CHAPTER XIV
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC AGAIN
“You said you were married, I think? Well, I suppose it is wise,
after all. It settles, centralises, and confirms a man, I have heard.
Yes, it makes the world definite to him; it removes his morbid
subjectiveness, and makes all things objective; nine small children,
for instance, may be considered objective. Marriage, hey!--A fine
thing, no doubt, no doubt:--domestic--pretty--nice, all round.--So
you are married?”
--HERMAN MELVILLE: _Pierre_.
In October, 1849, at the age of thirty, five years after his return
from the South Seas, and two years after his marriage, Melville again
left home. His departure was not prompted by any lack of diversion at
home: there had been plenty of it at 103 Fourth Avenue. Melville’s
brothers Allan and Tom, his sisters Augusta, Fanny and Helen, his
mother, his wife, and the visits from Boston of the Shaws, had been a
sufficiently varied company to divert any lover of humanity, and to
enamour a misanthrope to the family hearth. Withal, Melville was not
only a husband, but a father: and duties towards the support of the
company with whom he lived were blatantly clear. For this support he
depended solely upon the earnings from his books. In three years he
had published five volumes: _Typee_, _Omoo_, _Mardi_ (in two volumes)
and _Redburn_. Though he had attracted wide attention as a writer, he
was, nevertheless, in debt to his publishers. Despite sisters, and
brothers, and wives, and babies, and mothers, and callers, he had
stuck relentlessly to his desk, and another book--_White-Jacket_--he
had finished in manuscript. His, as well as his sister Augusta’s, was
“a pressing case.” So he decided to go to England, to make personal
intercession with publishers, hoping thereby to improve his income from
the other side of the Atlantic.
On October 11, 1849, after a detention of three or four days, owing
to wind and weather, he went on board the tug _Goliath_ a little
after noon. A violent storm was blowing from the west, and with some
confusion the passengers were transferred to the _Southampton_, a
regular London liner that lay in the North River. By half-past five,
with yards square, and sailing in half a gale, Melville was again out
of sight of land.
“As the ship dashed on,” says Melville in his journal of the trip,
“under double-reefed topsails, I walked the deck, thinking of what
they might be doing at home, and of the last familiar faces I saw on
the wharf--Allan was there, and George Duyckinck, and a Mr. McCurdy, a
rich merchant of New York, who had seemed somewhat interested in the
prospect of his son (a sickly youth of twenty, bound for the grand
tour) being very romantic. But to my great delight, the promise that
the Captain had given me at an early day, he now made good; and I find
myself in the individual occupancy of a large state-room. It is as
big almost as my own room at home; it has a spacious berth, a large
wash-stand, a sofa, glass, etc., etc. I am the only person on board who
is thus honoured with a room to himself. I have plenty of light, and a
little thick glass window in the side, which in fine weather I may open
to the air. I have looked out upon the sea from it, often, tho not yet
24 hours on board.”
The George Duyckinck who was among the party that had waved him off
was, of course, one of two Duyckinck brothers who published in 1855
the two volume _Cyclopædia of American Literature_: a work vituperated
in its day for shocking omissions and inaccuracies. Both the work and
its critics have now fallen into a decent oblivion. Withal, in this
same antiquated _Cyclopædia_ is to be found one of the best informed
summaries of the first half of Melville’s life ever printed.
On October 12, Melville records in his journal his impressions upon
finding himself again on the ocean. “Walked the deck last night
till about eight o’clock,” he says, “then made up a whist party and
played till one of the number had to visit his room from sickness.
Retired early and had a sound sleep. Was up betimes and aloft, to
recall the old emotions of being at the mast-head. Found that the
ocean looked the same as ever. Have tried to read but find it hard
work. However, there are some very pleasant passengers on board,
with whom to converse. Chief among these is a Mr. Adler, a German
scholar, to whom Duyckinck introduced me. He is author of a formidable
lexicon (German or English); in compiling which he almost ruined his
health. He was almost crazy, he tells me, for a time. He is full of
the German metaphysics and discourses of Kant, Swedenborg, etc. He
has been my principal companion thus far. There is also a Mr. Taylor
among the passengers, cousin of James Bayard Taylor, the pedestrian
traveller. There is a Scotch artist on board, a painter, with a most
unpoetical looking child, a young-one all cheeks and forehead, the
former preponderating. Young McCurdy I find to be a lisping youth of
genteel capacity, but quite disposed to be sociable. We have several
Frenchmen and Englishmen. One of the latter has been hunting, and
carries over with him two glorious pairs of antlers (moose) as trophies
of his prowess in the Woods of Maine. We have also a middle-aged
English woman, who sturdily walks the decks and prides herself upon
her sea-legs, and being an old tar.” There was also aboard “a Miss
Wilbur (I think) of New York.” Melville reports of Miss Wilbur
that she “is of a marriageable age, keeps a diary, and talks about
‘winning souls to Christ.’” In the evening, Melville “walked the
deck with the German, Mr. Adler, till a late hour, talking of ‘Fixed
Fate, Free-will, free-knowledge absolute’ etc. His philosophy is
_Coleridgean_; he accepts the Scriptures as divine, and yet leaves
himself free to inquire into Nature. He does not take it, that the
Bible is absolutely infallible, and that anything opposed to it in
Science must be wrong. He believes that there are things not of God and
independent of Him,--things that would have existed were there no God;
such as that two and two make four; for it is not that God so decrees
mathematically, but that in the very nature of things, the fact is
thus.”
On the following morning, Melville was up early. “Opened my bull’s
eye window, and looked out to the East. The sun was just rising--the
horizon was red;--a familiar sight to me, reminding me of old times.
Before breakfast, went up to the mast-head by way of gymnastics. About
ten o’clock the wind rose, the sun fell, and the deck looked dismally
empty. By dinner time, it blew half a gale, and the passengers mostly
retired to their rooms, sea-sick. After dinner, the rain ceased, but it
still blew stiffly, and we were slowly forging along under close-reefed
top-sails--mainsail furled. I was walking the deck, when I perceived
one of the steerage passengers looking over the side; I looked too,
and saw a man in the water, his head completely lifted above the
waves,--about twelve feet from the ship, right amast the gangway. For
an instant, I thought I was dreaming; for no one else seemed to see
what I did. Next moment, I shouted ‘Man Overboard!’ and turned to go
aft. I dropped overboard the tackle-fall of the quarter-boat, and swung
it toward the man, who was now drifting close to the ship. He did not
get hold of it, and I got over the side, within a foot or two of the
sea, and again swung the rope toward him. He now got hold of it. By
this time, a crowd of people--sailors and others--were clustering about
the bulwarks; but none seemed very anxious to save him. They warned
_me_, however, not to fall overboard. After holding on to the rope,
about a quarter of a minute, the man let go of it and dropped astern
under the mizzen chains. Four or five of the seamen jumped over into
the chains and swung him more ropes. But his conduct was unaccountable;
he could have saved himself, had he been so minded. I was struck by the
expression of his face in the water. It was merry. At last he dropped
off under the ship’s counter, and all hands cried ‘He’s gone!’ Running
to the taffrail we saw him again, floating off--saw a few bubbles, and
never saw him again. No boat was lowered, no sail was shaken, hardly
any noise was made. The man drowned like a bullock. It afterward turned
out, that he was crazy, and had jumped overboard. He had declared he
would do so, several times; and just before he did jump, he had tried
to get possession of his child, in order to jump into the sea, with the
child in his arms. His wife was miserably sick in her berth.”
In the steerage another crazy man was reported. But his lunacy turned
out to be delirium tremens, consequent upon “keeping drunk for the last
two months.”
Sunday the fourteenth was “a regular blue devil day; a gale of wind,
and everybody sick. Saloons deserted, and all sorts of nausea heard
from the state-rooms. Managed to get thro’ the day somehow, by reading
and walking the deck, tho’ the last was almost as much as my neck was
worth. Saw a lady with a copy of _Omoo_ in her hand two days ago. Now
and then she would look up at me, as if comparing notes. She turns out
to be the wife of a young Scotchman, an artist, going out to Scotland
to sketch scenes for his patrons in Albany, including Dr. Armsby. He
introduced himself to me by mentioning the name of Mr. Twitchell who
painted my portrait gratis. He is a very unpretending young man, and
looks more like a tailor than an artist. But appearances are etc.--”
The portrait painted by Mr. Twitchell is now not known to exist.
Monday broke fair. “By noon the passengers were pretty nearly all on
deck, convalescent. They seem to regard me as a hero, proof against
wind and weather. My occasional feats in the rigging are regarded
as a species of tight-rope dancing. Poor Adler, however, is hardly
himself again. He is an exceedingly amiable man, and a fine scholar
whose society is improving in a high degree. This afternoon Dr.
Taylor and I sketched a plan for going down the Danube from Vienna
to Constantinople; thence to Athens on the steamer; to Beyrout and
Jerusalem--Alexandria and the Pyramids. From what I learn, I have no
doubt this can be done at a comparatively trifling expense. Taylor has
had a good deal of experience in cheap European travel, and from his
knowledge of German is well fitted for a travelling companion thro
Austria and Turkey. I am full (just now) of this glorious Eastern
jaunt. Think of it:--Jerusalem and the Pyramids--Constantinople, the
Egean and also Athens!--The wind is not fair yet, and there is much
growling consequently. Drank a small bottle of London stout to-day for
dinner, and think it did me good. I wonder how much they charge for it?
I must find out.”
On the sixteenth his journal looks back towards home. “What’s little
Barney about?” he asks of his son Malcolm. And of his wife: “Where’s
Orianna?” Four days later, having been “annoyed towards morning by a
crying baby adjoining” he repeats this simple catechism.
The entire morning of the eighteenth--the day delightful and the ship
getting on famously--Melville spent “in the maintop with Adler and Dr.
Taylor, discussing our plans for the grand circuit of Europe and the
East. Taylor, however, has communicated to me a circumstance that may
prevent him from accompanying us--something of a pecuniary nature. He
reckons our expenses at $400.” Though Melville played with this idea
of the trip into the East for some days, he in the end was forced by
lack of funds to give it up. Not until 1856 did he see Greece, and
Constantinople, and the Holy Land, and then under tragic circumstances.
The rest of the week went by eventlessly. Melville read, lounged,
played cards, went into the Ladies’ Saloon for the first time, there
to “hear Mrs. Gould, the opera lady, sing.” When he comes to Sunday,
October 21, he is unusually laconic: on ship board at least, Melville
was in a mood to sympathise with Fielding’s liberties with the
calendar in _Tom Jones_ in counting six secular days as a full week.
“Cannot remember what happened to-day,” he writes; “it came to an end
somehow.” But on the morrow, his memory cleared. “I forgot to mention
that _last night_ about 9:30 P. M., Adler and Taylor came into my
room, and it was proposed to have whiskey punches, which we _did_ have
accordingly. Adler drank about three tablespoons full--Taylor four or
five tumblers, etc. We had an extraordinary time and did not break up
till after two in the morning. We talked metaphysics continually, and
Hegel, Schlegel, Kant, etc., were discussed under the influence of
the whiskey. I shall not forget Adler’s look when he quoted La Place
the French astronomer--‘It is not necessary, gentlemen, to account
for these worlds by the hypothesis’, etc. After Adler retired, Taylor
and I went out on the bowsprit--splendid spectacle.” Three days later
there was further inducement to metaphysical discussion. “By evening
blew a very stiff breeze and we dashed on in magnificent style. Fine
moonlight night, and we rushed on thro’ snow-banks of foam. McCurdy
invited Adler, the Doctor and I into his room and ordered champagne.
Went on deck again and remained till near midnight. The scene was
indescribable--I never saw such sailing before.”
On Saturday, October 27: “Steered our course in a wind. I played
shuffle-board for the first time. Ran about aloft a good deal. McCurdy
invited Adler, Taylor and I to partake of some _mulled wine_ with him,
which we did, in my room. Got--all of us--riding on the German horse
again. Taylor has not been in Germany in vain. We sat down to whist,
and separated at about three in the morning.”
On the morrow, “Decks very wet, and hard work to take exercise. (‘Where
dat old man?’) Read a little, dozed a little and to bed early.” So
passed another vacant Sabbath. In the margin opposite “Where dat old
man?” Melville’s wife has added in pencil: “Macky’s baby words.”
Melville thrice quotes this question of Malcolm’s--and each time Mrs.
Melville explains it in the margin, and initials her explanation each
time. The third time she writes: “First words of baby Malcolm’s. E.S.M.”
Monday was wet and foggy. Some of the passengers were sick. “In the
afternoon tried to create some amusement by arraigning Adler before
the Captain in a criminal charge. In the evening put the Captain in
the chains, and argued the question ‘which was best, a monarchy or
a republic?’ Had some good sport during the debate--the Englishman
wouldn’t take part in it tho’.--After claret and stout with Monsieur
Moran and Taylor, went on deck and found it a moonlight midnight. Wind
astern. Retired at 1 A. M.”
On November 1, Melville wrote: “Just three weeks from home, and made
the land--Start Point--about 3 P. M.--well up channel--passed the
Lizzard. Very fine day--great number of ships in sight. Thro’ these
waters Blake’s and Nelson’s ships once sailed. Taylor suggested that
he and I should return McCurdy’s civilities. We did, and Captain
Griswold joined and ordered a pitcher of his own. The Captain is a
very intelligent and gentlemanly man--converses well and understands
himself. I never was more deceived in a person than I was in him.
Retired about midnight. Taylor played a rare joke upon McCurdy this
evening, passing himself off as Miss Wilbur, having borrowed her cloak,
etc. They walked together. Shall see Portsmouth to-morrow morning.”
Saturday, Nov. 3rd: “Woke about six o’clock with an insane idea that
we were going before the wind, and would be in Portsmouth in an hour’s
time. Soon found out my mistake. About eight o’clock took a pilot, who
brought some papers two weeks old. Made the Isle of Wight about 10 A.
M. High land--the Needles--Wind ahead and tacking. Get in to-night or
to-morrow--or next week or year. Devilish dull, and too bad altogether.
Continued tacking all day with a light wind from West. Isle of Wight
in sight all day and numerous ships. In the evening all hands in high
spirits. Played chess in the ladies’ saloon--another party at cards;
good deal of singing in the gentlemen’s cabin and drinking--very
hilarious and noisy. Last night every one thought. Determined to go
ashore at Portsmouth. Therefore prepared for it, arranged my trunk to
be left behind--put up a shirt or two in Adler’s carpet bag and retired
pretty early.”
Sunday, Nov. 4th: “Looked out of my window first thing upon rising and
saw the Isle of Wight again--very near--ploughed fields, etc. Light
head wind--expected to be in a little after breakfast time. About 10
A. M. rounded the Eastern end of the Isle, when it fell flat calm.
The town in sight by telescope. Were becalmed about three or four
hours. Foggy, drizzly; long faces at dinner--no porter bottles. Wind
came from the West at last. Squared the yards and struck away from
Dover--distant 60 miles. Close reefed the topsails so as not to run too
fast. Expect now to go ashore to-morrow morning early at Dover--and
get to London via Canterbury Cathedral. Mysterious hint dropped me
about my green coat. It is now eight o’clock in the evening. I am alone
in my state-room--lamp in tumbler. Spite of past disappointments,
I _feel_ that this is my last night aboard the _Southampton_. This
time to-morrow I shall be on land, and press English earth after the
lapse of ten years--_then a sailor_, now H. M. author of _Peedee_,
_Hullabaloo_ and _Pog-Dog_. For the last time I lay aside my ‘log’ to
add a line or two to Lizzie’s letter the last I shall write aboard.
(‘Where dat old man?--Where looks?’)”
The account of his experiences in England is preserved in a separate
note-book, formally beginning: “Commenced this journal at 25 Craven
Street at 6-1/2 P. M. on Wednesday, Nov. 7, 1849--being just arrived
from dinner at a chop house, and feeling like it.”
“_Mon. Nov. 5th, 1849_: Having at the invitation of McCurdy cracked
some champagne with him, I returned about midnight to my state-room,
and at four in the morning was wakened by the Captain in person, saying
we were off Dover. Dressed in a hurry, ran on deck, and saw the lights
ashore. A cutter was alongside, and after some confusion in the dark,
we got off in her for the shore. A comical scene ensued, the boatman
saying we could not land at Dover, but only at Deal. So to Deal we
went, and were beached there just at break of day. Some centuries ago a
person called Julius Cæsar jumped ashore about in this place, and took
possession. It was Guy Fawkes day also. Having left our baggage (that
is, Taylor, Adler and myself) to go round by ship to London, we were
wholly non-encumbered, and I proposed walking to Canterbury--distant
18 miles, for an appetite to breakfast. So we strode thru this quaint
old town of Deal, one of the Cinque Ports, I believe, and soon were in
the open country. A fine Autumnal morning and the change from ship to
shore was delightful. Reached Sandwich (6 miles) and breakfasted at a
tumble down old inn. Finished with ale and pipes, visited ‘Richbors’
Castle’--so called--a Roman fortification near the sea shore. An
imposing ruin, the interior was planted with cabbages. The walls
some ten feet thick grown over with ivy. Walked to where they were
digging--and saw, defined by a trench, the exterior wall of a circus.
Met the proprietor--an antiquary--who regaled me with the history of
the place. Strolled about the town, on our return, and found it full of
interest as a fine specimen of the old Elizabethan architecture. Kent
abounds in such towns. At one o’clock took the 2nd class (no 3rd) cars
for Canterbury. The cathedral is on many accounts the most remarkable
in England. Henry II, his wife, and the Black Prince are here--and
Becket. Fine cloisters. There is a fine thought expressed in one of the
inscriptions on a tomb in the nave. Dined at the Falstaff Inn near the
Westgate. Went to the theatre in the evening, & was greatly amused at
the performance: More people on the stage than in the boxes. Ineffably
funny, the whole affair. All three of us slept in one room at the
inn--odd hole.
“_Tuesday, Nov. 6th_: Swallowed a glass of ale and away for the R.
R. Station & off for London, distant some 80 miles. Took the third
class car--exposed to the air, devilish cold riding against the wind.
Fine day--people sociable. Passed thro Penshurst (P. S.’s place &
Tunbridge--fine old ruin that). Arrived at London Bridge at noon.
Crossed at once over into the city and down at a chop-house in the
Poulberry--having eaten nothing since the previous afternoon dinner.
Went and passed St. Paul’s to the Strand to find our house. They
referred us elsewhere. Very full. Secured room at last (one for each)
at a guinea and a half a week. Very cheap. Went down to the Queen’s
Hotel to inquire after our ship friends--(on the way green coat
attracted attention)--not in. Went to Drury Lane at Julien’s Promenade
Concerts (admittance 1 s.) A great crowd and fine music. In the reading
room to see ‘Bentley’s Miscellany’ with something about _Redburn_. (By
the way, stopped at a store in the Row & inquired for the book, to see
whether it had been published. They offered it to me at a guinea). At
Julien’s also saw Blackwoods’ long story about a short book. It’s very
comical. Seemed so, at least, as I had to hurry on it. But the wonder
is that the old Tory should waste so many papers upon a thing which I,
the author, know to be trash, and wrote it to buy some tobacco with. A
good wash & turned in early.
“_Thursday, Nov. 8th_: Dressed, after breakfast at a coffee-house, and
went to Mr. Bentley’s. He was out of town at Brighton. The notices
of _Redburn_ were shown me.--Laughable. Staid awhile, and then to
Mr. Murray’s, out of town. Strolled about and went into the National
Gallery. Dined with the Doctor & Adler, and after dark a ramble thro’
Chancery Lane and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, we turned into Holborn & so to
the Princess’s Theatre in Oxford Street. Went into the pit at the hall
price--one shilling. The part of a Frenchman was very well played. So
also, skater on the ice.
“_Friday, Nov. 9th_: Breakfasted late and went into Cheapside to see
the ‘Lord Mayor’s show’ it being the day of the great civic feast &
festivities. A most bloated pomp, to be sure. Went down to the bridge
to see the people crowding there. Crossed by Westminster, thro’ the
Parks to the Edgeware Road, & found the walk delightful, the sun coming
out a little, and the air not cold. While on one of the bridges, the
thought struck me again that a fine story might be written about a Blue
Monday in November London--a City of Dis (Dante’s) Cloud of Smoke--the
damned, etc., coal boxes, oily waters, etc.--its marks are left upon
you, etc., etc., etc.”
In _Israel Potter_ (1855) Melville devoted one chapter to a description
of London Bridge: a chapter entitled: “In the City of Dis.” The
description begins: “It was late on a Monday morning in November--a
Blue Monday--a Fifth of November--Guy Fawkes’ Day!--very blue, foggy,
doleful and gunpowdery, indeed.” Melville had been husbanding for six
years the impressions gathered on November 9, 1849.
On November 10, Melville received a reply to the note he had sent
to Bentley announcing his presence in London. Bentley expressed a
willingness to come up from Brighton to see Melville at any time
convenient to Melville. Melville appointed “Monday noon, in New
Burlington Street,” and went forth again to explore the city. He
visited the Temple Courts. By way of Cock Lane--reflecting on Dr.
Johnson’s Ghost--he walked on to the Charter House, “where I had a
sociable chat with an old pensioner who guided me through some fine old
cloisters, kitchens, chapels.” Saturday night, with Adler, he strolled
over to Holborn “vagabonding thro’ the courts and lanes and looking in
at windows. Stopped at a penny theatre--very comical. Adler afraid. To
bed early.” On Sunday Melville went “down to Temple Church to hear the
music,” looked in at St. Paul’s, and then, with Adler, “took a bus for
Hampton Court.” They enjoyed the ride down, the pictures at Hampton
Court, and then dinner at the Adelphi in the evening.
On Monday, Melville saw Bentley. “Very polite,” says Melville. “Gave
me his note for £100 at ten days for _Redburn_. Couldn’t do better,
he said. He expressed much anxiety and vexation at the state of the
copyright question. Proposed my new book _White-Jacket_ to him and
showed him the table of contents. He was much pleased with it, and
notwithstanding the vexatious and uncertain state of the copyright
matter, he made me the following offer: To pay me £200 for the first
thousand copies of the book (the privilege of publishing that number)
and as we might afterwards arrange concerning subsequent editions. A
liberal offer. But he could make no advance--left him and called upon
Mr. Murray. Not in. Out of town.... Walked to St. Paul’s and sat over
an hour in a dozy state listening to the chanting of the choir. Felt
homesick and sentimentally unhappy.”
To sweeten his blood, he sallied forth, with Adler, early on the
morrow, “to see the last end of the Mannings. An innumerable crowd in
all the streets. Police by hundreds. Men and women fainting. The man
and wife were hung side by side--still unreconciled to each other--what
a change from the time they stood up to be married together! The mob
was brutish. All in all, a most wonderful, horrible, and unspeakable
scene.--Breakfasted about 11 A. M. and went to the Zoological Gardens,
Regent’s Park. Very pretty. Fine giraffes. Dreary and rainy day.”
On the morrow “Rigged up again, and in my _green_ jacket called
upon Mr. Murray in Albemarle Street. He was very civil, much vexed
about copyright matters. I proposed _White-Jacket_ to him--he seemed
decidedly pleased and has since sent for the proof sheets, according
to agreement. That evening we went to the New Strand Theatre, to
see Coleman’s _The Clandestine Marriage_.” Melville’s comment upon
Leigh Murray, who played Melvil, would do credit to the lost diary of
Mrs. Pepys: “the finest leg I ever saw on a man--a devilishly well
turned-out man, upon my soul.”
The day following--November 15--was by the Queen appointed as a day
of special thanksgiving. Melville again sallied forth sight-seeing. On
the morrow he made two attempts to see Murray; the second found him
in. “Very polite--but would not be in his line to publish my book.” On
November 17, Colbour declined Melville’s offer of £200 for a thousand
copies of _White-Jacket_, “and principally because of the cussed
state of the copyright. Bad news enough--I shall not see Rome--I’m
floored--appetite unimpaired, however.” On the 19th, he saw Longman, to
be told “they bided by the original terms.” On the twentieth, he saw
Moxen, the publisher. “Found him in--sitting alone in a back room. He
was at first very stiff, cold, clammy and clumsy. Managed to bring him
to, tho, by clever speeches. Talked of Charles Lamb--he warmed up and
ended by saying he would send me a copy of his works. He said he had
often put Lamb to bed--drunk. He spoke of Dana--he published D’s book
here.” Moxen sent Melville copies of Lamb’s works: but Moxen did not
accept Melville’s invitation to publish _White-Jacket_.
On November 22--after a jovial evening spent over porter, gin, brandy,
whiskey, and cigars--Melville rose late, and with a headache. So he
rode out to Windsor, to inspect the state apartments,--which he found
“cheerlessly damned fine”--and to view the Royal Stables. “On the way
down from the town, met the Queen coming from visiting the sick Queen
Dowager. Carriage and four going past with outriders. The Prince with
her. My English friend bowed, so did I--salute returned by the Queen
but not by the Prince. I would commend to the Queen, Rowland’s Kalydon
for clarifying the complexion. She is an amiable domestic woman though,
I doubt not, and God bless her, say I, and long live the ‘Prince of
Whales’--The stables were splendid.”
On Friday, November 23, at quarter to eleven, Melville “had just
returned from Mr. Murray’s where I dined agreeable to invitation. It
was a most amusing affair. Mr. Murray was there in a short vest and
dress coat, looking quizzical enough; his footman was there also,
habited in small clothes and breeches, revealing a despicable pair
of sheepshanks. The impudence of the fellow in showing his legs, and
such a pair of legs too! in public, I thought extraordinary. The
ladies should have blushed, one would have thought, but they did not.
Lockhart was there also, in a prodigious white cravat (made from Walter
Scott’s shroud, I suppose). He stalked about like a half galvanised
ghost,--gave me the tips of two skinny fingers, when introduced to
me, or rather, I to him. Then there was a round faced chap by the
name of Cook--who seemed to be Murray’s factotum. His duty consisted
in pointing out the portraits on the wall and saying that this or
that one was esteemed a good likeness of the high and mighty ghost
Lockhart. There were four or five others present, nameless, fifth-rate
looking varlets and four lean women. One of them proved agreeable in
the end. She had visited some time in China. I talked with her some
time. Besides these there was a footman or boy in a light jacket with
bell-buttons.”
The lines following, Melville has heavily crossed out. They are,
in most part, decipherable, however, and they are not excessively
complimentary either to his host or the guest of honour. “I managed to
get through, though, somehow,” Melville continues after this blotted
abuse, “by conversing with Dr. Holland, a very eminent physician,
it seems,--and a very affable, intelligent man who has travelled
immensely. After the ladies withdrew, the three decanters, port,
sherry and claret, were kept going the rounds with great regularity.
I sat next to Lockhart and seeing that he was a customer who was
full of himself and expected great homage, and knowing him to be a
thoroughgoing Tory and fish-blooded Churchman and conservative, and
withal editor of the _Quarterly_--I refrained from playing the snob
to him like the rest--and the consequence was he grinned at me his
ghastly smiles. After returning to the drawing-room coffee and tea were
served. I soon after came away.” After two more blotted lines, Melville
concludes: “Oh, Conventionalism, what a ninny thou art, to be sure. And
now I must turn in.”
Melville continued to interview publishers, and publishers continued
to chasten him with reflections on the state of the copyright laws.
Between times he amused himself as best he could; but there was
little novelty, brilliancy or excitement in the amusement. He was once
entertained very formally at dinner, however: a Baroness Somebody
on his left, an anonymous Baron opposite him, and near him at table
“a most lovely young girl, a daughter of Captain Chamier, the sea
novelist.” And in these brilliant surroundings, he saw a copy of
_Typee_ on a table in the drawing room. He ran upon an old friend
of Gansevoort’s, too, and as a result was betrayed into sober and
sentimental reflections. “No doubt, two years ago, or three, Gansevoort
was writing here in London, about the same hour as this--alone in his
chamber, in profound silence, as I am now. This silence, is a strange
thing. No wonder the Greeks deemed it the vestibule to the higher
mysteries.”
He paid for his sentimentality, however, by passing “a most
extraordinary night--one continuous nightmare--till daybreak.
Hereafter, if I should be condemned to purgatory, I shall plead the
night of November 25, 1849, in extenuation of the sentence.”
On November 27, he abruptly left England, to find himself, two days
following, “right snugly roomed in the fifth story of a lodging house
No. 12 & 14 Rue de Bussy, Paris. It is the first night I have taken
possession,” he says, “and the chambermaid has lighted a fire of wood,
lit the candle and left me alone, at 11 o’clock P. M. On first gazing
round, I was struck by the apparition of a bottle containing a dark
fluid, a glass, a decanter of water, and a paper package of sugar
(loaf) with a glass basin next to it. I protest all this was not in the
bond. But tho if I use these things they will doubtless be charged to
me, yet let us be charitable, so I ascribe all this to the benevolence
of Madame Capelle, my most polite, pleasant and Frenchified landlady
below. I shall try the brandy before writing more--and now to resume
my Journal.” The account of Israel Potter’s first night in Paris,
after Benjamin Franklin shows him into lodgings in the Latin Quarter,
is certainly built upon Melville’s experience on this occasion.
Israel finds in his room a heavy plate glass mirror; and among the
articles genially reflected therein, he notes: “seventh, one paper of
loaf sugar, nicely broken into sugar-bowl size; eighth, one silver
teaspoon; ninth, one glass tumbler; tenth, one glass decanter of cool
pure water; eleventh, one sealed bottle containing a richly hued
liquid, and marked ‘Otard.’” Melville makes a chapter out of Israel’s
adventures with this bottle of Otard,--a chapter in which Benjamin
Franklin unburdens himself of much almanac moralising upon the almanac
virtues.
Despite the Otard, and the snug quarters, and the diversions of
Paris--diversions somewhat restricted by Melville’s complete inability
to speak French--Melville was not happy every moment he was in France.
“Fire made, and tried to be comfortable. But this is not home and--but
no repinings.” Adler was in Paris at the time, however, and this
somewhat cheered his solitude. Yet on December 2, when Melville left
Adler after an evening of eau de vie and cigars, he “strolled out into
a dark rainy night and made my melancholy way across the Pont (rather
a biscuit’s toss of the Morgue) to my sixth story apartment.” And once
safely in his room, he complained: “I don’t like that mystic door
tapestry leading out of the closet.” On the following day he “looked in
at the Morgue,” and “bought two pair of gloves and one pair of shoes
for Lizzie.” That night, he dined with Adler, and “talked high German
metaphysics till ten o’clock.”
He visited the Hotel de Cluny, and found “the house just the house
I’d like to live in.” He made a half-hearted effort to see Rachel
at the Theatre Française, but failed. He saw the obvious sights and
on December 6 hurried away from Paris. He closes the record of his
departure with a “Selah!” Even in Paris, he speaks of taking his “usual
bath” upon getting up in the morning.
He touched at Brussels: and despite its architecture, “a more dull,
humdrum place I never saw:” he hurried through Cologne, where he
found “much to interest a pondering man like me.” From Cologne he was
headed for Coblenz: but he looked forward to the voyage with little
eagerness: “I feel homesick to be sure--being all alone with not a soul
to talk to--but the Rhine is before me, and I must on.” Of Coblenz he
wrote: “Most curious that the finest wine of all the Rhine is grown
right under the guns of Ehrenbreitstein.” “Opposite is this frowning
fortress--and some 4000 miles away is America and Lizzie. To-morrow I
am _homeward_-bound! Hurrah and three cheers!” “In the horrible long
dreary cold ride to Ostend on the coach, in a fit of the nightmare
was going to stop at a way-place, taking it for the place of my
destination.”
By December 13, he was back to his old chamber overlooking the Thames.
Upon his arrival he was vaguely told “a gentleman from St. James called
in his coach,” and “was handed, with a meaning flourish, a note sealed
with a coronet.” The note was from the Duke of Rutland,--perversely
called at times by Melville, _Mr._ Rutland--inviting Melville to visit
Belvoir Castle “at any time after a certain day in January.” “Cannot
go,” Melville writes--“I am homeward bound, and Malcolm is growing all
the time.” He called at Bentley’s for letters. “Found one from Lizzie
and Allan. Most welcome but gave me the blues most horribly. Felt like
chartering a small boat and starting down the Thames embarked for New
York.” So he drank some punch to cheer him, and walked down the Strand
to buy a new coat, “so as to look decent--for I found my green coat
plays the devil with my respectability here.” He haunted the bookshops,
and “at last succeeded in getting the much desired copy of Rousseau’s
_Confessions_,” as well as an 1686 folio of Sir Thomas Browne.
On December 15, Melville “rigged for Bentley, whom I expect to meet at
1 P. M. about _White-Jacket_. Called but had not arrived from Brighton.
Walked about a little and bought a cigar case for Allan in Burlington
Arcade. Saw some pretty things for presents--but could not afford to
buy.” So back to his room he came, and filled up the time before four
o’clock, when he was to call again at Bentley’s, by writing up his
journal. “He does not know that I am in town,” Melville writes--“I
earnestly hope that I shall be able to see him and I shall be able to
do something about that ‘pesky’ book.”
At six o’clock, Melville was back again in his room. “Hurrah and three
cheers! I have just returned from Mr. Bentley’s and have concluded an
arrangement with him that gives me to-morrow his note for two hundred
pounds (sterling). It is to be at 6 months and I am almost certain
I shall be able to get it cashed at once. This takes a load off my
heart. The two hundred pounds is in anticipiation, for the book is not
to be published till the last of March next. Hence the long time of the
note. The above mentioned sum is for the first 1000 copies, subsequent
editions (if any) to be jointly divided between us. At eight to-night I
am going to Mrs. Daniels’. What sort of an evening is it going to be?
Mr. Bentley invited me to dinner for Wednesday at 6 P. M. This will do
for a memorandum of the enjoyment. I have just read over the Duke of
Rutland’s note, which I had not fully perused before. It seems very
cordial. I wish the invitation was for next week, instead of being
so long ahead, but this I believe is the mode here for these sort of
invitations into the country. (Memo. At 1 P. M. on Monday am to call at
Mr. Bentley’s.)”
Under Sunday, December 16, Melville wrote: “Last night went in a cab to
Lincoln’s Inn Fields and found Mrs. Daniel and daughters. Very cordial.
The elder ‘daught’ remarkably sprightly and the mother as nice an old
body as any one could desire. Presently there came in several ‘young
gents’ of various complexions. We had some coffee, music, dancing,
and after an agreeable evening I came away at 11 o’clock, and walking
to the Cock near Temple Bar, drank a glass of stout and home to bed
after reading a few chapters in _Tristram Shandy_, which I have never
yet read. This morning breakfasted at 10 at the Hotel De Sabloneue
(very nice cheap little snuggery being closed on Sundays). Had a sweet
omelette which was delicious. Thence walked to St. Thomas’s Church,
Charter House, to hear my famed namesake (almost) ‘The Reverend H.
Melvill.’ I had seen him placarded as to deliver a charity sermon.
The church was crowded--the sermon admirable (granting the Rev.
gentleman’s premises). Indeed he deserves his reputation. I do not
think that I hardly ever heard so good a discourse before--that is for
an ‘orthodox’ divine. It is now 3 P. M. I have had a fire made and am
smoking a cigar. Would that one I knew were here. Would that the Little
One too were here,--I am in a very painful state of uncertainty. I am
all eagerness to get home--I ought to be home. My absence occasions
uneasiness in a quarter where I most beseech heaven to grant repose.
Yet here I have before me an open prospect to get some curious ideas
of a style of life which in all probability I shall never have again.
I should much like to know what the highest English aristocracy really
and practically is. And the Duke of Rutland’s cordial invitation to
visit him at the castle furnishes me with just the thing I want. If I
do not go, I am confident that hereafter I shall reprimand myself for
neglecting such an opportunity of procuring ‘material.’ And Allan and
others will account me a ninny.--I would not debate the matter a moment
were it not that at least three whole weeks must elapse ere I start
for Belvoir Castle--three weeks! If I could but get over them! And if
the two images would only down for that space of time. I must light a
second cigar and resolve it over again. (1/2 past 6 P. M.) My mind is
made, rather is irrevocably resolved upon my first determination. A
visit into Leicester would be very agreeable--at least very valuable,
and in one respect, to me--but the three weeks are intolerable.
To-morrow I shall go down to London Dock and book myself a state-room
on board the good ship _Independence_. I have just returned from a
lonely dinner at the Adelphi, where I read the Sunday papers. An
article upon the ‘Sunday School Union’ particularly struck me. Would
that I could go home in a steamer--but it would take an extra $100 out
of my pocket. Well, it’s only thirty days--one month--and I can weather
it somehow.”
On Monday, Melville concluded his arrangements with Bentley, who gave
him a note for two hundred pounds sterling at six months. Melville also
walked down to the London Docks to inspect the _Independence_. “She
looks small and smells ancient,” Melville writes. “Only two or three
passengers engaged. I liked Captain Fletcher, however. He enquired
whether I was a relative of Gansevoort Melville and of Herman Melville.
I told him I was. I engaged my passage and paid ten pounds down....
Thence home; and out again, and took a letter for a Duke to the post
office and a pair of pants to be altered to a tailor.”
On Tuesday, Melville made another of his many pilgrimages to the old
book stores about Great Green Street and Lincoln’s Inn. “Looked over
a lot of ancient books of London. Bought one (A. D. 1766) for 3 and 2
pence. I want to use it in case I serve up the Revolutionary narrative
of the beggar.” What was the title of this “ancient book of London”
is not known, and hence it is impossible to know what use he put it
to, when in _Israel Potter_ he did finally “serve up the Revolutionary
narrative of the beggar.” The same day he “stopped at a silversmith’s
(corner of Craven St. & Strand) and bought a solid spoon for the boy
Malcolm--a fork, I mean. When he arrives to years of mastication I
shall invest him with this fork--as in yore they did a young knight,
with his good sword. Spent an hour or so looking over _White-Jacket_
preparatory to sending it finally to Bentley--who, tho he has paid his
money has not received his wares. At 6 I dine with him.”
The dinner with Bentley went off well. Melville “had a very pleasant
evening indeed” and “began to like” his publisher “very much.” Melville
reported that “He seems a very fine, frank, off-handed old gentleman.
We sat down in a fine old room hung round with paintings (dark walls).
A party of fourteen or so. There was a Mr. Bell there--connected with
literature in some way or other. At all events an entertaining man and
a scholar--but looks as if he loved old Pat. Also Alfred Henry Forester
(‘Alfred Crowquill’)--the comic man. He proved a good fellow--free
and easy and no damned nonsense, as there is about so many of these
English. Mr. Bentley has one daughter, a fine woman of 25 and married,
and four sons--young men. They were all at table. Some time after 11,
went home with Crowquill, who invites me to go with him Thursday and
see the Pantomime rehearsal at the Surrey Theatre.”
The following evening Melville dined with Mr. Cook--whom he had
despised, at first meeting, as Murray’s factotum--in Elm Court, Temple,
“and had a glorious time till noon of night. It recalled poor Lamb’s
‘Old Benchers.’ Cunningham the author of _Murray’s London Guide_ was
there and was very friendly. Mr. Rainbow also, and a grandson Woodfall,
the printer of Junius, and a brother-in-law of Leslie the printer.
Leslie was prevented from coming. Up in the 5th story we dined.”
With a typical departure from the conventional orthography, Melville
pronounced the evening, “The Paradise of Batchelors.”
In _Harper’s New Monthly Magazine_ for April, 1854, Melville published
a sketch entitled _Paradise of Bachelors and Tartarus of Maids_. In
1854 he was living in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in a household of
women and young children--three of his sisters, his mother, his wife,
and three of his own children. So surrounded, he had relinquished
none of the pleasant memories of that December evening, in 1849, in
those high chambers near Temple-Bar. “It was the very perfection of
quiet absorption of good living, good drinking, good feeling, and
good talk,” Melville wrote in 1854. “We were a band of brothers.
Comfort--fraternal, household comfort, was the grand trait of the
affair. Also, you could plainly see that these easy-hearted men had no
wives or children to give an anxious thought. Almost all of them were
travellers, too; for bachelors alone can travel freely, and without
any twinges of their conscience touching desertion of the fireside.”
The antithesis of this, Melville pictures in the second part of his
account--_The Tartarus of Maids_.
Yet just on the eve of his going to these high festivities in the
Temple, a letter was left him--“from home!” The letter reported: “All
well and Barney (“Baby boy,” Mrs. Melville has written in annotation on
the margin of the journal) more bouncing than ever, thank heaven.” On
the following day, Melville began and finished the _Opium Eater_, and
pronounced it “a most wonderful book.”
On December 24, Melville was in Portsmouth. On Christmas morning he
jumped into a small boat with the Captain and a meagre company of
passengers, and “pulled off for the ship about a mile and a half
distant. Upon boarding her we at once set sail with a fair wind, and
in less than 24 hours passed the Land’s End and the Scilly Isle--and
standing boldly out on the ocean stretched away for New York. I shall
keep no further diary. I here close it, with my departure from England,
and my pointing for home.”
On a blank page at end of his journal, he jotted some brief “Memoranda
of things on the voyage.” He noted Sir Thomas Browne’s reference to
cannibals in _Vulgar Errors_, and the fact that Rousseau, as a school
master “could have killed his scholars sometimes.” He observed that “a
Dandy is a good fellow to scout and room with;” and copied out from Ben
Jonson “Talk as much folly as you please--so long as you do it without
blushing, you may do it with impunity.” He itemised in his journal,
too, the books obtained while abroad: a 1692 folio of Ben Jonson;
a 1673 folio of Davenant; a folio of Beaumont and Fletcher; a 1686
folio of Sir Thomas Browne, and a folio of Marlowe’s plays. He brought
with him, also, a _Hudibras_, a _Castle of Otranto_, a _Vathek_, a
_Corinne_, besides the confessions of Rousseau and of DeQuincey, and
the autobiography of Goethe. The other books were guides, old maps, and
other material for _Israel Potter_.
Melville arrived at 103 Fourth Avenue, on February 2, 1850. Mrs.
Melville, in her journal, thus summarises her husband’s trip. “Summer
of 1849 we remained in New York. He wrote _Redburn_ and _White-Jacket_.
Same fall went to England and published the above. Stayed eleven weeks.
Took little satisfaction in it from mere homesickness, and hurried
home, leaving attractive invitations to visit distinguished people--one
from the Duke of Rutland to pass a week at Belvoir Castle--see his
journal.”
Of his life after his return home, she says: “We went to Pittsfield and
boarded in the summer of 1850. Moved to Arrowhead in fall--October,
1850.”
On September 27, 1850, Bayard Taylor dispatched from the Tribune
Office, New York, a note to Mary Angew. “Scarcely a day passes,” Taylor
wrote, “but some pleasant recognition is given me. I was invited last
Friday to dine with Bancroft and Cooper; on Saturday with Sir Edward
Belcher and Herman Melville. These things seem like mockeries, sent to
increase the bitterness of my heart.” It is not unlikely that Melville
and Taylor fed and drank and smoked together on that Saturday evening,
and that they parted, each envying the other as a happy and successful
man.