Jądro ciemności/Heart of Darkness. Adaptacja klasyki z ćwiczeniami ebook

Jądro ciemności/Heart of Darkness

Adaptacja klasyki z ćwiczeniami

Joseph Conrad

Autor: Joseph Conrad

Adaptacja tekstu: Bartłomiej Paszylk

Autorka ćwiczeń: Olga Akman

Redakcja: Patryk Łapiński

Konsultacja językowa: Agatha Oellien

Projekt graficzny: Michał Wastkowski / ProDesGraf, Elżbieta Giżyńska

Skład i łamanie: Michał Ziółkowski, Joanna Flaszczyńska / Graphics & Design Studio

Redakcja techniczna: Elżbieta Giżyńska

Projekt okładki: Ewa Rostalska

Copyright © 2018 Edgard

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ISBN 978-83-66237-58-2

Wydanie I

Warszawa 2018

Skład wersji elektronicznej: Marcin Kapusta

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Wstęp

Jak przeskoczyć magiczną barierę i zacząc czytać powieści w języku angielskim? Jeśli lektura artykułów i innych krótkich tekstów w oryginale nie sprawia ci większych trudności, ale wciąż obawiasz się sięgnąć po książkę napisaną po angielsku, ANGIELSKI. HEART OF DARKNESS to pozycja idealna dla ciebie. Łączy ona przyjemność lektury z solidnym treningiem leksykalno-gramatycznym na poziomie B1/B2.

ANGIELSKI. HEART OF DARKNESS to niekonwencjonalny kurs skierowany do młodzieży i dorosłych zainteresowanych nieszablonowymi metodami nauki oraz chcących zasmakować angielszczyzny w jej najlepszym wydaniu. Praca z kursem pozwala poznać bogate słownictwo oraz konstrukcje gramatyczne w kontekście, czyli w sposób najbardziej sprzyjający zapamiętywaniu.

ANGIELSKI. HEART OF DARKNESS to publikacja stworzona dla osób, które chcą poznać jedną z najważniejszych i najczęściej czytanych angielskich powieści wszech czasów. Została ona zekranizowana przez Francisa Forda Coppolę w 1979 roku pod tytułem „Czas apokalipsy”. Główne role w filmie zagrali Marlon Brando, Martin Sheen i Robert Duvall, a obraz, podobnie jak książka, szybko stał się klasykiem. Jeśli wątpisz w swoje umiejętności językowe, nie zapominaj, że Joseph Conrad urodził się jako Józef Korzeniowski w Berdyczowie na terenie dzisiejszej Ukrainy i w Anglii osiadł na stałe dopiero w wieku 37 lat, po dwudziestoletniej karierze marynarskiej. Angielski był więc dla niego językiem obcym, co nie przeszkodziło mu w tworzeniu książek, które na stałe weszły do kanonu nie tylko anglosaskiej, ale i światowej literatury. ANGIELSKI. HEART OF DARKNESS będzie więc dla ciebie doskonałą rozrywką i motywacją do pogłębiania znajomości języka!

Nowo poznane słownictwo możesz przećwiczyć w licznych i różnorodnych zadaniach. Niektóre z nich są trudniejsze, inne – całkiem łatwe, żeby zachęcić cię do dalszej pracy i podnieść na duchu w momentach zwątpienia. Podręcznik zawiera klucz odpowiedzi, w którym sprawdzisz rozwiązania ćwiczeń.

Tłumaczenia najtrudniejszych słów i zwrotów znajdziesz na marginesach, co umożliwi ci poznanie ich znaczenia bez konieczności zaglądania do słownika – zbiorczy indeks znajdziesz na końcu kursu. Tekst powieści został zaadaptowany do poziomu B1/B2, zachowano jednak styl charakterystyczny dla Josepha Conrada, dzięki czemu docenisz jego literacki kunszt, i to w języku angielskim.

Pełna i aktualna oferta książek, kursów oraz programów multimedialnych Wydawnictwa EDGARD znajduje się na naszej stronie internetowej www.jezykiobce.pl.

Życzymy skutecznej nauki!

Part I

1THE NELLIE, a sailboat, was at rest. The wind was nearly calm and the boat was waiting for the low tide.

The mouth of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an endless waterway. The sea and the sky seemed to be seamlessly connected. Ahaze rested on the low flat sea shores. The air was dark above Gravesend and farther back it turned into thick blackness hanging over the biggest and greatest town on earth.

The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. The four of us watched his back as he stood in the bows, his eyes fixed on the sea. On the whole river there was nothing that looked more nautical than him. He resembled a pilot, somebody you can trust. It was difficult to realize that his work was not out there in the bright waters, but behind him, within the blackness.

We were all connected by the sea. It held our hearts together through long periods of separation and it made us tolerant of each other’s anecdotes—and even beliefs. The Lawyer—the best of old fellows—had the only cushion on deck and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant brought out a box of dominoes and was building structures with the pieces. Marlow sat cross-legged in the back of the ship, leaning against the mast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion and a straight back. With his ascetic aura, dropped arms and the palms of his hands turned outwards, he resembled an idol. The director checked the anchor and sat down among us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards, there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason we did not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative and all we could do was stare into the distance. The ending of the day was still and brilliant. The water sparkled peacefully; the sky, without a speck, was filled with bright light; the mist on the Essex marsh looked like a delicate, shiny fabric. Only the blackness to the west became thicker every minute, as if angered by the approaching sun.

At last, the sun sank low, and from a glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if it was about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of the blackness.

Immediately, a change came over the peaceful waters, too. The serenity became less brilliant but more profound. The old river rested calmly at the end of day. We looked at the noble stream not in the bright flush of a short day, but in the majestic light of lasting memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has faithfully ‘followed the sea’, than to bring back the great spirit of the past upon the lower parts of the Thames. The tidal current runs back and forth, crowded with memories of men and ships that it brought to the safety of home or to the battles of the sea. It knew and served all the men that made the nation proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, titled and untitled knights of the sea. It carried all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the dark times: from the Golden Hind that came back filled with treasures to the Erebus and Terror that never returned from their conquests. It was familiar with the ships and the men. They sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith—the adventurers and the settlers; kings’ ships and the ships of captains, admirals, the dark intruders of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned ‘generals’ of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or fame, they all followed that stream with swords andtorches in their hands. They were like messengers of power, like bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness floated on the tide of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth! The dreams of men, the seeds of nations, the germs of empires.

The sun set. Dusk fell on the stream and lights began to appear along the shore. The Chapman lighthouse shone strongly. Lights of ships were going up and down the river. And farther west the place of the monstrous town was still marked on the sky, a blackness in sunshine, a glare under the stars.

‘And this also,’ said Marlow suddenly, ‘has been one of the dark places of the earth.’

He was the only one of us who still ‘followed the sea.’ He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer, too, while most seamen lead an idle life. 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. The foreign shores, the foreign faces, the changing richness of life, glide past, veiled not by a sense of mystery but by ignorance. The only thing that is mysterious to a seaman is the sea itself, the mistress of his existence. After work, a short walk on shore is all he can manage to get to know the whole continent. The stories the seamen tell are very simple. But Marlow was not typical, although he, too, enjoyed telling stories. The meaning of his stories was what really mattered, and the simple facts were only used to bring the meaning out, just like the moonshine sometimes brings out misty halos.

His remark did not seem surprising. It was just like Marlow. It was accepted in silence. And then he said, very slowly—‘I was thinking of old times, when the Romans first came here. Light came out of this river since, but it is like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker—but darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of a commander of a galleon in the Mediterranean, ordered suddenly to the north and put in of legionaries—a wonderful lot of handy men. Imagine him here, going up this river. Sand-banks, marshes, forests, savages, little to eat fit for a civilized man, nothing but Thames water to drink. Here and there a military camp lost in the wilderness, like a needle in abundle of hay—cold, fog, storms, disease, exile, and death—death waiting in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must have been dying like flies here. They were men enough to face the darkness. Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga coming out here with some prefect, ortrader, to change his life. He lands in a swamp, marches through the woods, and feels the complete savagery, closing in around him. There’s no initiation into such mysteries. He has to live in the middle of the incomprehensible and horrible. And it fascinates him, too. It is the fascination of the abomination—imagine the growing regrets, the desire to escape, the powerless disgust, thesurrender, the hate.’

He paused.

Lifting one arm from the elbow, the palm of his hand stretched outwards, with his legs folded before him, he had the pose of a Buddha preaching in European clothes—‘Mind, none of us would feel exactly like this. What saves us is efficiency. But these men were no colonists. They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force—nothing to be proud of, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get. It was just robbery with violence, furious murder on a great scale. The conquest of the earth mostly means taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves. It is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only. And an unselfish belief in the idea …’

He stopped. Flames glided in the river, small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing, overtaking, joining, crossing each other—then separating slowly or hastily. The traffic of the great city continued upon the sleepless river. We looked on, waiting patiently—there was nothing else to do till the end of the flood; after a long silence, he said, in a hesitating voice, ‘I suppose you remember I was a fresh-water sailor for a bit.’ At that moment we knew we were going to hear about one of Marlow’s experiences.

1. Wybierz właściwą odpowiedź.

1. The boat was not moving because

a. the weather was bad.

b. the water was too high.

c. it was too dark.

d. it was broken.

2. Marlow was

a. the captain of the boat.

b. the lawyer.

c. the accountant.

d. none of the above.

3. The author describes the Thames as

a. a dangerous river.

b. a quiet river.

c. a very important river.

d. a dirty river.

4. Marlow didn’t talk about

a. difficulties in his life.

b. the history of Great Britain.

c. the cruelty of the conquerors.

d. the hard natural conditions of the British Isles.

5. According to Marlow, the conquest of the earth can be redeemed by

a. faith.

b. love.

c. an idea.

d. hard work.

2. Podziel wyrazy na kategorie i przetłumacz na polski.

river

weather

boat

light

3. Użyj podanych wyrazów w odpowiedniej formie.

1. The first (settle) ........................... of Australia were the British.

2. My uncle worked as a (sail) ................................. all his life.

3. He was both attracted to and scared of the great (wild) ................. .

4. The news of the violent (rob) ........................ was on every TV channel.

5. Be careful when you (take) ............................ other cars on the road.

6. We were very impressed by his (efficient) ................................ .

7. Tell me now! Don’t be so (mystery) ........................................ .

4. Wstaw brakujące litery.

1. This cream is too dark for your c_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.

2. My p_ _ _ _ were all sweaty from stress.

3. I don’t like to sit cross-_ _ _ _ _ _ on the floor.

4. The girl’s c_ _ _ _ _ were bright red from the cold.

5. It’s not polite to s_ _ _ _ at strangers. Stop it!

6.D_ _ _ fell and it became cold and dark very quickly.

2‘I DON’T WANT TO bother you much with what happened to me personally,’ he began; ‘yet to understand the effect of it on me you ought to know how I got out there, what I saw, how I went up that river to the place where I first met the poor man. It was the farthest point of navigation and the culminating point of my experience. It seemed somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about me—and into my thoughts. It was hopeless and sad—not extraordinary in any way—not very clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.

‘I just returned to London after six years on the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, and the China Seas. After a bit I got tired of resting and I began to look for a ship. But the ships wouldn’t even look at me. And I got tired of that game, too.

‘When I was a little boy I had a passion for maps. I would look for hours at South America, or Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in exploration. At that time there were many blank spaces on the earth, and I would put my finger on one of them and say, ‘When I grow up I will go there.’ There was one particular space—the biggest, the most blank, so to speak—that I wanted to visit most of all.

‘Since my boyhood this space has been filled with rivers and lakes and names. It was not a blank space of delightful mystery anymore. It has become a place of darkness. But there was a mighty big river, that you could see on the map. It looked like a huge snake, with its head in the sea, and its tail lost in the depths of the land. And as I looked at the map of it in a shop-window, it fascinated me as a snake fascinates a bird—a silly little bird. Then I remembered there was a big trading company on that river. I thought to myself, ‘I should try to find work on one of their steamboats.’ I continued along Fleet Street, but could not shake off the idea. I was charmed by the snake.

‘Soon I got my appointment as skipper of a river steamboat. It appears that one of the captains of the company was killed in a fight with the natives. This was my chance, and it made me the more anxious to go. Months later, when I tried to recover the body of the captain, I heard that he had quarrelled with the chief of the village about some hens. Yes, two black hens. Fresleven—that was the man’s name, a Dane—thought he was cheated by the native, so he went ashore and started to hit him with a stick. Supposedly, Fresleven was the gentlest, quietest creature that ever walked on two legs; but he had been out there engaged in the noble cause for a couple of years, and he felt the need of asserting his self-respect in some way. Therefore he whacked the old nigger mercilessly, while a big crowd of his people watched him. Finally, one man—I was told the chief’s son—threw a spear at the white man and killed him. Then all the natives ran away into the forest, and the steamboat Fresleven commanded also left in a panic. Afterwards nobody seemed to care about Fresleven’s body, but I couldn’t let it rest. When the opportunity arose, I came to collect his bones. They were all there. And the village was deserted. A calamity had come to it, sure enough. The people disappeared. Mad terror scattered them, men, women, and children, through the bush, and they never returned. I don’t know what happened to the hens. Through this glorious affair I got my appointment, before I had fairly begun to hope for it.

‘Before forty-eight hours I was crossing the Channel to show myself to my employers, and sign the contract. In a few hours I arrived in a city that always makes me think of a whitened crypt. Prejudice no doubt. I had no difficulty in finding the offices of the company. It was the biggest thing in the town. They were going to run an overseas empire, and make lots of money by trade.

‘A narrow and deserted street in deep shadow, high houses, many windows with Venetian blinds. A dead silence and huge, half-open doors. I slipped through one of these openings and went up the staircase. I opened the first door I came to. Two women, one fat and the other slim, sat on straw-bottomed chairs, knitting black wool. The slim one got up and walked straight at me. Then she looked up, turned round without a word and led me into a waiting-room. I gave my name, and looked around. There was a table in the middle, chairs near the walls, and a large shining map on one end. It was marked with all the colours of the rainbow. There was lots of red and blue, a little green, and smears of orange. On the East Coast, there was a purple patch, to show where the pioneers of progress drink the lager beer. However, I wasn’t going into any of these places. I was going into the yellow. Dead in the centre. And the river was there—fascinating—deadly—like a snake. Ough! A door opened, a white-haired secretarial head appeared, and a skinny forefinger invited me inside. The room was dark, with a heavy desk in the middle. The great man himself was sitting behind the desk. He shook my hand, and said something I couldn’t understand. He was satisfied with my French. Bon Voyage.

‘In about forty-five seconds I found myself in the waiting-room again. The secretary made me sign some document. I believe I agreed not to disclose any trade secrets. Well, I am not going to.

‘I began to feel uneasy. I am not used to such ceremonies, and there was something ominous in the atmosphere. Something was not quite right. I was glad to get out. In the outer room the two women knitted black wool madly. People were arriving, and the younger one was walking back and forth introducing them. The old one sat on her chair. She glanced at me above the glasses. She seemed to know all about me. An eerie feeling came over me. She seemed uncanny and fateful. Later, when I was far away, I often thought of these two, knitting black wool and guarding the door of Darkness; one introducing people to the unknown, the other looking at the cheery and foolish faces with cold old eyes. Not many of those she looked at ever saw her again.

‘There was yet a visit to the doctor. ‘A simple formality,’ assured me the secretary. A young man came from somewhere upstairs, and led me forth. He was shabby and careless, with ink stains on the sleeves of his jacket, and his tie was large and wrinkled. It was a little too early for the doctor, so I proposed a drink. As we sat over our vermouths he glorified the company, and I expressed my surprise at him not going out there. He became very cool all at once. ‘I am not such a fool as I look, quoth Plato to his disciples,’ he said sententiously, emptied his glass, and we rose.

‘The old doctor felt my pulse. ‘Good, good for there,’ he mumbled, and then asked me whether I would let him measure my head. Rather surprised, I said Yes, when he got the dimensions back and front and every way, taking notes carefully. He was an unshaven little man in a shabby coat, with his feet in slippers, and I thought he was a harmless fool. ‘In the interests of science, I always measure the heads of those going out there,’ he said. ‘And when they come back, too?’ I asked. ‘Oh, I never see them,’ he answered; ‘and, anyway, the changes take place inside, you know.’ He smiled, as if at some joke. ‘So you are going out there. Famous. Interesting, too.’ He gave me a searching glance, and made another note. ‘Ever any madness in your family?’ he asked, in a matter-of-fact