Creative Writing:
Letter from Marlow to King Leopold II

This letter is written from the point of view of the narrator of The Heart of Darkness.  In this letter, I make a case against colonialism and racism.  In any case, the letter ended up expressing the view more akin to Leopold Senghor than Joseph Conrad.  I had fun with the letter, because I was able to really get into the character and imagine what I would have thought had I been in Marlow’s situation.

Your Royal Highness, King Leopold II:

I am an Englishman who was employed by the Company to navigate a riverboat on the Congo.  I went to the Congo because I wanted to explore the blanks on the maps of my childhood, darkly foreboding yet inviting in a Siren-like way.  I can not say I did not go as a mercenary: though I did not exactly go dreaming of the presumed treasures and wealth, I would have been glad to pick up any cash that came in my way. 

I am aware that you have only charitable intentions in regards to this colony of the Congo.  But I am also aware that the official reports that reach you are shamefully obsequious and are far, far from the truth.  Your majesty, please read what follows without decrying it as scandalous.  Unlike most of your officials, I lived and almost died on the Congo.  I put my life in the hands of the hostile River, and took in what I could.

What I saw on the Congo was a revelation to me of the darkness of the human nature.  What I saw was profound misery brought on by shameless greed and utter contempt for human dignity.  What I saw there turned my peacefully ignorant life upside-down, as I am sure it would any sensible man's.  When you have seen a group of pitiful savages marching (toward what?) with their necks chained; when you have seen an army of savages left to die and rot in a wretched pit; when you have seen so many black, decaying corpses lying by the road that it becomes a cliché; when you have seen hundreds of God-forsaken cannibals showering you with arrows because of the orders of a demented white man who has allowed himself to become a deity of the savages; when you have seen human heads become detestable ornaments; when you have seen the blank, yet possessed look on the faces of the savages through all this; then you will not disagree with me that this colony of Congo is a cause for shame to the Belgian people.  What goes on there while we Europeans drink our teas, attend our charity societies (to what end our charity!), and talk amongst ourselves of bringing God's light to the heathens can only be termed as a crime.

The End justifies the Means, they say.  But only those who have been to the Congo can know how utterly corrupt is our Means to our End.  I have seen perfectly fine gentlemen become such as though they were haunted, haunted by the god of the Congo, the Almighty Ivory.  I have seen those fine gentlemen talk about ivory as though it was their life, their Eternal Salvation, and their God.  Sir, do pianos keys, billiard balls and whatever luxurious trinkets justify the souls of so many, white and black?  Must ivory become the overriding concern in the policy of Belgium?  Let gentlemen play golf with their ivory-handled putters.  As for me, my lamentable time on the Congo leads me to believe that it is a high time for change in the administration of the Congo.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing I saw was that the Congo makes even the best of men lose his humanity.  I have in mind one Mr. Kurtz, an agent who was in your service under the Company for three years.  The man was brilliant; whatever he did, he seemed to have a magic touch.  If phrases like "universal genius" or "Renaissance man" were ever meant for a man, they were meant for Kurtz.  He was the archetypical accomplished European gentleman, the triumph of talent and human will.  He moved men's hearts with words, spoken and written, with art, and I have heard, with music.  He not only moved hearts, but he won them and played with them.  That may explain how he became a god among the heathens.

I do not know why Kurtz went to the Congo, but I know he was an idealist and a humanitarian, according to those who knew him.  Once he found himself in the forsaken heart of darkness, he probably had to use all his gifts for survival.  Isolation is a fearful thing, and he suddenly found that there was no one to care for him, to restrain him.  He found that his gift for winning hearts, in Congo, meant he could be a god if he wanted to.  I suppose at first Kurtz wanted to see how much he could get away with without feeling the pang of conscience.  Was he mad?  I am not the one to judge.  Whether he was mad or not, I am reminded of King Claudius' remark, "Madness in great ones must not unwatched go."  What I do remember is that somewhat like the Danish prince, Kurtz seemed to think that he had everything planned out, that he was playing a game of some sort.  The stake was his humanity and soul.  The Congo convinced him that he was the master of the land and that everything belonged to him.

Is Congo responsible for Kurtz?  Or is civilization responsible for repressing what was natural in the genius for so long that it was ready to blow over?  Though I have concerned myself with these questions for the better part of the last three years, I have not yet found an answer to them.  Can we do anything to ensure such tragedy does not happen?  That is where I would like to entreat you for you are the man who can do the most to end the tragedy of an incomprehensible proportion at Congo.  I beg you to look into the situation at Congo and do whatever is necessary to stop the misery.  I feel that I am not the best most object authority on the matter, but having seen such misery, I feel that I had to do something about it.  Whatever action you decide to take, please be guided by conscience.  After all, without conscience, we are all but animals.

Thank you for your attention.

Sincerely yours,

Christopher Marlow