TYPHOON

BY
JOSEPH CONRAD

Far as the mariner on highest mast
Can see all around upon the calmed vast,

So wide was Neptune's hall . . .
-- KEATS

AUTHOR'S NOTE
THE main characteristic of this volume consists in

this, that all the stories composing it belong not only to the
same period but have been written one after another in the order

in which they appear in the book.
The period is that which follows on my connection with

Blackwood's Magazine. I had just finished writing "The End of
the Tether" and was casting about for some subject which could be

developed in a shorter form than the tales in the volume of
"Youth" when the instance of a steamship full of returning

coolies from Singapore to some port in northern China occurred to
my recollection. Years before I had heard it being talked about

in the East as a recent occurrence. It was for us merely one
subject of conversation amongst many others of the kind. Men

earning their bread in any very specialized occupation will talk
shop, not only because it is the most vital interest of their

lives but also because they have not much knowledge of other
subjects. They have never had the time to get acquainted with

them. Life, for most of us, is not so much a hard as an exacting
taskmaster.

I never met anybody personallyconcerned in this affair, the
interest of which for us was, of course, not the bad weather but

the extraordinarycomplication brought into the ship's life at a
moment of exceptionalstress by the human element below her deck.

Neither was the story itself ever enlarged upon in my hearing. In
that company each of us could imagine easily what the whole thing

was like. The financial difficulty of it, presenting also a
human problem, was solved by a mind much too simple to be

perplexed by anything in the world except men's idle talk for
which it was not adapted.

From the first the mere anecdote, the mere statement I might say,
that such a thing had happened on the high seas, appeared to me a

sufficient subject for meditation. Yet it was but a bit of a sea
yarn after all. I felt that to bring out its deeper significance

which was quite apparent to me, something other, something more
was required; a leading motive that would harmonize all these

violent noises, and a point of view that would put all that
elemental fury into its proper place.

What was needed of course was Captain MacWhirr. Directly I
perceived him I could see that he was the man for the situation.

I don't mean to say that I ever saw Captain MacWhirr in the
flesh, or had ever come in contact with his literal mind and his

dauntless temperament. MacWhirr is not an acquaintance of a few
hours, or a few weeks, or a few months. He is the product of

twenty years of life. My own life. Conscious invention had
little to do with him. If it is true that Captain MacWhirr never

walked and breathed on this earth (which I find for my part
extremely difficult to believe) I can also assure my readers that

he is perfectlyauthentic. I may venture to assert the same of
every aspect of the story, while I confess that the particular

typhoon of the tale was not a typhoon of my actual experience.
At its first appearance "Typhoon," the story, was classed by some

critics as a deliberately intended storm-piece. Others picked
out MacWhirr, in whom they perceived a definite symbolic

intention. Neither was exclusively my intention. Both the
typhoon and Captain MacWhirr presented themselves to me as the

necessities of the deep conviction with which I approached the
subject of the story. It was their opportunity. It was also my

opportunity; and it would be vain to discourse about what I made
of it in a handful of pages, since the pages themselves are here,

between the covers of this volume, to speak for themselves.
This is a belatedreflection. If it had occurred to me before it

would have perhaps done away with the existence of this Author's
Note; for, indeed, the same remark applies to every story in this

volume. None of them are stories of experience in the absolute
sense of the word. Experience in them is but the canvas of the

attempted picture. Each of them has its more than one intention.
With each the question is what the writer has done with his

opportunity; and each answers the question for itself in words
which, if I may say so without undue solemnity, were written with

a conscientious regard for the truth of my own sensations. And
each of those stories, to mean something, must justify itself in

its own way to the conscience of each successive reader.
"Falk" -- the second story in the volume -- offended the delicacy

of one critic at least by certain peculiarities of its subject.
But what is the subject of "Falk"? I personally do not feel so

very certain about it. He who reads must find out for himself.
My intention in writing "Falk" was not to shock anybody. As in

most of my writings I insist not on the events but on their
effect upon the persons in the tale. But in everything I have

written there is always one invariable intention, and that is to
capture the reader's attention, by securing his interest and

enlisting his sympathies for the matter in hand, whatever it may
be, within the limits of the visible world and within the

boundaries of human emotions.
I may safely say that Falk is absolutely" target="_blank" title="ad.绝对地；确实">absolutely true to my experience of

certain straightforward characters combining a perfectly natural
ruthlessness with a certain amount of moral delicacy. Falk obeys

the law of self-preservation without the slightest misgivings as
to his right, but at a crucial turn of that ruthlessly preserved

life he will not condescend to dodge the truth. As he is
presented as sensitive enough to be affectedpermanently by a

certain unusual experience, that experience had to be set by me
before the reader vividly; but it is not the subject of the tale.

If we go by mere facts then the subject is Falk's attempt to get
married; in which the narrator of the tale finds himself

unexpectedly involved both on its ruthless and its delicate side.
"Falk" shares with one other of my stories ("The Return" in the

"Tales of Unrest" volume) the distinction of never having been
serialized. I think the copy was shown to the editor of some

magazine who rejected it indignantly on the sole ground that "the
girl never says anything." This is perfectly true. From first

to last Hermann's niece utters no word in the tale -- and it is
not because she is dumb, but for the simple reason that whenever

she happens to come under the observation of the narrator she has
either no occasion or is too profoundly moved to speak. The

editor, who obviously had read the story, might have perceived
that for himself. Apparently he did not, and I refrained from

pointing out the impossibility to him because, since he did not
venture to say that "the girl" did not live, I felt no concern at

his indignation.
All the other stories were serialized. The "Typhoon" appeared in

the early numbers of the Pall Mall Magazine, then under the
direction of the late Mr. Halkett. It was on that occasion, too,

that I saw for the first time my conceptions rendered by an
artist in another medium. Mr. Maurice Grieffenhagen knew how to

combine in his illustrations the effect of his own most
distinguished personal vision with an absolutefidelity to the

inspiration of the writer. "Amy Foster" was published in The
Illustrated London News with a fine drawing of Amy on her day out

giving tea to the children at her home, in a hat with a big
feather. "To-morrow" appeared first in the Pall Mall Magazine.

Of that story I will only say that it struck many people by its
adaptability to the stage and that I was induced to dramatize it

under the title of "One Day More"; up to the present my only
effort in that direction. I may also add that each of the four

stories on their appearance in book form was picked out on
various grounds as the "best of the lot" by different critics,

who reviewed the volume with a warmth of appreciation and
understanding, a sympatheticinsight and a friendliness of

expression for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful.
1919. J. C.

TYPHOON
I

CAPTAIN MACWHIRR, of the steamer Nan-Shan, had a physiognomy