Серце темряви

           Soul!Ifanybodyeverstruggledwithasoul,Iamtheman.AndIwasn’targuingwithalunaticeither.Believemeornot,hisintelligencewasperfectlyclear—concentrated,itistrue,uponhimselfwithhorribleintensity,yetclear;andthereinwasmyonlychance—barring,ofcourse,thekillinghimthereandthen,whichwasn’tsogood,onaccountofunavoidablenoise.Buthissoulwasmad.Beingaloneinthewilderness,ithadlookedwithinitself,and,byheavens!Itellyou,ithadgonemad.Ihad—formysins,Isuppose—togothroughtheordealoflookingintoitmyself.Noeloquencecouldhavebeensowitheringtoone’sbeliefinmankindashisfinalburstofsincerity.Hestruggledwithhimself,too.Isawit—Iheardit.Isawtheinconceivablemysteryofasoulthatknewnorestraint,nofaith,andnofear,yetstrugglingblindlywithitself.Ikeptmyheadprettywell;butwhenIhadhimatlaststretchedonthecouch,Iwipedmyforehead,whilemylegsshookundermeasthoughIhadcarriedhalfatononmybackdownthathill.AndyetIhadonlysupportedhim,hisbonyarmclaspedroundmyneck—andhewasnotmuchheavierthanachild.

           "Whennextdayweleftatnoon,thecrowd,ofwhosepresencebehindthecurtainoftreesIhadbeenacutelyconsciousallthetime,flowedoutofthewoodsagain,filledtheclearing,coveredtheslopewithamassofnaked,breathing,quivering,bronzebodies.