Notes on Life and Letters

by Joseph Conrad
Contents:

Author's note
PART I--Letters

BOOKS--1905.
HENRY JAMES--AN APPRECIATION--1905

ALPHONSE DAUDET--1898
GUY DE MAUPASSANT--1904

ANATOLE FRANCE--1904
TURGENEV--1917

STEPHEN CRANE--A NOTE WITHOUT DATES--1919
TALES OF THE SEA--1898

AN OBSERVER IN MALAYA--1898
A HAPPY WANDERER--1910

THE LIFE BEYOND--1910
THE ASCENDING EFFORT--1910

THE CENSOR OF PLAYS--AN APPRECIATION--1907
PART II--Life

AUTOCRACY AND WAR--1905
THE CRIME OF PARTITION--1919

A NOTE ON THE POLISH PROBLEM--1916
POLAND REVISITED--1915

FIRST NEWS--1918
WELL DONE--1918

TRADITION--1918
CONFIDENCE--1919

FLIGHT--1917
SOME REFLECTIONS ON THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC--1912

CERTAIN ASPECTS OF THE ADMIRABLE INQUIRY INTO THE LOSS OF THE
TITANIC--1912

PROTECTION OF OCEAN LINERS--1914
A FRIENDLY PLACE

AUTHOR'S NOTE
I don't know whether I ought to offer an apology for this

collection which has more to do with life than with letters. Its
appeal is made to orderly minds. This, to be frank about it, is a

process of tidying up, which, from the nature of things, cannot be
regarded as premature. The fact is that I wanted to do it myself

because of a feeling that had nothing to do with the considerations
of worthiness or unworthiness of the small (but unbroken) pieces

collected within the covers of this volume. Of course it may be
said that I might have taken up a broom and used it without saying

anything about it. That, certainly, is one way of tidying up.
But it would have been too much to have expected me to treat all

this matter as removable rubbish. All those things had a place in
my life. Whether any of them deserve to have been picked up and

ranged on the shelf--this shelf--I cannot say, and, frankly, I have
not allowed my mind to dwell on the question. I was afraid of

thinking myself into a mood that would hurt my feelings; for those
pieces of writing, whatever may be the comment on their display,

appertain to the character of the man.
And so here they are, dusted, which was but a decent thing to do,

but in no way polished, extending from the year '98 to the year
'20, a thin array (for such a stretch of time) of really innocent

attitudes: Conrad literary, Conrad political, Conrad reminiscent,
Conrad controversial. Well, yes! A one-man show--or is it merely

the show of one man?
The only thing that will not be found amongst those Figures and

Things that have passed away, will be Conrad EN PANTOUFLES. It is
a constitutionalinability. SCHLAFROCK UND PANTOFFELN! Not that!

Never! . . . I don't know whether I dare boast like a certain South
American general who used to say that no emergency of war or peace

had ever found him "with his boots off"; but I may say that
whenever the various periodicals mentioned in this book called on

me to come out and blow the trumpet of personal opinions or strike
the pensive lute that speaks of the past, I always tried to pull on

my boots first. I didn't want to do it, God knows! Their Editors,
to whom I beg to offer my thanks here, made me perform mainly by

kindness but partly by bribery. Well, yes! Bribery? What can you
expect? I never pretended to be better than the people in the next

street, or even in the same street.
This volume (including these embarrassed introductory remarks) is

as near as I shall ever come to DESHABILLE in public; and perhaps
it will do something to help towards a better vision of the man, if

it gives no more than a partial view of a piece of his back, a
little dusty (after the process of tidying up), a little bowed, and

receding from the world not because of weariness or misanthropy but
for other reasons that cannot be helped: because the leaves fall,

the water flows, the clock ticks with that horrid pitiless
solemnity which you must have observed in the ticking of the hall

clock at home. For reasons like that. Yes! It recedes. And this
was the chance to afford one more view of it--even to my own eyes.

The section within this volume called Letters explains itself,
though I do not pretend to say that it justifies its own existence.

It claims nothing in its defence except the right of speech which I
believe belongs to everybody outside a Trappist monastery. The

part I have ventured, for shortness' sake, to call Life, may
perhaps justify itself by the emotionalsincerity of the feelings

to which the various papers included under that head owe their
origin. And as they relate to events of which everyone has a date,

they are in the nature of sign-posts pointing out the direction my
thoughts were compelled to take at the various cross-roads. If

anybody detects any sort of consistency in the choice, this will be
only proof positive that wisdom had nothing to do with it. Whether

right or wrong, instinct alone is invariable; a fact which only
adds a deeper shade to its inherentmystery. The appearance of

intellectuality these pieces may present at first sight is merely
the result of the arrangement of words. The logic that may be

found there is only the logic of the language. But I need not
labour the point. There will be plenty of people sagacious enough

to perceive the absence of all wisdom from these pages. But I
believe sufficiently in human sympathies to imagine that very few

will question their sincerity. Whatever delusions I may have
suffered from I have had no delusions as to the nature of the facts

commented on here. I may have misjudged their import: but that is
the sort of error for which one may expect a certain amount of

toleration.
The only paper of this collection which has never been published

before is the Note on the Polish Problem. It was written at the
request of a friend to be shown privately, and its "Protectorate"

idea, sprung from a strong sense of the critical nature of the
situation, was shaped by the actual circumstances of the time. The

time was about a month before the entrance of Roumania into the
war, and though, honestly, I had seen already the shadow of coming

events I could not permit my misgivings to enter into and destroy
the structure of my plan. I still believe that there was some

sense in it. It may certainly be charged with the appearance of
lack of faith and it lays itself open to the throwing of many

stones; but my object was practical and I had to consider warily
the preconceived notions of the people to whom it was implicitly

addressed, and also their unjustifiable hopes. They were
unjustifiable, but who was to tell them that? I mean who was wise

enough and convincing enough to show them the inanity of their
mental attitude? The whole atmosphere was poisoned with visions

that were not so much false as simply impossible. They were also
the result of vague and unconfessed fears, and that made their

strength. For myself, with a very definite dread in my heart, I
was careful not to allude to their character because I did not want

the Note to be thrown away unread. And then I had to remember that
the impossible has sometimes the trick of coming to pass to the

confusion of minds and often to the crushing of hearts.
Of the other papers I have nothing special to say. They are what

they are, and I am by now too hardened a sinner to feel ashamed of
insignificant indiscretions. And as to their appearance in this