Changing Attitudes Towards Imperialism and Its Ideology During the Age of New Imperialism

Easterly the Wind Blew:

Changing Attitudes Towards Imperialism and Its Ideology During the Age of New Imperialism

By

Laura van der Most S1688995

Masterscriptie Engelse Taal en Cultuur, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen Supervisor: Dr J. Flood

June 2014

17.888 words

Table of Contents

CHAPTER TITLE PAGE

Table of Contents ii

List of Abbreviations iii

Introduction 1

1 Understanding the Victorians: British Expansion in the Nineteenth and Early-Twentieth Century

5

2 A Greater England with a Nobler Destiny: Supporting the Empire in The Man Who Would Be King

11

3 The Whited Sepulchres of Heart Of Darkness: Ambiguity and the Empire

19

4 Interracial Friendships, Improbable or Impossible?: Condemning the Empire in A Passage to India

28

Conclusion 37

Bibliography 42

List of Abbreviations

MK - Rudyard Kipling, The Man Who Would Be King HD - Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

PI - E.M. Forster, Passage to India

Introduction

After many centuries of slavery and famine, of exploration and annexation, the British Empire had truly become an empire on which the sun never sets. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the justification for this expansionism was mainly the spreading of the Christian faith. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, another argument arose, namely that God wanted the western world – and in this case, the British people – to civilise the savage peoples and guide them into maturity. The imperial mission was an honourable task, a duty even, that involved obligations and self-sacrifice imposed on the British by providence (Eldridge 103). God had granted the British people an extensive empire, an empire that surpassed all other imperial systems. This dominion was not for their own aggrandisement, but that they would be able to elevate the “lesser” nations into civilisation (Eldridge 103). As Anthony Trollope explained in Australia and New Zealand (1873): “We are called upon to rule [...] not for our glory, but for their happiness. [...] Not because they add prestige to the name of Great Britain, […] but because by keeping them we may best assist them in developing their own resources” (Trollope 360). Since the natives were not civilised, like infants, contemporary literature often depicts the people in the colonies as children – sometimes naughty children, as it was the case after the Indian Mutiny of 1857 – who needed the guidance of Mother England in order to reach maturity and self-sufficiency (Sullivan 102).

According to some contemporaries, this picture of the non-western world as children was proven right with the publication of The Origin of Species (1859) by Charles Darwin (Watts, Discussion 78). In the late-nineteenth century, the imperialists strengthened their arguments with illicit deductions from Darwinian principles – illicit because whereas Darwin’s scientific explorations concerned competition between species and species, or between species and environment, the imperialists applied his research to the competition between nations and races. They argued that it was the law of nature that races would compete, and that the “fittest” would prevail over the “unfit” (Watts, Discussion 78). Thus, “if Europeans seize Africa and subjugate the Africans, they are simply doing what they are naturally obliged to do – the fit cannot help but prove their fitness” (Watts, Discussion 78).

This “fitness” was based on their own delusions of grandeur and superiority, both in

technology and morality: “‘The white man must rule’, Lord Milner told the Municipal

Congress in Johannesburg in 1903, ‘because he is elevated by many, many steps above the

black man’” (White, Imperialism 185). This view that the non-western peoples were at a lesser stage of human development was rarely disputed. It was the duty and the burden of a more evolved people – the “White Man’s Burden” – to help develop their “younger siblings”.

By using social Darwinism as a justification of imperial expansion, imperialism became not only morally and economically inspired, but also naturally driven (White, Imperialism 187).

The 1880s inaugurated the Age of New Imperialism, a period in which the pace of annexation quickened and the wars between colonised and coloniser became more frequent.

Although the British Empire continued to expand, its subjects became progressively more critical. As such, in the later decades of the century, the British government started an extensive propaganda campaign that would promote the Empire (Matikkala 4). The Empire wrote back, as it were, with both “‘pretty fictions’ to conceal imperialism’s actual business”

and with criticisms that condemned the Empire’s calamitous practices (White, Imperialism 191; Eldridge 117-8). “Rudyard Kipling’s The Man Who Would Be King (MK) and Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (HD) are perhaps the two best known treatments of the nineteenth-century European imperial [fiction]” commenting upon the exploits of Empire (Brebach 75).

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) is one of the most discussed British writers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. As he was born in Bombay, British India, he considered himself to be an Anglo-Indian, rather than an Englishman. Being a firm supporter of imperialism and of the British Empire, he saw imperialism as not merely a political or an economic system, but also as a moral idea. He believed it to be the duty of the Empire to colonise the uncivilised nations and enlighten the colonised with the civilised British way of life. His endorsement of imperialism is also present in his novella The Man Who Would Be King (1888). During his years in India, the writer observed that the governing elite were growing more and more immoral. This novella attempts to illustrate the consequences of imperialism devoid of moral authority. Set in a remote part of the Empire, Kipling envisaged two adventurers-turned-kings and modelled their kingdom after the Empire itself. The narrative embodies the fear of the corrupted core of humankind, and the even greater fear of the loss of the Empire (Mallett 42). Although it presents a pessimistic view of the present and the future, the story ends with the nameless Editor proclaiming: “And there the matter rests”

(MK 279); Kipling was certain the British Empire would prevail.

Originally from Berdichev, Poland in Imperial Russia, Joseph Conrad (1857-1924)

was granted British nationality in 1886. His writings are considered as some of the greatest

works of the English language. Modern scholars are still questioning the nature of his politics:

some regard him as an avid supporter of British imperialism, whereas others have stressed that his works betray his anti-imperialist views. Similarly, critics have yet to reach a general consensus about the political message of his work Heart of Darkness (1899). While this narrative does not explicitly argue against imperialism, it will be argued that the novella does reveal the antagonistic nature of civilisation and colonisation. Its dualistic nature causes the work to offer both “a powerful critique of at least some manifestations of imperialism and racism, [as well as a critique which] can be characterised only as imperialist and racist”

(Brantlinger, Imperialism 387). Nevertheless, at the centre, Heart of Darkness questions the

“civilising mission” of imperialism. The writer had joined a Belgian company with which he travelled through the Congo, where he witnessed the atrocities that would later inspire him to write his novella. Conrad believed that if imperialism would truly instil civilisation and bring prosperity, it was perhaps redeemable. Whether or not he still believed this was possible, is open for question. According to Jonah Raskin, the novella signals “the decay of European civilisation. The whole world is in gloom […] It is dark everywhere – in the Congo, in London” (Raskin 154). Although the writer might not have condemned the British Empire for its imperialism, he does warn that the British Empire might also be tainted by the colonial cruelty that was occurring in the Congo.

There is an apparent separation between the novellas of Kipling and Conrad, and A Passage to India (1924) by Edward Morgan Forster (1879-1970), despite the works having been published only a few decades apart. A British-born writer, Forster belonged to “the fag- end of Victorian liberalism” (Medalie 43). Yet, he was not so much interested in political systems as he was in the “individual human”; his works often examine the social environment in British society of early-twentieth century. As such, his contemporaries regarded as either

“an illustration of the fallacies of liberal humanism, or as a last remnant of British imperialism” (Armstrong, India 365). Similarly to Heart of Darkness, no consensus has emerged about the moral of A Passage to India (PI). However, what is clear is that at the heart of the novel, the writer presents the idea of a cross-cultural friendship, one that is made impossible by the power struggle within the political system of British India. The main question that is posed throughout the novel is whether the Indians and the British can be

“friends”. The narrative concludes that such a friendship is impossible, or at least, “not yet […] not here” (PI 316). Forster realised that the British Empire had to relinquish India from its crown before India could truly flourish.

A comparison of Kipling, Conrad and Forster “shows how British attitudes towards

[…] British imperialism evolved during the [late nineteenth and] early-twentieth [centuries]”

(Dawson 1). Indeed, all three novels present a critique of the social and political structure within a British colony. As time progressed, the Empire began to lose its support. This dissertation will present a literary analysis of The Man Who Would Be King, by Rudyard Kipling; Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad, and lastly, A Passage to India, by E.M.

Forster. It will be argued that Kipling’s narrative showed complete support of the Empire,

Conrad’s novella was critical of imperialism without morality, and Forster was outright

against the Empire and against the ideology of imperialism. All three authors found faults

with the governing class whose brutality and immorality often did more harm than good. An

analysis of the writings of Kipling, Conrad and Forster proves that, during the Age of New

Imperialism, the attitudes towards British imperialism changed from optimistic support to

pessimistic critique.

Chapter 1 Understanding the Victorians: British Expansion in the Nineteenth and Early-Twentieth Century

The nineteenth century for the British Empire is commonly divided into three periods. The first is the era before the 1820s, when the Empire was expanding as a result of the collapse of the Napoleonic Empire. During the years of conflict, Britain had seized several colonies of France and its allies, most notably in South Africa and the East Indies (Peers 58). While Europe was steadily recovering after the devastation of war, Britain emerged as a leading superpower with territory in India, Africa and South-East Asia. The second era is the prolonged period between 1820 and 1870, when indifference marked the public’s sentiment towards the Empire, and focus shifted instead towards the social system within the United Kingdom (Peers 58). Even though the Empire continued to extend its borders during these decades, there were also talks about severing ties and separating the colonies from their imperial master, as will be explained below. Lastly, there are the remaining thirty years, which show a renewal in imperial interest; the “Scramble for Africa” commenced, “the pace of imperial acquisitions quickened” and the Empire grew once again (Peers 60). Therefore, according to some historians, such as J.R. Seeley and H.E. Egerton, the nineteenth century can also be divided into periods of imperialism and anti-imperialism, these periods being linked to “the extension or contraction of the Empire and the degree of belief in the value of British rule overseas” (Seal 1-2). During the early-twentieth century, the British had recuperated from the pessimism that had crippled the Victorians during the later decades of the nineteenth century. So great was the optimism that people thought the First World War would only last a few months. After four years of chaos and devastation, the war ended in victory for the allies. Yet, even though the British Empire had won the battle, it had lost the trust of its subjects. British writers and artists had started to criticise – and even mock – the Empire, and the colonised started independence movements. The desire for change was predominating during these decades.

An important notion that preoccupied the reasoning of the Victorian age was the sense

of “progress”. This idea emanated from several socio-historical developments that worked to

improve society: slavery was abolished, the industry was on the rise, and most political

movements were trying to achieve more democracy and greater rights for the individual

(Walsh 119). Moreover, commerce was growing, and the economy was flourishing. Although

there were some questions raised about the human and social costs of progress, many

Victorians viewed that the growing trade market would banish “ignorance, war, and brutality,

[…] [and] facilitate peaceful intercourse between the peoples of the world through the spread of trade” (Searle 4). Hence, all in all, the growing free trade market would better the world, and humanity would benefit greatly. The sense of progress was also apparent in the public’s opinion towards the Empire and its vast dominion; the attitude of the mid-Victorians towards

“Greater Britain” is often described as one of indifference (Seal 2). This indifference is made apparent by the reduction of political control in the colonies: B.A. Knox argues that the main imperial object between the 1840s and the 1870s was to reduce Britain’s military and political commitments. Consequently, “the Empire encouraged colonial self-government in various forms, such as a republican independence in the Boer states of South Africa” and responsible government in North America, Australia and New Zealand (Knox 92; Eldridge 26; Dilly 110).

Since the economy was flourishing during these very same decades, the connection between commercial prosperity and the magnitude of imperial territory was no longer apparent. Thus, there were several contemporary critics who viewed that the colonies were a strain on the British treasury (Eldridge 26). Richard Cobden and John Bright, for example, argued that the Empire drained the colonies of their wealth: rather than encouraging economic development, the colonies would come to rely upon the Empire’s economic resources (Dilly 111; Peers 60).

As such, the Empire was not in Britain’s best interests. The voices of these critics became more vocal during the 1860s as they demanded for independence for the colonies. Indeed,

“the ‘separatist’ ideas of the nature of the future relationship with the colonies of British settlement were subjects of vigorous discussion” amongst the members of parliament (Eldridge 28).

Besides being influenced by the economy, the talks of separation were caused by the military strife overseas. The 1850s and 1860s, especially, were marked with internal and external conflict (Eldridge 40). Firstly, the Maori Wars in New Zealand from 1845 to 1872 raised objections for the use of British troops to maintain the security in self-governing colonies. Additionally, in 1857, the Indians rebelled against British rule in India during the Indian Mutiny – something that remained shocking to the British public for years to come. In the wake of the Mutiny, the general public began to wonder whether Great Britain was correct in leaving the front (Eldridge 40). Then, during the late 1860s, British power was opposed in Ireland during the Fenian Rising in Ireland and the Fenian Raids in Canada; and Britain waged a war against Ethiopia. “Finally, the decade closed amid heated arguments concerning the withdrawal of the last British regiments from Canada and New Zealand” (Eldridge 40).

Many viewed it would threaten British rule overseas and subsequently, the British Empire

itself. These conflicts and concerns culminated in a drastic turn of the public’s opinion: the

rebellions provoked questions about whether the colonies were fit to rule dependently of the Empire and even cast a renewed doubt on the ability of the “lesser races” to reach civilisation (Eldridge 142). Hence, from the 1870s onwards, imperialism and the Empire received a more positive assessment.

From this time onwards, popular demand was the continuation of the existing relationship with the white settler colonies (Eldridge 43). “As British self-confidence faltered in the face of a deepening trade depression, the loss of British industrial and commercial supremacy in the world, and the growth of rival powers” elsewhere in Europe, all talks of policies of separation and independency disappeared (Eldridge 28-9). Thus, rather than supporting separation and colonial independence, as they had done a decade earlier, the general public was in favour of a commonwealth in which the colonies could be managed effectively, while maintaining the central authority in the United Kingdom (Knox 92). The notion of an imperial federation that would unite the diverse regions of the Empire was therefore applauded (Ward 234). Subsequently, the Imperial Federation League was founded in 1884. The league collapsed nine years later, in 1893, when it failed to resolve internal disputes over imperial trade policy (Eldridge 44). Nonetheless, the era of indifference seemed to have come to an end and have made way for British nationalism, one that had – when coupled with imperialism instilled many with “a sense of pride and accomplishment that contributed to a notion of Britishness” (Peers 61).

“The last quarter of the [nineteenth] century has often been called the ‘Age of Imperialism’” (Seal 21). The period was inaugurated in 1876 when Queen Victoria was made Empress of India (Simmons 112).

Two years later and a few thousand miles south, the British and the French had agreed to a joint supervision of Egyptian finances (McKenzie 17).

Despite Britain and France not conspiring to annex the country, the surveying arrangements had caused some Egyptian nationalist parties to cast a wary eye upon European presence and fear for Egypt’s independence. By 1882, the British supervised the Egyptian government:

“They did not take formal control of Egypt until the outbreak of the First World War, and on many occasions after 1882 they protested that they were about to depart, but they had become the de facto rulers of the country” (McKenzie 18). Though domestic problems in France had prevented French involvement, the French resented the British’ newly obtained power. Some have argued that it was this resentment that sparked the partition in Africa (McKenzie 18), whereas others suggest that it was the rising influence of Islam to which the European empires

1 The term “British Empire” had been used before that date as well, but it had been without an emperor, presumably because Victoria’s predecessors had always rejected the title (Adams 489).

reacted (Seal 21). Nevertheless, in November 1884

diplomats from fourteen European

“huddled around a map of [Africa] as they drew the boundaries of their purported possessions and spheres of influence” (Bassett 316), marking the beginning of the Age of New Imperialism. Although the Berlin Conference brought the rival European nations together in order to determine new trade treaties, it also laid the grounds for what has commonly become known as the Scramble for Africa (Harlow 139). The conference sought to secure free access and non-discriminatory trade in the Congo region for all European countries. Moreover, it set out to establish the fixed points of possession that the westerners held along the African coast up to that time, and to further pinpoint other territorial claims (Von Trotha 436). In other words, the conference set out to make clear which parts of Africa were to trade with which European country. Regardless of this agenda, the imperialists saw the empty spaces on Africa’s map as areas not only available for trade, but also for exploration and colonisation.

The European delegates often presumed that the blank spaces were vacant (Bassett 324), and soon took advantage of the terms set by the treaty (Harlow 139). This was made evident most notably by the Belgian king Leopold II, whose “concessions in the Congo Free State challenged – and abused – the treaty’s international terms on trade and territory, and provoked both commercial objections and humanitarian encomiums in the early-twentieth century”

(Harlow 139).

The territories that were annexed during the nineteenth century proved to be both an advantage and a disadvantage to the British Empire. The “formation of the Indian National Congress in 1885, the outbreak of the South African War in 1899, and unresolved questions over Ireland […] helped to expose the fault-lines within the empire as well as illuminate its many paradoxes” (Peers 54). Furthermore, the capitalist countries experienced a period of depression during the 1870s and 1890s (McKenzie 33). These political struggles combined with increasing economic challenges again inspired critics to argue against the imperial cause (Mallett 124; see J.A. Hobson). Yet, despite the increasingly vocal criticism, the late- Victorians

found themselves in a situation where continuing adhesion to free trade led to further imperial expansion. A larger empire seemed to provide the best way for trade expansion at the time when Europe and the United States turned to protectionism. […] By the 1890s the policy of free trade was closely linked to the idea of a strong British Empire (Matikkala 23-4).

Thus, as the century grew older, the atmosphere within the British Empire gradually subsided from optimism to scepticism, from acceptance of the imperial cause to condemnation of the colonial exploitation.

Patrick Brantlinger maintains that the British found it increasingly more difficult to see themselves as progressive. Instead, they became anxious about the degeneration of their culture, their institutions and their “race” (Brantlinger, Rule 230). There was a sense of crisis, culminating in a “turn-of-the-century notion of degeneration: the theory that, far from moving inexorably forward in its social and biological evolution, the human race could quite possibly move backward towards savagery” (Booker, Insights 2). In other words, there was “not progress, but rather a return to barbarism” (Von Moltke qtd. in Frevert 429). George Bernard Shaw, for example, saw that Britain was “in an advanced state of rottenness” (Shaw qtd. in Brantlinger, Rule 230). This notion of degeneration was heightened by the pyrrhic victory of the British over the Boers during the Second Boer War of 1899-1902. Undeterred by the well- armed forces of the Boers, Britain’s superior arms ensured that the British could capture the main Boer townships quickly (Simmons 118). The Boers, however, refused to surrender, and in response, the British started to burn Boer farmsteads and corral the woman and children into concentration camps. This approach “backfired when the high death toll in the camps led to public protests at home, ensuring that the victory, when it came, was a pyrrhic one”

(Simmons 118). Additionally, this period demonstrated that the Empire was incommensurable in the ability to sustain it. Although the Boer Wars did demonstrate the strength of the Empire, it also showed that the British Empire was too vast and too under-co-ordinated to function properly. The British government appeared to be unable to take care of the Boer War and the Boxer Rebellion in the 1900 simultaneously with much confidence (Simmons 119).

During the first decade of the new century, more and more writers had taken a critical approach towards the Empire-builder and the imperial idea. In Howards End (1910), for example, Forster describes the imperialist as a “destroyer [who] prepares the way for cosmopolitanism” (qtd. in Eldridge 117-8). In a sense, the First World War was a continuation of imperialism, industrialisation and nationalism, as it intensified these historical processes and “ensured that the world of 1919 was quite different from the world of 1914” (Storey 165).

Every country had lost countless lives, both military and civilian. “The deaths of thousands of educated and privileged young men brought about what was called the “Lost Generation” of future politicians, philosophers, and poets who never had the chance to fulfil their promise”

(Winter 449). Moreover, the heavily industrialised war had accelerated scepticism about

industrialisation amongst those who had experienced the devastation first hand (Storey 165).

When George V declared war, he did so on behalf of the Empire. This also meant that the colonies in Africa and the imperial dominion of India joined in the war effort (Johnson 133). The response was massive; the war encouraged many people throughout the Empire to reconsider their attitude towards the British Empire, and both fierce loyalty and bitter enmity arose amongst the various peoples (Johnson 132). In Ireland, for example, the call to war caused a rift throughout the country: whereas a few hundred Irish republicans staged a rebellion during Easter 1916, believing they could establish an Irish republic when Great Britain’s attention was directed at the front, other hundreds and thousands Irishmen joined up to volunteer. On the other side of the Empire, India responded with the largest number of volunteers in the history of the Empire (Johnson 132). As the war progressed, “India was promised the logical development of rule by a democratic state: the granting of Western-style constitutional government” (Johnson 136). The reforms were unique in that they were founded on the principle that India was ready for a parliamentary government. Thus, the First World War accelerated India’s move towards responsible government. After the War, however, the British were seized by anxiety about separation and became cautious (Jonson 136). Although they passed reforms in 1919, ensuring that the Indians were allowed a seat in local government, this was all Britain allowed. Many had hoped Indian independence would come after the War, but they would have to wait a little longer for it.

The British Empire was victorious in the War; yet, it also had several consequences

for the continuation of the imperial dominion. W. David McIntyre asserts that the war is an

important factor in the development of national feeling. The people saw themselves as part of

a particular colony, rather than part of the Empire. Furthermore, “the war had destroyed the

old imperial policies and [therefore] a new, more efficient and humane approach [had to be

developed], despite the excesses of repression in the immediate post-war years” (Johnson

147). The war gave rise to several independence movements, most notably in Ireland and in

India, and created a desire for change, in both the colonies and in Britain. As such, the First

World War can be seen as both a continuation of imperialism, as well as the start of the

discontinuation of the Empire.

Chapter 2 A Greater England with a Nobler Destiny: Supporting the Empire in The Man Who Would Be King

“The writings of Rudyard Kipling are thematically more various than the single topic of Empire to which they are often reduced. Nonetheless, the British Empire of the late- nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries stood as the dominant concern of his prose and poetry throughout much of his career” (McBratney 23). Many of Kipling’s works convey his endorsement of Empire and the imperial ideal, and support the idea that the British Empire brought order to the chaos of a disorganised world (Bascom 164). According to Tim Brascom, Kipling adamantly believed in the order that the British government brought to the colonies, and insisted that “it was preferable to the ‘disorder’ which supposedly prevailed beforehand”

(Brascom 169). Brantlinger maintains that Kipling’s convictions were stronger and argues that the writer saw imperialism not merely as a political and an economic system, but also as a moral idea, “perhaps even a surrogate religion” (Brantlinger, Complexity 90).

As said before, a popular notion was that the British people had the “highest ideals of decency and justice and liberty and peace” (Cecil Rhodes qtd. in Mallett 92). Moreover, British imperial rule was the best thing that humanity could stumble upon. “Sustained by the ideas of progress, European cultural superiority and ethnocentric nationalism” many imperialists were confident that the white man – and more importantly the white Englishman – was the most suitable to govern the world; the world would only benefit from their wisdom (Meyers, Fiction 12). This was both their burden – for, as far as most imperialists were concerned, the White Man’s Burden was a genuine burden – and their duty towards the

“inferior” races. Jonah Raskin maintains that several of Kipling’s poems make evident that the writer celebrated this responsibility of the white man towards the non-whites (Raskin 29).

Kipling’s views upon the innate superiority of the Englishman are clearly expressed in the poem “Recessional” (1897). It warns not against the consequences of the claim of supremacy, but reminds its audience that this superiority must be justified continuously before those of

“lesser breeds without the Law” (l.22, Kipling 1821), who were unfortunate enough to have been born outside of the English borders. Since this poem accuses other nations of lawlessness, it met with much opposition from various parts of the Empire (Mallett 95).

Whereas the pacifist husband of Kipling’s cousin, J.W. Mackail, tried to lessen the damage

caused by the poem and analysed it as an admission of the need to reconsider Britain’s

imperialist vision, Kipling quickly retaliated that not Britain, but the other nations needed re-

evaluation: “Seeing what manner of barbarians we are surrounded with, we’re about the only

power with a glimmer of civilisation in us” (Kipling qtd. in Mallett 95). Indeed, “hard work, honesty, and selfless devotion to duty were, for Kipling, the qualities that redeemed imperialism” (Brantlinger 89). Even when support for the imperial ideal began to falter after Britain’s uncertain victory in the Second Boer War (1899-1902), Kipling continued to advocate an assertive form of colonialism, albeit with increasing pessimism. The writer argued that imperialism was “an antidote to the national degeneration that [was seen] in Britain’s inept performance in the war against the Boers” (McBratney 23).

Kipling and his works have met with a varied response; on the one hand, he is praised for his literary accomplishments, whereas on the other, he is condemned for his political affirmations of imperialism. Additionally, some of Kipling’s modern critics tend to erase his contemporary statements from memory and from critical discussion. For them, the main focus lies not with his endorsement of imperialism, but with his style of writing and his literary competence (Brantlinger, Complexity 88). Brantlinger rightly points out that these critics use a

“yes, but” rhetoric: “yes, Kipling was an ardent imperialist – witness his poems “Recessional”

and “The White Man’s Burden” (1899); but notice how a story such as The Man Who Would Be King can be read as anti-imperialist” (Brantlinger, Complexity 88). Yes, Kipling argued that the whites were superior to all other nations and races, but he was simply a man of his time. As Paul Driver puts it: “Kipling the imperialist is dead and gone; it is Kipling the verbal prophet who commands attention now” (Driver qtd. in Parry 50). Yet, other critics argue that his imperial views should be emphasised, and praise him for articulating the sense of imperial destiny which had dominated that period in time (Parry 50). In other words, the attention shifts away from his racist remarks and towards his historical value: Kipling addressed the crisis of contemporary Western civilisation. He can therefore be seen as an exemplary writer of imperialism:

The fabrications of England’s mysterious imperialist identity and destiny, […] the projection of the white race as the natural rulers of a global space created and divided by imperialism; the positioning of the other hemisphere as peripheral to a Western centre – these inscriptions of an outlook constructed in an historical moment continue to offer rich pickings to a militant [imperialist] (Parry 61-2).

Reading the celebrations of Britain’s splendid imperial past, it is understandable that Kipling

is seen as the spokesperson of the Empire. It is with this in mind that one should analyse his

literature.

In the novella The Man Who Would Be King, Kipling presents his audience with native rulers who are “drugged, drunk, or diseased from one end of the year to the other” (MK 247).

The Native States, i.e. India, are described as “the dark places of the earth, full of unimaginable cruelty, touching the Railway and the Telegraph on one side, and, on the other, the days of Harun al-Raschid” (MK 247). Clearly, the writer meant to emphasises the idea that without the British Empire, the nations are dark and cruel and in need of British guidance.

Indeed, one must reiterate that Kipling did not support any other empire but that of Britain. At a later stage in the story, Dravot tells Carnehan that they have collected “two hundred and fifty thousand men, ready to cut in on Russia’s right flank when she tries for India” (MK 270).

This refers to the arduous relation between the Russian Empire and the British Empire.

During the late-nineteenth century, Russia had extended its borders further into Europe and into Asia (Davis 41). Britain launched the Second Anglo-Afghan War in an attempt to build a buffer state between Russia and India. They were victorious, but from that time onwards, Britain and Russia squabbled over various small regions in Afghanistan. From that one remark, it is apparent that Kipling did not endorse just any form of imperialism, but supported only British imperialism.

The Man Who Would Be King is not, as early critics have argued an anti-imperialist allegory of the British colonists in the underdeveloped world (Bascom 164); what is more, from his political affiliations it can be concluded that Kipling would be more than inclined to sympathise with the would-be-kings. Instead of questioning imperialist ideals, Kipling underlines the obligation the Empire had in educating and guiding the uncivilised nations. In fact, rather than the narrative being an anti-imperialist parable, The Man Who Would Be King is an attempt to illustrate imperialistic control devoid of philanthropy and the moral authority, which the British Empire obviously did not lack in. The message Kipling offers is that “the duty assigned to the Empire builder may be beyond human powers: yet the Empire-builder must try to fulfil this divine mission to the best of his ability” (Shamsul Islam qtd. in Bascom 170). The rise and fall of Dravot and Carnehan illustrate the fortunes of the British Empire in India, if the organised government of civilised powers would refuse to nurture and educate the uncivilised.

Furthermore, Kipling “urge[s] the English to curb the unruly in themselves (as in “The

children’s song” and “If”) if they are to realise their natural aptitude for ruling others” (Parry

52). The kingdom of Kafiristan perishes because its new rulers do not possess the moral

authority that Kipling thought to be essential for an enlightened imperial regime (Meyers,

Fiction 1). Indeed, Kipling’s ideal was self-denouncement and selfless commitment to the

cause, for he did not believe in self-aggrandisement and exploitation of the natives (Eldridge 124). Instead of upholding Kipling’s Law – Kipling’s Law was a “set of moral principles that formed the bedrock order of the British Raj, and, by extension, western civilisation”

(McBratney 25) – Dravot and Carnehan bring chaos, disorder, horror and fear. They, too, have given in into the “unruly in themselves”.

Their kingly ambitions are based purely on their materialistic convictions: the two loafers intend to work the country at the expense of their subjects, in order to increase their own personal wealth. “They are desperate men who proclaim the “politics of loaferdom”, see economics only in terms of immediate results and exclude all political, social and cultural considerations” (Meyers, Fiction 7). The two Englishmen prefer an economic anarchy and unbridled exploiting over a responsible government: “They spend all their blessed time in governing it, and you can’t lift a spade, nor chip a rock, nor look for oil, nor anything like that, without all the Government saying, ‘Leave it alone, and let us govern’” (MK 252). In order to be able to govern for themselves, Dravot and Carnehan go off on their adventure. Their greed for wealth is completely devoid of morality, and as such, Andrew Hagiioannu argues that Kipling wanted to address “the Americanisation of [the] Empire,” taking a seemingly socialist stand against the growing capitalist ideals of Britain (Hagiioannu qtd. in Brantlinger, Complexity 90). However, rather than fearing the capitalist philosophy, Kipling seemed to be more concerned with the moral decay of the Empire; it was slowly forfeiting its moral authority in favour of the exploitation and the monetary gain. Even though this might be seen as the “Americanisation” of the imperial ideals, Kipling does not seem to be adversary against capitalism per se: the moral obligation of the Empire was just more important in his opinion.

“Although the exploits of Dan and Peachey are clearly fantastical, they are nonetheless based […] on Kipling’s careful study of the accounts of British travellers who had either heard about or actually visited Kafiristan” (McBratney 27). When Dravot and Carnehan first set out to establish their kingdom, they have some foreknowledge of the country they are venturing into. Having researched Kafiristan in the books the Editor provides them with, the would-be-kings have realised that it is a nation that has not yet been in contact with the western world. Therefore, with little effort and twenty Martini-Henry rifles, the two men are able to enter the region and impress the first people they see: “Dravot he shoots above their heads, and they all falls down flat” (MK 260). In fact, “British technical excellence became

2 The way in which Dravot finds his death is also a warning against acting without righteousness; it symbolises the fear of losing one’s self and one’s true nature of discipline and honour (Sullivan 102). Basically, by giving in into deplorable chaos and disorder, one will quite literally lose their head.

one of the more common yardsticks used to differentiate between the British and their imperial subjects,” between the civilised and the barbarous (Peers 62-3). Thus, although the English audience would be familiar with the technology used, the people of Kafiristan are presented with modern warfare as they have never seen before. The “primitive” tribes still fight with bow and arrow (MK 261), and are inexperienced with a rifle or the likes. Carnehan notices, rather condescendingly, that even the simplest of weaponry is astonishing to the people of Kafiristani. In The Man Who Would Be King, the wonder and the excitement of the Kafiristani when they are presented with guns are described on numerous occasions: “Even those corkscrewed, handmade guns was a miracle to them” (my emphasis; MK 268). Dravot and Carnehan see the natives as simpletons, ones that are easily impressed by the simplest things. In particular, Kipling’s poem “White Man’s Burden” (1899) comes to mind, in which he heeds his fellow Englishmen to: “Take up the White Man’s Burden […] To wait in heavy harness, / On fluttered folk and wild / Your new-caught, sullen peoples, / Half-devil and half- child” (ll. 1-8, Kipling 1821). As said in the introduction, the Victorians saw that the native peoples were as children who needed guidance in their development towards indecency.

Hence, not only would Kipling condone the conquest, he would believe it was their duty and only natural for Dravot and Carnehan to be in Kafiristan.

While the Englishmen use military force to secure their royal status in Kafiristan, what – or rather who – makes Dravot and Carnehan truly kings are the chiefs and priests who are under the impression that the two men are gods. Conveniently, Dravot discovers that the priests are familiar with the rites of Freemasonry, and that they associate these customs with their divine beings. Thus, when Dravot shows them “a garbled, half-forgotten version of Masonic ritual” (Sullivan 100), the priests assume he is a descendant of their god and assign a divine status to both him and Carnehan: “Only the Gods know that. We thought you were men till you showed the sign of the Master” (MK 272). Some critics have argued that Kipling uses Freemasonry as a symbolic system to represent the idea of imperialism: this way, the frame narrator is connected and even involved in the system (Bascom 164). Whereas this is a plausible interpretation, it could also be argued that Kipling used Freemasonry as a representation of the British Empire itself. The writer became a Mason in 1885s a way to achieve the sense of belonging, inclusion and equality, or so some have argued (McBratney 26). He joined the only lodge in Lahore that admitted both British and Indians, where both were on an equal level. “Although outside the walls of the lodge racial and political differences divided these members, inside they met, as Kipling’s poem “The Mother-Lodge”

(1892) attests, as “Brother[s] … upon the Level” (McBratney 26). As both the Englishmen

and the Kafiristani are familiar with the rites of Freemasonry, it could be suggested that the natives are included into the Empire as well. When Dravot is fantasising about his empire, he notices the natives and exclaims: “These men aren’t niggers; they’re English! Look at their eyes – look at their mouths. Look at the way they stand up. They sit on chairs in their houses.

They’re the Lost Tribes, or something like it, and they’ve grown up to be English” (MK 269).

Under the system of Freemasonry, the two would-be-kings and the people of Kafiristan are the same – not equal! – and belong to the same peoples. This is quite similar to the British imperial system, where the various peoples belonged to the same Empire; they were not equal, but they were British subjects.

Nevertheless, the Kafiristani see the rites of Freemasonry and believe Dravot and Carnehan are gods. Then, with use of their “advanced” weaponry and their knowledge of Freemasonry, the two Englishmen are able to erect a kingdom rather quickly. While Carnehan stays behind to instruct his army of men, Dravot continues to venture further into the country and is able to subjugate the chiefs, priest and commoners rather easily. Within a few months, the “hugeous great State” (MK 270) is completely under control of Dravot. He establishes a council of war and a privy council from the chiefs and priests, using the British Raj as an example:

He used to call in Billy Fish from Bashkai, and Pikky Kergan from Shu, and an old Chief we called Kafuzelum, – it was like enough to his real name, – and hold councils with ‘em when there was any fighting to be done in small villages. That was his Council of War, and the four priests of Bashkai, Shu, Khawak, and Madora was his Privy Council (MK 268).

However, even though the people of Kafiristan are in his council and he trusts them enough to have some governmental powers, Dravot is planning to call upon twelve of his old acquaintances to help them “govern a bit”:

I’ll ask him to send me twelve picked English – twelve that I know of – to help us govern a bit. There’s Mackray, Serjeant Pensioner at Segowli – many’s the good dinner he’s given me, and his wife a pair of trousers. There’s Donkin, the Warder of Tounghoo Jail; there’s hundreds that I could lay my hand on

if I was in India

The men upon whom Dravot places his trust to rule his country are not the best of men and

the reasons he provides are rather absurd. It is not because they are splendid strategists or

illustrious statesmen, but because they have provided him with a good dinner, or with “a pair

of trousers” when he needed them. So, instead of trusting the natives – who probably have great knowledge of their own country – Dravot calls upon twelve of his fellow Englishmen to do the job. Again, this emphasises that Kipling saw that the white, British men were superior, and that it was their duty to rule over “those of lesser breed”.

As hinted at before, Kipling stresses that “ruling” is not the same as “exploiting”. The ideal imperialist, according to the writer, had to serve the natives and guide them into civilisation. Whereas earlier in the story, Dravot was focussing on establishing a civilised nation, at the end of the novella, his behaviour is gone from ruling to exploiting. Despite his

“contrack” with Carnehan to stay away from alcohol and women, Dravot demands a queen. It is then that the people of Kafiristan revolt and dispose of their despots. The moral of the story is clear: the Empire will have to face disastrous consequences if the English were to forfeit their moral authority. This fate does not affect only the British race, but also all those who consider themselves British subjects. Carnehan reveals to the Editor the fate of Billy Fish:

“There was a man called Billy Fish, a good friend of us all, and they cut his throat, sir, then and there, like a pig” (MK 276-7). The friendship between the native chief and the British rulers did not save the former, rather it condemned him to death. One might argue that this should be seen as a warning not to form close friendships with the “lesser races”: if only Dravot had not tried to fraternise with the natives, their kingdom might have flourished. Yet, since the kingdom would be ruled by two kings who lack any morality, it would not be a question of “if”, but “when” the natives would rebel. Billy Fish’s death is therefore a warning that not only Britain, but the entire Empire would suffer grave consequences if the English did not rule properly and justly.

Nevertheless, despite this rather stern message, The Man Who Would Be King does seems to encourage adventure and heroism in the remote places of the Empire. For example, when Dravot and Carnehan are set for their journey and say their goodbyes to the Editor, Dravot asks him for a “memento of [his] kindness” (MK 257). The Editor provides him with a charm of the compass – a symbol of freemasonry – which could imply the silent approval of the imperialistic endeavour by the editor (Brascom 166). Moreover, according to Phillip Mallett, Kipling vindicates the nefarious characters of Dravot and Carnehan by both dampening their avarice, their greed and their intoxication with power, and by having the kings die cruelly (Mallett 44). His portrayal of Dravot’s heroic death and Carnehan’s tragic survival show only his sympathy for the characters (Sullivan 100). As such, “the implicit charge against Dravot is not that he claimed the right to rule, but that he failed to live up to it”

(Mallett 43). His ambition to establish a “damned fine Nation” (MK 269) does unachieved,

but the narrative does not appear to condemn his aims of empire-building as inherently unjust.

It is their lack of moral authority towards their subjects that seals their fate. They do not uphold Kipling’s Law of fidelity, “loyalty, bravery, generosity, discipline, tradition and honour” (Meyers, Fiction 7), and they are subsequently punished with horrible fates.

However, even though The Man Who Would Be King does emphasise madness of the two would-be-kings (Meyers, Fiction 5-6), together with the narrator, Kipling “glorifies and exoticises [them] by myth and romance” (Sullivan 101). This myth and romance is created by the deranged Carnehan, when he sings a hymn, which appears to be a legendary tale, rather than a cautionary example:

The Son of Man goes forth to war, A golden crown to gain;

His blood-red banner streams afar – Who follows in his train? (MK 278-9)

Hence, “their terrible deaths, which should have been a just punishment for their crimes, become instead an attempt to vindicate their character” (Meyers, Fiction 14). Notwithstanding that it weakens the moral of the story, it also strengthen Kipling’s affiliation with the Empire and with imperialism: regardless of his disapproval of the lack of morality in the adventurers, he does approve of their aim for power. Therefore, The Man Who Would Be King does not criticise the British Empire per se, instead it cautions the British governing rulers to remain faithful to the ideology of imperialism. As the poem “White Man’s Burden” stresses: “Take up the White Man’s burden / No tawdry rule of kings, / But toil of serf and sweeper / The tale of common things” (ll. 25-8, Kipling 1822). The imperialists should not present themselves as kings, but as servers of the “new-caught, sullen peoples / Half-devil and half-child” (ll. 7-8, Kipling 1821).

To conclude this section, when Kipling wrote his novella Kipling was an ardent

supporter of imperialism, but saw that the governing elite were growing more and more

immoral. The Man Who Would Be King applauds the ideals of imperialism, and yet, is filled

with “pessimism about the present and future of the British Empire” (Brantlinger, Complexity

91). He does not see the imperial ideology as being a lost cause, for he does believe the

British will prevail. Instead, the narrative embodies the fear of loss of the unified self, and the

even greater fear of the loss of the British Empire (Mallett 42). From the text it becomes clear

that Kipling did not criticise the Empire in itself, but the people it sent to govern.

Chapter 3 The Whited Sepulchres of Heart of Darkness: Ambiguity and the Empire

A year before he became a British subject, Conrad wrote in a letter to his friend Joseph Spiridion that “the word Home always [meant] for [him] the hospitable shores of Great Britain” (Conrad qtd. in White, Imperialism 181). Indeed, Conrad considered himself as a loyal subject of the British Empire. Nonetheless, his political opinions are quite difficult to ascertain. Scholars are still uncertain as to what his views were; some have argued that Conrad was an avid supporter of British imperialism, whereas others insist that his works betray his anti-imperialist views. In fact, “the arguments range widely from those who view Conrad as committed to a conservative, ‘English view’ of imperialism [Eagleton; Simmons;

White] to those who see him as sceptical of the whole enterprise and a champion of anti- colonial revolts [Hawkins; Hochshield]” (White, Imperialism 179). Whereas the Nigerian novelist Chinua Achebe accused Conrad of being a “thoroughgoing racist” (Achebe 343), Edward Said claims that Conrad was the first of his contemporaries to “[tackle] the subtle cultural reinforcements and manifestations of Empire” (Said qtd. in White, Imperialism 197).

Additionally, Said applauds Conrad for his attack on European colonialism in Heart of Darkness, thinking it likely that the writer wanted to focus on the despicable behaviour of the westerners, rather than on the response of the Africans (Hawkins, Racism 370).

Letters dating from late 1885 reveal that Conrad’s earliest political allegiances are with the Conservatives (Simmons 111). Allan Simmons believes this was not surprising, since the would-be-writer was a member of the British Merchant Service. As such, the Empire

“provided him with a living, with security, and with a sense of communal recognition and belonging. And the Conservatives were perceived to be the party of Empire” (Simmons 111).

Although some have questioned this political allegiance because of his troublesome history

with the Russian Empire (Simmons 118), Conrad’s letters from that early period in his life

reveal that the writer believed that the British Empire was doing good work (White,

Imperialism 181). Indeed, Ford Madox Ford asserts that Conrad believed that the British

Empire was “the perfection of human perfections” (Ford qtd. in Najder, Life 299). Conrad’s

early endorsement of imperialism is also supported by his enlistment to a Belgian civilising

mission in the Congo. He seemed to have high expectations of the philanthropic enterprise he

would undertake, convinced that he would contribute to a “civilising mission” and participate

in an undertaking that was justified by more than financial reasons (Najder, Life 146).

In 1890, when Conrad first steamed up the Congo, he carried [his Conservative] attitudes with him, along with the ‘Africa’ already currently available, […] Not surprisingly his early diary entries recorded on that first trip up the Congo depict a young sahib, complaining that things were not exactly pukka (White, Imperialism 181).

However, Conrad seemed to be dissatisfied with the harsh environment and the dire circumstances of reality. His fictional accounts from that period display a more hostile attitude towards the “civilising mission” that was undertaken by the Belgian imperialists.

In the years that followed, Conrad’s political attitude showed an obvious rift from “a young seaman’s apparently insensitive view to his own intrusive role in colonial adventurism to the fledgling novelist’s desire to expose imperialism’s fraudulent pretensions of benevolence” (White, Imperialism 181). The moment that Conrad came aboard the Belgian river steamboat was the moment that his literary works became shrouded in political ambiguity. One of his most disputed writings, Heart of Darkness, has been subjected to various critical responses, differing from feminist critique (see Nina Pelikan Strauss; Peter Hyland; Padmini Mongia) to orientalist response (see Achebe; Said) to a modernist interpretation (see Kenneth Graham; D.C.R.A Goonetilleke). “There are wonderfully elaborate readings of Marlow’s journey as a descent into hell, […] [and] just as many elaborate readings of the story as an inward voyage of self-discovery which treat its geopolitical language as symbolizing psychological states and parts of the mind” (Brantlinger, Rule 266). However, the prevailing theories are that the novella either endorses imperialism or subverts it – or both (Collits 110). As will be explained below, the work presents a “muffled”

political protest, one that nevertheless, “invites readers to scrutinise the ethical foundations to the civilisation of expansionist capitalism and engaging them in a critical view of imperialism’s urge to conquer the earth (Benita Parry qtd. in White, Imperialism 198).

Marlow, sitting “in the pose of a meditating Buddha” (HD 77) opens his tale with what some call “a straightforward, unambiguous apology for British imperialism” (Eloise Knapp Hay qtd. in White and Finston 22):

The conquest of the earth […] is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretence but an idea;

and an unselfish belief in the idea – something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to… (HD 7).

Besides offering a justification for conquest with an underlying ideology, Marlow goes to great lengths to create a separating division between “colonialists” and “conquerors”: “[The Romans] were no colonists; their administration was merely a squeeze, and nothing more, I suspect. They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force” (HD 6-7). While the

“conquerors” are seen as bestial barbarians, the “colonialists” are thought of favourably, for they brought with them civilisation and progress. As such, some critics have argued that, by making a specific distinction between the two words, the entire novella should not be seen as an attack on imperialism (White and Finston 22). Kurtz and the Company are mere conquerors looking for monetary gain. Like the conquerors, “they grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be got. It was just robbery with violence” (HD 7). Kurtz and the Company are obviously different from the true and righteous imperialists, for, rather than encouraging civilisation, “the Company was run for profit” (HD 12).

Indeed, the problem at hand is that the reality of imperialism

with its exploitation and its monetary gain

is really quite different from its justification of humanitarianism and philanthropy. As such, it has been argued that, instead of offering his support, Conrad meant to emphasise the hypocrisy of imperialism and the passage illustrates the writer’s condemnation of European colonialism in Africa (White and Finston 24). Benita Parry asserts that “Heart of Darkness is ultimately a public disavowal of imperialism’s authorised lies”

(Parry qtd. in White and Finston 30). Various others support her in her claim, and believe that Heart of Darkness portrays a sense of “antipathy to imperialism” (Watts, Heart 49). Adam Hochshield goes as far as to label the work as “one of the most scathing indictments of imperialism in all literature” (Hochshield qtd. in White and Finston 22). The vivid imagery of colonial exploitation and violence expresses a clear disgust on the part of Conrad. By highlighting various instances of European cruelty

the French ship firing blindly into the jungle, the African who is flogged for allegedly committed arson at the Central Station, the dead body as part of the “upkeep of the road” (HD 20)

the writer seems to have wanted to raise awareness of the actions of the colonialists.

The Darwinian atmosphere of Heart of Darkness is another element which evokes

both imperialist and anti-imperialist interpretation (Watts, Discussion 73). The novella alludes

to Africa as being a “young” nation and to the African as a childlike savage. For instance, the

novella opens on the river Thames, which is tranquil and resting peacefully “at the decline of

day after ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks” (HD 4). The tale soon

moves to the river Congo: “going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest

beginnings of the world” (HD 33). Indeed, Africa is described as a “prehistoric earth” (HD

35). A very telling passage is when Marlow comments: “I don’t think a single one of them had any clear idea of time, as we at the end of countless ages have. They still belonged to the beginnings of time – had no inherited experience to teach them as it were” (HD 40). Here, as with on various other occasions, Marlow suggests that Africa is but a young nation, one which, compared to the ancient Europe, is primitive and in need of European guidance. This vision of Africa as a young nation can be linked directly to social Darwinism. As explained in the introduction, social Darwinism had gained more influence during the late-nineteenth century. The notion that only the “fittest” could survive, seemed to serve as a justification for imperialism (Hawkins, Conrad 288). Hence, these native features, combined with the elements of social Darwinism would certainly suggest that Heart of Darkness was meant to be in favour of imperialism (Brantlinger, Rule 262).

However, the writer also rebuts social Darwinism. The Europeans might have had a military advantage over the Africans, but in the battle against the environment they come up short. The natives of Africa do not need an “excuse for being there” (HD 14), and are able to survive regardless of the hellish surroundings. Personifying nature, Marlow notices that: “All along the formless coast bordered by dangerous surf, as if Nature herself had tried to ward off intruders; in and out of rivers, streams of death in life, whose banks were rotting into mud, whose waters, thickened into slime, invaded the contorted mangroves, that seemed to writhe at us in the extremity of an impotent despair” (HD 14). The African environment seems to possess devilish features: Marlow remarks that arriving in Africa, he has “stepped into the gloomy circle of some Inferno” (HD 16), and later, he notices that the land has “a treacherous appeal to the lurking death, to the hidden evil, to the profound darkness of its heart” (HD 33).

The Africans, however, are very capable in their survival, unlike the Europeans, who “appear absurdly anomalous and perish rapidly there or survive as grotesques or brutal automata”

(Watts, Discussion 78). Considering that Conrad might not have meant the Africans to be seen as “unfit”, one might also accept that the writer “used these social-Darwinist values, which were pro-imperialist, because they were widely accepted by his audience and because they were appropriate for condemning Leopold” (Hawkins, Conrad 296).

Nonetheless, Achebe maintains that especially the depiction of the Africans is disturbing and racist. The Congolese people are mere side characters; they are not allowed a voice – besides “Mistah Kurtz – he dead” (HD 69) – and are usually described as savages.

Moreover, the description of the fireman can be seen as quite offensive:

“He was an improved specimen; he could fire up a vertical boiler. He was there below me and, upon my word, to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches and a feather hat walking on his hind legs. […] He ought to have been clapping his hands and stamping his feet on the bank, instead of which he was hard at work, a thrall to strange witchcraft, full of improving knowledge. (HD 65-6).

Achebe believes that Marlow expected a Jim Crow-like figure, rather than a capable worker.

Yet, despite this

rather degrading

description of his Congolese fireman, Marlow does not see the Africans as sub-human, as some have suggested (Lackey 27). He comments upon their humanity and the kinship with the European race, albeit begrudgingly:

The men were ... No they were not inhuman. Well, you know that was the worst of it – this suspicion of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped and spun and made horrid faces, but what thrilled you, was just the thought of their humanity – like yours – the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar (HD 36).

Additionally, he seems to accept that they have a culture of their own, and comments that in Africa drums might have “as profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a Christian country”

(HD 20). The referral of African drums as bells in a Christian country alludes again to the

“remote kinship” between the Europeans and the Africans. The passage seems to suggest that – even though they seem primitive and prehistoric – the Congolese people have a sophisticated civilisation of their own. Indeed, Marlow uses racial language such as “nigger”

(HD 9), however, he also affirms once more that the Africans do not need an “excuse for being there” (HD 14).

In spite of meeting Kurtz only near the end of Heart of Darkness, Kurtz is present throughout the novella. He is the only person with whom Marlow forms a relationship, because of the legendary tales the steamboat captain hears along the river. He is able to keep his distance from the other people – both native and European – but the admiration and the veneration for the “emissary of light” that is able to create a one-sided bond between him and Kurtz. At some point, Marlow sees Kurtz as

a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one that stood out pre-eminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words— the gift of expression, the