feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Lord Jim/section_18_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Lord Jim.chapter 19
feat_summary_id: chapter 19
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 19", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820051943/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmLordJim28.asp", "summary": "Jim continues to jump from place to place, as his secret shame chases him. It seems that everybody knows about the Patna, and as soon as it is mentioned, Jim bolts. Marlow refers to the young man as a \"rolling stone.\" Jim stays in Bangkok for some time, and Schomberg, the keeper of the hotel there, calls him a very nice fellow. Unfortunately, he gets into a brawl. He plays a game of billiards with a Danish lieutenant of the Royal Siamese Navy, who has too much to drink. The Dane makes an ugly comment about Jim's being on the Patna. Jim loses control, knocks the lieutenant out, and throws him into the river. At midnight after the brawl, Jim meets Marlow on board his ship. He says he is sorry that he had knocked the man out, but he had no other option. After this incident, everyone seems to turn against Jim, even Schomberg. Marlow could not bear to leave his friend in such a hostile atmosphere, so he takes Jim away from Bangkok on his ship. As they travel, Jim seems to recoil within himself, rarely speaking. Marlow realizes Jim's frustration and knows that he needs a challenge. One day while Marlow and Jim are standing alone, Marlow inquires if he would like to go to another part of the world. Jim smiles for the first time in many days; but he remarks that it would probably not make much difference. He knows he cannot run away from himself. Marlow realizes Jim needs to prove himself again. Marlow goes to consult Stein, a wealthy and respected merchant whose hobby is entomology and whose specialty is beetles and butterflies. Marlow knows he can depend on Stein, who will help if he can, for he is trustworthy, intelligent, kind, and good-natured. He discusses Jim and his problems with his friend, for Marlow is hoping that Stein will be able to offer Jim a worthy job, one that he can be proud of performing.", "analysis": "Notes Jim can find no peace. No matter where he goes, he hears about the Patna incident and his guilt and shame cause him to flee. Conrad tells of three different incidents that occur in three different settings, far apart, but there were obviously many more. In each one, Jim reveals that his tolerance is declining. At first he only runs away from people who talk about the Patna; then he begins to fight them. When Jim knocks out the Dane and throws him in the river, it is the only time in the novel that Jim is not acting like \"one of us.\" Conrad's skill in dramatizing Jim's story is seen clearly here. The chapter depicts Jim haunted by his past, the memory of his cowardice. Marlow sympathizes with his plight and is determined to help Jim. Stein, the wise man of the novel, is introduced in this chapter. Marlow goes to him, hoping he will give Jim a job that will challenge him and take his mind off his guilt. Stein understands Jim's problem and becomes instrumental in bringing about a change in Jim's life."}
text: 
  'I have told you these two episodes at length to show his manner of
  dealing with himself under the new conditions of his life. There were
  many others of the sort, more than I could count on the fingers of my
  two hands. They were all equally tinged by a high-minded absurdity of
  intention which made their futility profound and touching. To fling away
  your daily bread so as to get your hands free for a grapple with a ghost
  may be an act of prosaic heroism. Men had done it before (though we who
  have lived know full well that it is not the haunted soul but the hungry
  body that makes an outcast), and men who had eaten and meant to eat
  every day had applauded the creditable folly. He was indeed unfortunate,
  for all his recklessness could not carry him out from under the shadow.
  There was always a doubt of his courage. The truth seems to be that
  it is impossible to lay the ghost of a fact. You can face it or shirk
  it--and I have come across a man or two who could wink at their familiar
  shades. Obviously Jim was not of the winking sort; but what I could
  never make up my mind about was whether his line of conduct amounted to
  shirking his ghost or to facing him out.
  
  'I strained my mental eyesight only to discover that, as with the
  complexion of all our actions, the shade of difference was so delicate
  that it was impossible to say. It might have been flight and it might
  have been a mode of combat. To the common mind he became known as a
  rolling stone, because this was the funniest part: he did after a time
  become perfectly known, and even notorious, within the circle of his
  wanderings (which had a diameter of, say, three thousand miles), in the
  same way as an eccentric character is known to a whole countryside. For
  instance, in Bankok, where he found employment with Yucker Brothers,
  charterers and teak merchants, it was almost pathetic to see him go
  about in sunshine hugging his secret, which was known to the very
  up-country logs on the river. Schomberg, the keeper of the hotel where
  he boarded, a hirsute Alsatian of manly bearing and an irrepressible
  retailer of all the scandalous gossip of the place, would, with both
  elbows on the table, impart an adorned version of the story to any guest
  who cared to imbibe knowledge along with the more costly liquors. "And,
  mind you, the nicest fellow you could meet," would be his generous
  conclusion; "quite superior." It says a lot for the casual crowd that
  frequented Schomberg's establishment that Jim managed to hang out
  in Bankok for a whole six months. I remarked that people, perfect
  strangers, took to him as one takes to a nice child. His manner was
  reserved, but it was as though his personal appearance, his hair, his
  eyes, his smile, made friends for him wherever he went. And, of course,
  he was no fool. I heard Siegmund Yucker (native of Switzerland), a
  gentle creature ravaged by a cruel dyspepsia, and so frightfully lame
  that his head swung through a quarter of a circle at every step he took,
  declare appreciatively that for one so young he was "of great gabasidy,"
  as though it had been a mere question of cubic contents. "Why not send
  him up country?" I suggested anxiously. (Yucker Brothers had concessions
  and teak forests in the interior.) "If he has capacity, as you say,
  he will soon get hold of the work. And physically he is very fit. His
  health is always excellent." "Ach! It's a great ting in dis goundry
  to be vree vrom tispep-shia," sighed poor Yucker enviously, casting a
  stealthy glance at the pit of his ruined stomach. I left him drumming
  pensively on his desk and muttering, "Es ist ein' Idee. Es ist ein'
  Idee." Unfortunately, that very evening an unpleasant affair took place
  in the hotel.
  
  'I don't know that I blame Jim very much, but it was a truly regrettable
  incident. It belonged to the lamentable species of bar-room scuffles,
  and the other party to it was a cross-eyed Dane of sorts whose
  visiting-card recited, under his misbegotten name: first lieutenant in
  the Royal Siamese Navy. The fellow, of course, was utterly hopeless at
  billiards, but did not like to be beaten, I suppose. He had had enough
  to drink to turn nasty after the sixth game, and make some scornful
  remark at Jim's expense. Most of the people there didn't hear what
  was said, and those who had heard seemed to have had all precise
  recollection scared out of them by the appalling nature of the
  consequences that immediately ensued. It was very lucky for the Dane
  that he could swim, because the room opened on a verandah and the Menam
  flowed below very wide and black. A boat-load of Chinamen, bound, as
  likely as not, on some thieving expedition, fished out the officer of
  the King of Siam, and Jim turned up at about midnight on board my ship
  without a hat. "Everybody in the room seemed to know," he said, gasping
  yet from the contest, as it were. He was rather sorry, on general
  principles, for what had happened, though in this case there had been,
  he said, "no option." But what dismayed him was to find the nature of
  his burden as well known to everybody as though he had gone about all
  that time carrying it on his shoulders. Naturally after this he couldn't
  remain in the place. He was universally condemned for the brutal
  violence, so unbecoming a man in his delicate position; some maintained
  he had been disgracefully drunk at the time; others criticised his want
  of tact. Even Schomberg was very much annoyed. "He is a very nice young
  man," he said argumentatively to me, "but the lieutenant is a first-rate
  fellow too. He dines every night at my table d'hote, you know. And
  there's a billiard-cue broken. I can't allow that. First thing this
  morning I went over with my apologies to the lieutenant, and I think
  I've made it all right for myself; but only think, captain, if everybody
  started such games! Why, the man might have been drowned! And here I
  can't run out into the next street and buy a new cue. I've got to write
  to Europe for them. No, no! A temper like that won't do!" . . . He was
  extremely sore on the subject.
  
  'This was the worst incident of all in his--his retreat. Nobody could
  deplore it more than myself; for if, as somebody said hearing him
  mentioned, "Oh yes! I know. He has knocked about a good deal out here,"
  yet he had somehow avoided being battered and chipped in the process.
  This last affair, however, made me seriously uneasy, because if his
  exquisite sensibilities were to go the length of involving him in
  pot-house shindies, he would lose his name of an inoffensive, if
  aggravating, fool, and acquire that of a common loafer. For all my
  confidence in him I could not help reflecting that in such cases
  from the name to the thing itself is but a step. I suppose you will
  understand that by that time I could not think of washing my hands
  of him. I took him away from Bankok in my ship, and we had a longish
  passage. It was pitiful to see how he shrank within himself. A seaman,
  even if a mere passenger, takes an interest in a ship, and looks at
  the sea-life around him with the critical enjoyment of a painter,
  for instance, looking at another man's work. In every sense of the
  expression he is "on deck"; but my Jim, for the most part, skulked down
  below as though he had been a stowaway. He infected me so that I avoided
  speaking on professional matters, such as would suggest themselves
  naturally to two sailors during a passage. For whole days we did
  not exchange a word; I felt extremely unwilling to give orders to my
  officers in his presence. Often, when alone with him on deck or in the
  cabin, we didn't know what to do with our eyes.
  
  'I placed him with De Jongh, as you know, glad enough to dispose of him
  in any way, yet persuaded that his position was now growing intolerable.
  He had lost some of that elasticity which had enabled him to rebound
  back into his uncompromising position after every overthrow. One
  day, coming ashore, I saw him standing on the quay; the water of the
  roadstead and the sea in the offing made one smooth ascending plane, and
  the outermost ships at anchor seemed to ride motionless in the sky.
  He was waiting for his boat, which was being loaded at our feet
  with packages of small stores for some vessel ready to leave. After
  exchanging greetings, we remained silent--side by side. "Jove!" he said
  suddenly, "this is killing work."
  
  'He smiled at me; I must say he generally could manage a smile. I made
  no reply. I knew very well he was not alluding to his duties; he had an
  easy time of it with De Jongh. Nevertheless, as soon as he had spoken
  I became completely convinced that the work was killing. I did not even
  look at him. "Would you like," said I, "to leave this part of the world
  altogether; try California or the West Coast? I'll see what I can
  do . . ." He interrupted me a little scornfully. "What difference would
  it make?" . . . I felt at once convinced that he was right. It would make
  no difference; it was not relief he wanted; I seemed to perceive dimly
  that what he wanted, what he was, as it were, waiting for, was something
  not easy to define--something in the nature of an opportunity. I had
  given him many opportunities, but they had been merely opportunities to
  earn his bread. Yet what more could any man do? The position struck me
  as hopeless, and poor Brierly's saying recurred to me, "Let him creep
  twenty feet underground and stay there." Better that, I thought, than
  this waiting above ground for the impossible. Yet one could not be sure
  even of that. There and then, before his boat was three oars' lengths
  away from the quay, I had made up my mind to go and consult Stein in the
  evening.
  
  'This Stein was a wealthy and respected merchant. His "house" (because
  it was a house, Stein & Co., and there was some sort of partner who,
  as Stein said, "looked after the Moluccas") had a large inter-island
  business, with a lot of trading posts established in the most
  out-of-the-way places for collecting the produce. His wealth and his
  respectability were not exactly the reasons why I was anxious to seek
  his advice. I desired to confide my difficulty to him because he was
  one of the most trustworthy men I had ever known. The gentle light of a
  simple, unwearied, as it were, and intelligent good-nature illumined his
  long hairless face. It had deep downward folds, and was pale as of a
  man who had always led a sedentary life--which was indeed very far from
  being the case. His hair was thin, and brushed back from a massive and
  lofty forehead. One fancied that at twenty he must have looked very much
  like what he was now at threescore. It was a student's face; only the
  eyebrows nearly all white, thick and bushy, together with the resolute
  searching glance that came from under them, were not in accord with his,
  I may say, learned appearance. He was tall and loose-jointed; his slight
  stoop, together with an innocent smile, made him appear benevolently
  ready to lend you his ear; his long arms with pale big hands had rare
  deliberate gestures of a pointing out, demonstrating kind. I speak of
  him at length, because under this exterior, and in conjunction with
  an upright and indulgent nature, this man possessed an intrepidity of
  spirit and a physical courage that could have been called reckless had
  it not been like a natural function of the body--say good digestion, for
  instance--completely unconscious of itself. It is sometimes said of a
  man that he carries his life in his hand. Such a saying would have been
  inadequate if applied to him; during the early part of his existence in
  the East he had been playing ball with it. All this was in the past, but
  I knew the story of his life and the origin of his fortune. He was also
  a naturalist of some distinction, or perhaps I should say a learned
  collector. Entomology was his special study. His collection of
  Buprestidae and Longicorns--beetles all--horrible miniature monsters,
  looking malevolent in death and immobility, and his cabinet of
  butterflies, beautiful and hovering under the glass of cases on
  lifeless wings, had spread his fame far over the earth. The name of this
  merchant, adventurer, sometime adviser of a Malay sultan (to whom he
  never alluded otherwise than as "my poor Mohammed Bonso"), had, on
  account of a few bushels of dead insects, become known to learned
  persons in Europe, who could have had no conception, and certainly would
  not have cared to know anything, of his life or character. I, who knew,
  considered him an eminently suitable person to receive my confidences
  about Jim's difficulties as well as my own.'
feat_summary_name: Chapter 19
target: Jim continues to jump from place to place, as his secret shame chases him. It seems that everybody knows about the Patna, and as soon as it is mentioned, Jim bolts. Marlow refers to the young man as a "rolling stone." Jim stays in Bangkok for some time, and Schomberg, the keeper of the hotel there, calls him a very nice fellow. Unfortunately, he gets into a brawl. He plays a game of billiards with a Danish lieutenant of the Royal Siamese Navy, who has too much to drink. The Dane makes an ugly comment about Jim's being on the Patna. Jim loses control, knocks the lieutenant out, and throws him into the river. At midnight after the brawl, Jim meets Marlow on board his ship. He says he is sorry that he had knocked the man out, but he had no other option. After this incident, everyone seems to turn against Jim, even Schomberg. Marlow could not bear to leave his friend in such a hostile atmosphere, so he takes Jim away from Bangkok on his ship. As they travel, Jim seems to recoil within himself, rarely speaking. Marlow realizes Jim's frustration and knows that he needs a challenge. One day while Marlow and Jim are standing alone, Marlow inquires if he would like to go to another part of the world. Jim smiles for the first time in many days; but he remarks that it would probably not make much difference. He knows he cannot run away from himself. Marlow realizes Jim needs to prove himself again. Marlow goes to consult Stein, a wealthy and respected merchant whose hobby is entomology and whose specialty is beetles and butterflies. Marlow knows he can depend on Stein, who will help if he can, for he is trustworthy, intelligent, kind, and good-natured. He discusses Jim and his problems with his friend, for Marlow is hoping that Stein will be able to offer Jim a worthy job, one that he can be proud of performing.
feat_summary_analysis: Notes Jim can find no peace. No matter where he goes, he hears about the Patna incident and his guilt and shame cause him to flee. Conrad tells of three different incidents that occur in three different settings, far apart, but there were obviously many more. In each one, Jim reveals that his tolerance is declining. At first he only runs away from people who talk about the Patna; then he begins to fight them. When Jim knocks out the Dane and throws him in the river, it is the only time in the novel that Jim is not acting like "one of us." Conrad's skill in dramatizing Jim's story is seen clearly here. The chapter depicts Jim haunted by his past, the memory of his cowardice. Marlow sympathizes with his plight and is determined to help Jim. Stein, the wise man of the novel, is introduced in this chapter. Marlow goes to him, hoping he will give Jim a job that will challenge him and take his mind off his guilt. Stein understands Jim's problem and becomes instrumental in bringing about a change in Jim's life.