Re: Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- From: fatso <fatso60347@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 04 Feb 2006 04:47:16 GMT
Ryszard S. Górski wrote:
The Patna was a local steamer as old as the hills, lean like a greyhound,
and eaten up with rust worse than a condemned water-tank. She was owned by a
Chinaman, chartered by an Arab, and commanded by a sort of renegade New
South Wales German, very anxious to curse publicly his native country, but
who, apparently on the strength of Bismarck's victorious policy, brutalised
all those he was not afraid of, and wore a "blood-and-iron" air, combined
with a purple nose and a red moustache.
After she had been painted outside and whitewashed inside, eight hundred
pilgrims (more or less) were driven on board of her as she lay with steam
up alongside a wooden jetty.
They streamed aboard over three gangways, they streamed in urged by faith
and the hope of paradise, they streamed in with a continuous tramp and
shuffle of bare feet, without a word, a murmur, or a look back; and when
clear of confining rails spread on all sides over the deck, flowed forward
and aft, overflowed down the yawning hatchways, filled the inner recesses of
the ship-like water filling a cistern, like water flowing into crevices and
crannies, like water rising silently even with the rim.
Eight hundred men and women with faith and hopes, with affections and
memories, they had collected there, coming from north and south and from
the outskirts of the East, after treading the jungle paths, descending the
rivers, coasting in praus along the shallows, crossing in small canoes from
island to island, passing through suffering, meeting strange sights, beset
by strange fears, upheld by one desire.
They came from solitary huts in the wilderness, from populous campongs,
from villages by the sea. At the call of an idea they had left their
forests, their clearings, the protection of their rulers, their prosperity, their
poverty, the surroundings of their youth and the graves of their fathers.
They came covered with dust, with sweat, with grime, with rags- the strong
men at the head of family parties, the lean old men pressing forward without
hope of return; young boys with fearless eyes glancing curiously, shy little
girls with tumbled long hair; the timid women muffled up and clasping to
their breasts, wrapped in loose ends of soiled head-cloths, their sleeping
babies, the unconscious pilgrims of an exacting belief.
"Look at dese cattle," said the German skipper to his new chief mate.
An Arab, the leader of that pious voyage, came last. He walked slowly
aboard, handsome and grave in his white gown and large turban. A string of
servants followed, loaded with his luggage; the Patna cast off and backed
away from the wharf.
She was headed between two small islets, crossed obliquely the
anchoring-ground of sailing-ships, swung through half a circle in the shadow
of a hill, then ranged close to a ledge of foaming reefs.
The Arab standing up aft, recited aloud the prayer of travellers by sea.
He invoked the favour of the Most High upon that journey, implored His
blessing on men's toil and on the secret purposes of their hearts; the
steamer pounded in the dusk the calm water of the Strait; and far astern
of the pilgrim ship a screw-pile lighthouse, planted by unbelievers on a
treacherous shoal, seemed to wink at her its eye of flame, as if in derision
of her errand of faith.
She cleared the Strait, crossed the bay, continued on her way through the
"One-degree" passage. She held on straight for the Red Sea under a serene
sky, under a sky scorching and unclouded, enveloped in a fulgor of sunshine
that killed all thought, oppressed the heart, withered all impulses of
strength and energy. And under the sinister splendour of that sky the sea,
blue and profound, remained still, without a stir, without a ripple, without
a wrinkle- viscous, stagnant, dead.
The Patna, with a slight hiss, passed over that plain luminous and smooth,
unrolled a black ribbon of smoke across the sky, left behind her on the
water a white ribbon of foam that vanished at once, like the phantom of
a track drawn upon a lifeless sea by the phantom of a steamer.
Every morning the sun, as if keeping pace in his revolutions with the
progress of the pilgrimage, emerged with a silent burst of light exactly at
the same distance astern of the ship, caught up with her at noon, pouring
the concentrated fire of his rays on the pious purposes of the men, glided
past on his descent, and sank mysteriously into the sea evening after
evening, preserving the same distance ahead of her advancing bows.
The five whites on board lived amidships, isolated from the human cargo.
The awnings covered the deck with a white roof from stern to stern, and
a faint hum, a low murmur of sad voices, alone revealed the presence
of a crowd of people upon the great blaze of the ocean.
Such were the days, still, hot, heavy, disappearing one by one into the
past, as if falling into an abyss for ever open in the wake of the ship;
and the ship, lonely under a wisp of smoke, held on her steadfast way
black and smouldering in a luminous immensity, as if scorched by
a flame flicked at her from a heaven without pity.
The night descended on her like a benediction.
[ "Lord Jim" by Joseph Conrad ]
Dobre!
Trzeba przyznac Panie Gorski ze Polacy maja zdolnosc do jezykow.
Pusc Pan ten kawalek na ukrainskiej grupie. Oni tam szukaja wzorcow
literackich dla wlasnej kultury. Znudzil im sie Gogol jak i zgrzebna
kultura ludowa. Ilez w koncu mozna pogrywac na tej smetnej kobzie, szarpac struny prymitywnych instrumentow?
Conrad to literatura swiatowa a i w koncu on ich tak samo jak i nasz,
Ukrainiec rodem.
fatso
.
- Follow-Ups:
- Re: Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- From: pleva
- Re: Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- References:
- Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- From: Ryszard S. Górski
- Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- Prev by Date: Re: warte przeczytania
- Next by Date: Re: Groch z Kapusta Nr 5
- Previous by thread: Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- Next by thread: Re: Muslim pilgrims in OUR literature
- Index(es):
Relevant Pages
|
