The Rescue | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE

THE RESCUE
A ROMANCE OF THE SHALLOWS
BY JOSEPH CONRAD
'Allas!' quod she, 'that ever this sholde happe! For wende I never, by
possibilitee, That swich a monstre or merveille mighte be!' --THE
FRANKELEYN'S TALE
TO FREDERIC COURTLAND PENFIELD LAST AMBASSADOR
OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO THE LATE
AUSTRIAN EMPIRE, THIS OLD TIME TALE IS GRATEFULLY
INSCRIBED IN MEMORY OF THE RESCUE OF CERTAIN
DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS EFFECTED BY HIM IN THE
WORLD'S GREAT STORM OF THE YEAR 1914

AUTHOR'S NOTE
Of the three long novels of mine which suffered an interruption, "The
Rescue" was the one that had to wait the longest for the good pleasure
of the Fates. I am betraying no secret when I state here that it had to
wait precisely for twenty years. I laid it aside at the end of the summer
of 1898 and it was about the end of the summer of 1918 that I took it
up again with the firm determination to see the end of it and helped by
the sudden feeling that I might be equal to the task.
This does not mean that I turned to it with elation. I was well aware and
perhaps even too much aware of the dangers of such an adventure. The
amazingly sympathetic kindness which men of various temperaments,

diverse views and different literary tastes have been for years
displaying towards my work has done much for me, has done
all--except giving me that over-weening self-confidence which may
assist an adventurer sometimes but in the long run ends by leading him
to the gallows.
As the characteristic I want most to impress upon these short Author's
Notes prepared for my first Collected Edition is that of absolute
frankness, I hasten to declare that I founded my hopes not on my
supposed merits but on the continued goodwill of my readers. I may
say at once that my hopes have been justified out of all proportion to
my deserts. I met with the most considerate, most delicately expressed
criticism free from all antagonism and in its conclusions showing an
insight which in itself could not fail to move me deeply, but was
associated also with enough commendation to make me feel rich
beyond the dreams of avarice--I mean an artist's avarice which seeks its
treasure in the hearts of men and women.
No! Whatever the preliminary anxieties might have been this adventure
was not to end in sorrow. Once more Fortune favoured audacity; and
yet I have never forgotten the jocular translation of Audaces fortuna
juvat offered to me by my tutor when I was a small boy: "The
Audacious get bitten." However he took care to mention that there were
various kinds of audacity. Oh, there are, there are! . . . There is, for
instance, the kind of audacity almost indistinguishable from
impudence. .