I said.

"On the contrary. It appears their intercourse had been very much broken
by various causes. He had, as he informed me proudly, managed to nurse
Kurtz through two illnesses (he alluded to it as you would to some risky
feat), but as a rule Kurtz wandered alone, far in the depths of the
forest. 'Very often coming to this station, I had to wait days and
days before he would turn up,' he said. 'Ah, it was worth waiting
for! --sometimes. ' 'What was he doing? exploring or what? ' I asked. 'Oh
yes, of course;' he had discovered lots of villages, a lake too--he
did not know exactly in what direction; it was dangerous to inquire
too much--but mostly his expeditions had been for ivory. 'But he had no
goods to trade with by that time,' I objected. 'There's a good lot of
cartridges left even yet,' he answered, looking away. 'To speak plainly,
he raided the country,' I said. He nodded. 'Not alone, surely! ' He
muttered something about the villages round that lake. 'Kurtz got the
tribe to follow him, did he? ' I suggested. He fidgeted a little. 'They
adored him,' he said. The tone of these words was so extraordinary that
I looked at him searchingly. It was curious to see his mingled eagerness
and reluctance to speak of Kurtz. The man filled his life, occupied his
thoughts, swayed his emotions. 'What can you expect?
' he burst out; 'he
came to them with thunder and lightning, you know--and they had never
seen anything like it--and very terrible. He could be very terrible.
You can't judge Mr. Kurtz as you would an ordinary man. No, no, no!
Now--just to give you an idea--I don't mind telling you, he wanted to
shoot me too one day--but I don't judge him. ' 'Shoot you! ' I cried.
'What for? ' 'Well, I had a small lot of ivory the chief of that village
near my house gave me. You see I used to shoot game for them. Well,
he wanted it, and wouldn't hear reason. He declared he would shoot me
unless I gave him the ivory and then cleared out of the country, because
he could do so, and had a fancy for it, and there was nothing on earth
to prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased. And it was true too.
I gave him the ivory. What did I care! But I didn't clear out. No, no. I
couldn't leave him. I had to be careful, of course, till we got friendly
again for a time. He had his second illness then. Afterwards I had to
keep out of the way; but I didn't mind. He was living for the most part
in those villages on the lake. When he came down to the river, sometimes
he would take to me, and sometimes it was better for me to be careful.
This man suffered too much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't
get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there
was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes, and then
he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt; disappear for weeks;
forget himself amongst these people--forget himself--you know. ' 'Why!
he's mad,' I said. He protested indignantly. Mr. Kurtz couldn't be mad.
If I had heard him talk, only two days ago, I wouldn't dare hint at
such a thing. . . . I had taken up my binoculars while we talked and was
looking at the shore, sweeping the limit of the forest at each side and
at the back of the house. The consciousness of there being people in
that bush, so silent, so quiet--as silent and quiet as the ruined house
on the hill--made me uneasy. There was no sign on the face of nature
of this amazing tale that was not so much told as suggested to me in
desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs, in interrupted phrases, in
hints ending in deep sighs. The woods were unmoved, like a mask--heavy,
like the closed door of a prison--they looked with their air of hidden
knowledge, of patient expectation, of unapproachable silence. The
Russian was explaining to me that it was only lately that Mr. Kurtz had
come down to the river, bringing along with him all the fighting men of
that lake tribe. He had been absent for several months--getting himself
adored, I suppose--and had come down unexpectedly, with the intention to
all appearance of making a raid either across the river or down stream.
Evidently the appetite for more ivory had got the better of the--what
shall I say? --less material aspirations. However he had got much worse
suddenly. 'I heard he was lying helpless, and so I came up--took my
chance,' said the Russian. 'Oh, he is bad, very bad. ' I directed my
glass to the house. There were no signs of life, but there was the
ruined roof, the long mud wall peeping above the grass, with three
little square window-holes, no two of the same size; all this brought
within reach of my hand, as it were. And then I made a brusque movement,
and one of the remaining posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the
field of my glass. You remember I told you I had been struck at the
distance by certain attempts at ornamentation, rather remarkable in the
ruinous aspect of the place. Now I had suddenly a nearer view, and its
first result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow. Then
I went carefully from post to post with my glass, and I saw my mistake.
These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they were expressive
and puzzling, striking and disturbing--food for thought and also for
the vultures if there had been any looking down from the sky; but at all
events for such ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole.
They would have been even more impressive, those heads on the stakes, if
their faces had not been turned to the house. Only one, the first I had
made out, was facing my way. I was not so shocked as you may think. The
start back I had given was really nothing but a movement of surprise.
I had expected to see a knob of wood there, you know. I returned
deliberately to the first I had seen--and there it was, black, dried,
sunken, with closed eyelids,--a head that seemed to sleep at the top of
that pole, and, with the shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line
of the teeth, was smiling too, smiling continuously at some endless and
jocose dream of that eternal slumber.

"I am not disclosing any trade secrets. In fact the manager said
afterwards that Mr. Kurtz's methods had ruined the district. I have no
opinion on that point, but I want you clearly to understand that there
was nothing exactly profitable in these heads being there. They only
showed that Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint in the gratification of his
various lusts, that there was something wanting in him--some small
matter which, when the pressing need arose, could not be found under
his magnificent eloquence. Whether he knew of this deficiency himself I
can't say. I think the knowledge came to him at last--only at the very
last. But the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him a
terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think it had whispered
to him things about himself which he did not know, things of which he
had no conception till he took counsel with this great solitude--and the
whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating. It echoed loudly within him
because he was hollow at the core. . . . I put down the glass, and the
head that had appeared near enough to be spoken to seemed at once to
have leaped away from me into inaccessible distance.

"The admirer of Mr. Kurtz was a bit crestfallen. In a hurried,
indistinct voice he began to assure me he had not dared to take
these--say, symbols--down. He was not afraid of the natives; they would
not stir till Mr. Kurtz gave the word. His ascendency was extraordinary.
The camps of these people surrounded the place, and the chiefs came
every day to see him. They would crawl. . . . 'I don't want to know
anything of the ceremonies used when approaching Mr. Kurtz,' I shouted.
Curious, this feeling that came over me that such details would be more
intolerable than those heads drying on the stakes under Mr. Kurtz's
windows. After all, that was only a savage sight, while I seemed at
one bound to have been transported into some lightless region of subtle
horrors, where pure, uncomplicated savagery was a positive relief, being
something that had a right to exist--obviously--in the sunshine. The
young man looked at me with surprise. I suppose it did not occur to him
Mr. Kurtz was no idol of mine. He forgot I hadn't heard any of these
splendid monologues on, what was it? on love, justice, conduct of
life--or what not. If it had come to crawling before Mr. Kurtz, he
crawled as much as the veriest savage of them all. I had no idea of the
conditions, he said: these heads were the heads of rebels. I shocked him
excessively by laughing. Rebels! What would be the next definition I
was to hear? There had been enemies, criminals, workers--and these
were rebels. Those rebellious heads looked very subdued to me on their
sticks. 'You don't know how such a life tries a man like Kurtz,' cried
Kurtz's last disciple. 'Well, and you? ' I said. 'I! I! I am a simple
man. I have no great thoughts. I want nothing from anybody. How can
you compare me to . . . ? ' His feelings were too much for speech, and
suddenly he broke down. 'I don't understand,' he groaned. 'I've been
doing my best to keep him alive, and that's enough. I had no hand in
all this. I have no abilities. There hasn't been a drop of medicine or a
mouthful of invalid food for months here. He was shamefully abandoned.
A man like this, with such ideas. Shamefully! Shamefully! I--I--haven't
slept for the last ten nights. . . . '

"His voice lost itself in the calm of the evening. The long shadows of
the forest had slipped down hill while we talked, had gone far beyond
the ruined hovel, beyond the symbolic row of stakes. All this was in the
gloom, while we down there were yet in the sunshine, and the stretch
of the river abreast of the clearing glittered in a still and dazzling
splendor, with a murky and over-shadowed bend above and below. Not a
living soul was seen on the shore. The bushes did not rustle.

"Suddenly round the corner of the house a group of men appeared, as
though they had come up from the ground. They waded waist-deep in the
grass, in a compact body, bearing an improvised stretcher in their
midst. Instantly, in the emptiness of the landscape, a cry arose whose
shrillness pierced the still air like a sharp arrow flying straight to
the very heart of the land; and, as if by enchantment, streams of human
beings--of naked human beings--with spears in their hands, with bows,
with shields, with wild glances and savage movements, were poured into
the clearing by the dark-faced and pensive forest. The bushes shook, the
grass swayed for a time, and then everything stood still in attentive
immobility.

"'Now, if he does not say the right thing to them we are all done for,'
said the Russian at my elbow. The knot of men with the stretcher had
stopped too, half-way to the steamer, as if petrified. I saw the man on
the stretcher sit up, lank and with an uplifted arm, above the shoulders
of the bearers. 'Let us hope that the man who can talk so well of love
in general will find some particular reason to spare us this time,' I
said. I resented bitterly the absurd danger of our situation, as if
to be at the mercy of that atrocious phantom had been a dishonoring
necessity. I could not hear a sound, but through my glasses I saw the
thin arm extended commandingly, the lower jaw moving, the eyes of
that apparition shining darkly far in its bony head that nodded with
grotesque jerks. Kurtz--Kurtz--that means short in German--don't it?
Well, the name was as true as everything else in his life--and death.
He looked at least seven feet long. His covering had fallen off, and his
body emerged from it pitiful and appalling as from a winding-sheet. I
could see the cage of his ribs all astir, the bones of his arm waving.
It was as though an animated image of death carved out of old ivory had
been shaking its hand with menaces at a motionless crowd of men made of
dark and glittering bronze. I saw him open his mouth wide--it gave him
a weirdly voracious aspect, as though he had wanted to swallow all the
air, all the earth, all the men before him. A deep voice reached
me faintly. He must have been shouting. He fell back suddenly. The
stretcher shook as the bearers staggered forward again, and almost at
the same time I noticed that the crowd of savages was vanishing without
any perceptible movement of retreat, as if the forest that had ejected
these beings so suddenly had drawn them in again as the breath is drawn
in a long aspiration.

"Some of the pilgrims behind the stretcher carried his arms--two
shot-guns, a heavy rifle, and a light revolver-carbine--the thunderbolts
of that pitiful Jupiter. The manager bent over him murmuring as
he walked beside his head. They laid him down in one of the little
cabins--just a room for a bed-place and a camp-stool or two, you know.
We had brought his belated correspondence, and a lot of torn envelopes
and open letters littered his bed. His hand roamed feebly amongst these
papers. I was struck by the fire of his eyes and the composed languor of
his expression. It was not so much the exhaustion of disease. He did not
seem in pain. This shadow looked satiated and calm, as though for the
moment it had had its fill of all the emotions.

"He rustled one of the letters, and looking straight in my face said,
'I am glad. ' Somebody had been writing to him about me. These special
recommendations were turning up again. The volume of tone he emitted
without effort, almost without the trouble of moving his lips, amazed
me. A voice! a voice! It was grave, profound, vibrating, while the man
did not seem capable of a whisper. However, he had enough strength in
him--factitious no doubt--to very nearly make an end of us, as you shall
hear directly.

"The manager appeared silently in the doorway; I stepped out at once
and he drew the curtain after me. The Russian, eyed curiously by the
pilgrims, was staring at the shore. I followed the direction of his
glance.

"Dark human shapes could be made out in the distance, flitting
indistinctly against the gloomy border of the forest, and near the river
two bronze figures, leaning on tall spears, stood in the sunlight under
fantastic headdresses of spotted skins, warlike and still in statuesque
repose. And from right to left along the lighted shore moved a wild and
gorgeous apparition of a woman.

"She walked with measured steps, draped in striped and fringed cloths,
treading the earth proudly, with a slight jingle and flash of barbarous
ornaments. She carried her head high; her hair was done in the shape of
a helmet; she had brass leggings to the knee, brass wire gauntlets to
the elbow, a crimson spot on her tawny cheek, innumerable necklaces of
glass beads on her neck; bizarre things, charms, gifts of witch-men,
that hung about her, glittered and trembled at every step. She must have
had the value of several elephant tusks upon her. She was savage and
superb, wild-eyed and magnificent; there was something ominous and
stately in her deliberate progress. And in the hush that had fallen
suddenly upon the whole sorrowful land, the immense wilderness, the
colossal body of the fecund and mysterious life seemed to look at her,
pensive, as though it had been looking at the image of its own tenebrous
and passionate soul.

"She came abreast of the steamer, stood still, and faced us. Her long
shadow fell to the water's edge. Her face had a tragic and fierce
aspect of wild sorrow and of dumb pain mingled with the fear of some
struggling, half-shaped resolve. She stood looking at us without a
stir and like the wilderness itself, with an air of brooding over an
inscrutable purpose. A whole minute passed, and then she made a step
forward. There was a low jingle, a glint of yellow metal, a sway of
fringed draperies, and she stopped as if her heart had failed her. The
young fellow by my side growled. The pilgrims murmured at my back.
She looked at us all as if her life had depended upon the unswerving
steadiness of her glance. Suddenly she opened her bared arms and threw
them up rigid above her head, as though in an uncontrollable desire to
touch the sky, and at the same time the swift shadows darted out on the
earth, swept around on the river, gathering the steamer into a shadowy
embrace. A formidable silence hung over the scene.

"She turned away slowly, walked on, following the bank, and passed into
the bushes to the left. Once only her eyes gleamed back at us in the
dusk of the thickets before she disappeared.

"'If she had offered to come aboard I really think I would have tried to
shoot her,' said the man of patches, nervously. 'I had been risking my
life every day for the last fortnight to keep her out of the house. She
got in one day and kicked up a row about those miserable rags I picked
up in the storeroom to mend my clothes with.