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----- Original Message -----
From: Janesh Vasudeva
Sent: Wednesday, June 13, 2001 5:32 PM
Subject: PDF generation Sample files provided by cocooon itself. it just
shows blank screen with no data in it.
Pls let me know
janesh
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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="yes"?>
<?xml-stylesheet href="novel-fo.xsl" type="text/xsl"?>
<?cocoon-process type="xslt"?>
<novel>
<front>
<title>The Heart of Darkness</title>
<author>Joseph Conrad</author>
<revision-list>
<item>
Abbreviated and inlined as Cocoon example 6/5/1999 by [EMAIL PROTECTED]
</item>
<item>
XML version 30 November 1997 by David Megginson, [EMAIL PROTECTED]
(still needs to be proofread against the printed edition).
</item>
<item>
TEI markup added April 1995 by David Megginson, [EMAIL PROTECTED]
</item>
<item>
Corrections to typos made 6/22/94 by [EMAIL PROTECTED]
</item>
<item>
Original etext came from the Online Book Initiative (OBI) via the Internet
Wiretap [obi/Joseph.Conrad/heart.of.darkness.txt]
</item>
</revision-list>
</front>
<body>
<chapter id="chapt01">
<title>I</title>
<paragraph>The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a
flutter of the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind
was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it
was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.</paragraph>
<paragraph>The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the
beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the
sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space
the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to
stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of
varnished spirits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea
in vanishing flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther
back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless
over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.</paragraph>
<paragraph>The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We
four affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking
to seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so
nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness
personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in
the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding
gloom.</paragraph>
<paragraph>Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the
bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long
periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each
other's yarns — and even convictions. The Lawyer — the
best of old fellows — had, because of his many years and many
virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. The
Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and was toying
architecturally with the bones. Marlow sat cross-legged right aft,
leaning against the mizzenmast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow
complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms
dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol. The Director,
satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way aft and sat down
amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards there was
silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we did not begin
that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit for nothing but
placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still and
exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a
speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the
Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded
rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the
gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more sombre
every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.</paragraph>
<paragraph>And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun
sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays
and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by
the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.</paragraph>
<paragraph>Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity
became less brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad
reach rested unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good
service done to the race that peopled its banks, spread out in the
tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the
earth. We looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a
short day that comes and departs for ever, but in the august light of
abiding memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as
the phrase goes, “followed the sea” with reverence and
affection, than to evoke the great spirit of the past upon the lower
reaches of the Thames. The tidal current runs to and fro in its
unceasing service, crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne
to the rest of home or to the battles of the sea. It had known and
served all the men of whom the nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake
to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titled and untitled — the
great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the ships whose
names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from the Golden
Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to be visited
by the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the
Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests — and that never
returned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from
Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith — the adventurers and the
settlers; kings' ships and the ships of men on ‘Change;
captains, admirals, the dark "interlopers" of the Eastern trade, and
the commissioned "generals" of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or
pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing the
sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land,
bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not
floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth!
… The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of
empires.</paragraph>
<paragraph>The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and lights began
to appear along the shore. The Chapman lighthouse, a three-legged
thing erect on a mud-flat, shone strongly. Lights of ships moved in
the fairway — a great stir of lights going up and going
down. And farther west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous
town was still marked ominously on the sky, a brooding gloom in
sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars.</paragraph>
<paragraph>“And this also,” said Marlow suddenly,
“has been one of the dark places of the
earth.”</paragraph>
<paragraph>[NOTE: this is only an extract of the whole novel because it is
intended to be only a technological example and not a piece of art. I
apologize for this, and please, do not redistribute this broken document]
</paragraph>
</chapter>
</body>
</novel>
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