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Call me Ishmael

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CHARLES OLSON

Call me Ishmael

GROVE PRESS, INC. NEW YORK
EVERGREEN BOOKS, LTD. LONDON

Copyright 1947 by Charles Olson

I wish to acknowledge the grant of a fellowship from the John Simon
Guggenheim Foundation to do this book; and to Wilbur Snow and Wesleyan
University for the grant of two Olin Fellowships.

This edition is published by arrangement with Harcourt, Brace & Co.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-5531

Second printing

Call Me hhmael is published in three editions
An Evergreen Book (E-95)
A hard bound edition
A specially bound. Limited Edition of 100 numbered copies

Grove Press Books and Evergreen Books

are published by Barney Rosset at Grove Press, Inc.

64 University Place, New York 3, N. Y.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

O fahter, fahter
gone amoong

O eeys that loke

Loke, fahter:
your sone!

rt

CONTENTS

FIRST FACT is prologue 3

port I is FACT

Call me Ishmael 1 1

What Lies Under 16

Usufruct 26

port II is SOURCE: SHAKESPEARE

The Discovery of Moby-Dick 35

American Shiloh 41

Man, to Man 44

King Lear 47

A Moby-Dick Manuscript 52

Captain Ahab and His Fool 59

The Act 64

FACT # 2 is dromenon 77

part III is THE BOOK OF THE LAW

OF THE BLOOD 81

part IV is LOSS: CHRIST 89

A LAST FACT 109

part V is THE CONCLUSION: PACIFIC MAN 113

FIRST FACT as prologue

Fl RST FACT

Herman Melville was born in New York August 1, 1819,
and on the 12th of that month the Essex, a well-found
whaler of 238 tons, sailed from Nantucket with George
Pollard, Jr. as captain, Owen Chase and Matthew Joy
mates, 6 of her complement of 20 men Negroes, bound for
the Pacific Ocean, victualled and provided for two years
and a half.

A year and three months later, on November 20, 1820,
just south of the equator in longitude 119 West, this ship,
on a calm day, with the sun at ease, was struck head on
twice by a bull whale, a spermeceti about 85 feet long, and
with her bows stove in, filled and sank.

Her twenty men set out in three open whaleboats for the
coast of South America 2000 miles away. They had bread

3

4 Call me Ishmael

(200 lb. a boat), water (65 gallons), and some Galapagos
turtles. Although they were at the time no great distance
from Tahiti, they were ignorant of the temper of the na-
tives and feared cannibalism.

Their first extreme sufferings commenced a week later
when they made the mistake of eating, in order to make
their supply last, some bread which had got soaked by the
sea's wash. To alleviate the thirst which followed, they
killed turtle for its blood. The sight revolted the stomachs
of the men.

In the first weeks of December their lips began to crack
and swell, and a glutinous saliva collected in the mouth,
intolerable to the taste.

Their bodies commenced to waste away, and possessed
so little strength they had to assist each other in performing
some of the body's weakest functions. Barnacles collected
on the boats' bottoms, and they tore them off for food. A
few flying fish struck their sails, fell into the boats, and
were swallowed raw.

After a month of the open sea they were gladdened by
the sight of a small island which they took to be Ducie but
was Elizabeth Isle. Currents and storm had taken them a
thousand miles off their course.

They found water on the island after a futile search for
it from rocks which they picked at, where moisture was,
with their hatchets. It was discovered in a small spring in
the sand at the extreme verge of ebbtide. They could
gather it only at low water. The rest of the time the sea
flowed over the spring to the depth of six feet.

Twenty men could not survive on the island and, to
give themselves the chance to reach the mainland before
the supplies they had from the ship should be gone, seven-
teen of them put back to sea December 27th.

The three who stayed, Thomas Chappie of Plymouth,
England, and William Wright and Seth Weeks of Barn-

Call me Ishmael 5

stable, Mass., took shelter in caves among the rocks. In
one they found eight human skeletons, side by side as
though they had lain down and died together.

The only food the three had was a sort of blackbird
which they caught when at roost in trees and whose blood
they sucked. With the meat of the bird, and a few eggs,
they chewed a plant tasting like peppergrass which they
found in the crevices of the rocks. They survived.

The three boats, with the seventeen men divided
among them, moved under the sun across ocean together
until the 12th of January when, during the night, the one
under the command of Owen Chase, First Mate, became
separated from the other two.

Already one of the seventeen had died, Matthew Joy,
Second Mate. He had been buried January 10th. When
Charles Shorter, Negro, out of the same boat as Joy, died
on January 23rd, his body was shared among the men of
that boat and the Captain's, and eaten. Two days more
and Lawson Thomas, Negro, died and was eaten. Again
two days and Isaac Shepherd, Negro, died and was eaten.
The bodies were roasted to dryness by means of fires
kindled on the ballast sand at the bottom of the boats.

Two days later, the 29th, during the night, the boat
which had been Matthew Joy's got separated from the
Captain's and was never heard of again. When she dis-
appeared three men still lived, William Bond, Negro,
Obed Hendricks, and Joseph West.

In the Captain's boat now alone on the sea, four men
kept on. The fifth, Samuel Reed, Negro, had been eaten
for strength at his death the day before. Within three
days these four men, calculating the miles they had to go,
decided to draw two lots, one to choose who should die
that the others might live, and one to choose who should
kill him. The youngest, Owen Coffin, serving on his first
voyage as a cabin boy to learn his family's trade, lost. It

6 Call me Ishmael

became the duty of Charles Ramsdale, also of Nantucket,
to shoot him. He did, and he, the Captain and Brazilla
Ray, Nantucket, ate him.

That was February 1, 1821. On February 11th, Ray
died of himself, and was eaten. On February 23rd, the
Captain and Ramsdale were picked up by the Nantucket
whaleship Dauphin, Captain Zimri Coffin.

The men in the third boat, under the command of
Owen Chase, the first mate, held out the longest. They
had become separated from the other two boats before
hunger and thirst had driven any of the Essex's men to
extremity. Owen Chase's crew had buried their first death,
Richard Peterson, Negro, on January 20th.

It was not until February 8th, when Isaac Cole died in
convulsions, that Owen Chase was forced, some two weeks
later than in the other boats, to propose to his two men,
Benjamin Lawrence and Thomas Nickerson, that they
should eat of their own flesh. It happened to them this
once, in this way: they separated the limbs from the body,
and cut all the flesh from the bones, after which they
opened the body, took out the heart, closed the body
again, sewed it up as well as they could, and committed
it to the sea.

They drank of the heart and ate it. They ate a few
pieces of the flesh and hung the rest, cut in thin strips, to
dry in the sun. They made a fire, as the Captain had, and
roasted some to serve them the next day.

The next morning they found that the flesh in the sun
had spoiled, had turned green. They made another fire to
cook it to prevent its being wholly lost. For five days they
lived on it, not using of their remnant of bread.

They recruited their strength on the flesh, eating it in
small pieces with salt water. By the 14th they were able to
make a few attempts at guiding the boat with an oar.

On the 15th the flesh was all consumed and they had

Call me Ishmael 7

left the last of their bread, two sea biscuits. Their limbs
had swelled during the last two days and now began to
pain them excessively. They judged they still had 300
miles to go.

On the 17th the settling of a cloud led Chase to think
that land was near. Notwithstanding, the next morning,
Nickerson, 17 years of age, after having bailed the boat,
lay down, drew a piece of canvas up over him, and said
that he then wished to die immediately. On the 19th, at
7 in the morning, Lawrence saw a sail at seven miles, and
the three of them were taken up by the brig Indian of
London, Captain William Crozier.

It is not known what happened in later years to the
three men who survived the island. But the four Nan-
tucket men who, with the Captain, survived the sea, all
became captains themselves. They died old, Nickerson at
77, Ramsdale, who was 19 on the Essex, at 75, Chase who
was 24, at 73, Lawrence who was 30, at 80, and Pollard,
the captain, who had been 31 at the time, lived until 1870,
age 81.

The Captain, on his return to Nantucket, took charge of
the ship Two Brothers, another whaler, and five months
from home struck a reef to the westward of the Sandwich
Islands. The ship was a total loss, and Pollard never went
to sea again. At the time of the second wreck he said:
"Now I am utterly ruined. No owner will ever trust me
with a whaler again, for all will say I am an unlucky
man." He ended his life as thejiig^tjwatch of Nantucket
town, protecting the Jiouses^ and jDeople in the dark.

Owen Chase was always fortunate. In 1832 the Charles
Carrol was built for him on Brant Point, Nantucket, and /
he filled her twice, each time with 2600 barrels of sperm
oil. In his last years he took to hiding food in the attic of
his house.

PART ONE

Call me Ishmael

Call me Ishmael

I take SPACE to be the central fact to man born in
America, from Folsom cave to now. I spell it large because
it comes large here. Large, and without mercy.

It is geography at bottom, a hell of wide land from the
beginning. 'That made the first American story (Park-
man's): exploration.

Something else than a stretch of earth— seas on both
sides, no barriers to contain as restless a thing as Western
man was becoming in Columbus' day. That made Mel-
ville's story (part of it).

PLUS a harshness we still perpetuate, a sun like a toma-
hawk, small earthquakes but big tornadoes and hurrikans,
a river north and south in the middle of the land running
out the blood.

11

12 Call me Ishmael

The fulcrum of America is the Plains, half sea half land,
a high sun as metal and obdurate as the iron horizon, and
a man's job to square the circle.

Some men ride on such space, others have to fasten them-
selves like a tent stake to survive. As I see it Poe dug in
J and Melville mounted. They are the alternatives.

Americans still fancy themselves such democrats. But
their triumphs are of the machine. It is the only master
of space the average person ever knows, oxwheel to piston,
muscle to jet. It gives trajectory.

To Melville it was not the will to be free but the will
to overwhelm nature that lies at the bottom of us as indi-
viduals and a people. Ahab is no democrat. Moby-Dick,
antagonist, is only king of natural force, resource.

I am interested in a Melville who decided sometime in
1850 to write a book about the whaling industry and what
happened to a man in command of one of the most success-
ful machines Americans had perfected up to that time— the
whaleship.

This captain, Ahj^D_by_name, knew space. He rode it
| across seven seas. )He was an able skipper, what the fishing
people I was raised with call a highliner. Big catches: he
brought back holds barrel full of the oil of the sperm, the
light of American and European communities up to the
middle of the 19th century.

This Ahab had gone wild. The object of his attention
J was something unconscionably big and white. He had be-
come a specialist: he had all space concentrated into the
form of a whale called Moby-Dick. And he assailed it as
Columbus an ocean, LaSalle a continent, the Donner
Party their winter Pass.

I am interested in a Melville who was long-eyed enough

Call me Ishmael 1 3

to understand the Pacific as part of our geography, an-
other West, prefigured in the Plains, antithetical.

The beginning of man was salt sea, and the perpetual
reverberation of that great ancient fact, constantly re-
newed in the unfolding of life in every human individual,
is the important single fact about Melville^ Pelagic/^

He had the tradition in him, deep, in his brain, his
words, the salt beat of his blood. He had the sea of him-
self in a vigorous, stricken way, as Poe the street. It en-
abled him to draw up from Shakespeare. It made Noah,
and Moses, contemporary to him. History was ritual and j
repetition when Melville's imagination was at its own
proper beat.

It was an older sense than the European man's, more to
do with magic than culture. Magic which, in contrast to
worship, is all black. For magic has one purpose: compel
men or non-human forces to do one's will. Like Ahab,
American, one aim: lordship over nature.

I am willing to ride Melville's image of man, whale and
ocean to find in him prophecies, lessons he himself would
not have spelled out. A hundred years gives us an advan-
tage. For Melville was as much larger than himself as
Ahab's hate. He was a plunger. He knew how to take a
chance. r —

The m£i^ made a mess of things. jHe got all balled up
with Christ.;; He made a white marriage. He had one son
die of tuberculosis, the other shoot himself. He only rode
his own space once— Moby-Dick. He had to be wild or he
was nothing in particular. He had to go fast, like an
American, or he was all torpor. Half horse half alligator.

Melville took an awful licking. He was bound to. He
was an original, aboriginal. A beginner. It happens that
way to the dreaming men it takes to discover America:
Columbus and LaSalle won, and then lost her to the com-
petent. Daniel Boone loved her earth. Harrod tells the

14 Call me Ishmael

story of coming upon Boone one day far to the west in
Kentucky of where Harrod thought any white man had
ever been. He heard sound he couldn't place, crept for-
ward to a boulder and there in a blue grass clearing was
Boone alone singing to himself. Boone died west of the
Mississippi, in his own country criminal— "wanted," a
bankrupt of spirit and land.

Beginner— and interested in beginnings. Melville had a
way of reaching back through time until he got history
pushed back so far he turned time into space. He was like
a migrant backtrailing to Asia, some Inca trying to find a
Jost home.

We are the last ' 'first" people. We forget that. We act
big, misuse our land, ourselves. We lose our own primary.

Melville went back, to discover us, to come forward.
He got as far as Moby-Dick.

Ortega y Gasset puts it that the man of antiquity, before
he did anything, took a step like the bullfighter who leaps
back in order to deliver the mortal thrust.

Whitman appears, because of his notation of the fea-
tures of American life and his conscious identification of
himself with the people, to be the more poet. But Melville
had the will. He was homeless in his land, his society, his
self.

i Logic and classification had led civilization toward man,

j away from space. Melville went to space to probe and find

(man. Early men did the same: poetry, language and the

care of myth, as Fenollosa says, grew up together. Among

the Egyptians Horus was the god of writing and the god

of the moon, one figure for both, a WHITE MONKEY.

In place of Zeus, Odysseus, Olympus we have had Caesar,

Faust, the City. The shift was from man as a group to

individual man. Now, in spite of the corruption of myth

Call me Ishmael 15

by fascism, the swing is out and back. Melville is one who
began it.

He had a pull to the origin of things, the first day, the
first man, the unknown sea, Betelgeuse, the buried con-
tinent. From passive places his imagination sprang a
harpoon.

He sought prime. He had the coldness we have, but he
warmed himself by first fires after Flood. It gave him the
power to find the lost past of America, the unfound
present, and make a myth, Moby-Dick, for a people of
Ishmaels.

The thing got away from him. It does, from us. We
make AHAB, the WHITE WHALE, and lose them. We
let John Henry go, Negro, worker, hammering man:

He lied down his hammer an* he died.

Whitman we have called our greatest voice because he
gave us hope. Melville is the truer man. He lived intensely
his people's wrong, their guilt. But he remembered the
first dream. The White Whale is more accurate than
Leaves of Grass. Because it is America, all of her space,
the malice, the root.

What lies under

Melville prepared the way for Moby -Dick by ridiculing,
in 1850, the idea that the literary genius in America
would be, like Shakespeare, "a writer of dramas. " This
was his proposition:

great geniuses are parts of the times, they themselves
are the times, and possess a corresponding colouring.

Melville raised his times up when he got them into
Moby-Dick and they held firm in his schema:

e.g. his crewy a "people," Clootz and Tom Paine's
people, all races and colors functioning together,
a forecastle reality of Americans not yet a dream
accomplished by the society;

16

Call me Ishmael 17

e.g. his job on the whaling industry, a problem in
the resolution of forces solved with all forces
taken account of: (1) OWNERS Bildad and Peleg
(Aunt Charity interested party); (2) Ahab, hard
MASTER; (3) the MEN, and TECHNOLOGY,
killer boat, tryworks and underdeck storage of
yield permitting four-year voyage.

We forget the part the chase of the whale played in
American economy. It started from a shortage of fats and
oils. The Indian had no cattle, the colonist not enough.
It was the same with pigs and goats. Red and white alike
had to use substitutes. It accounts for the heavy slaughter
of the passenger pigeon and the curlew, plentiful birds;
and the slaughter of the buffalo.

The Indians appear to have taken shore whales from
an early time. The Makahs around Cape Flattery knew
tricks only the present day Norwegian whalers have ap-
plied. They blew up seal skins to slow the run of a
wounded whale like a sea anchor and to float the dead
whale when heavier than water.

The American Indian continued to be a skilled part of
the industry down to its end, a miserably paid tool. Mel-
ville had reason to name his ship Pequod and to make the
Gayhead Tashteego one of his three harpooneers.

COMBUSTION. All whales yield oil. Most of the oil
is a true fat, a glyceride of the fatty acids. Unlike the
Indians the settlers did not find it edible. They boiled
the blubber down for tallow. In addition fo this fat, com-
monly called whale oil, the sperm whale and the bottle-
nose yield a solid wax called spermaceti and a liquid wax
called sperm oil. The spermaceti wax is contained in the
cavity of the head (vide chp. cistern and buckets, Moby-
Dick), and in the bones.

18 Call me Ishmael

Economic historians, lubbers, fail to heft the industry
in American economic life up to the Civil War. (In 1859
petroleum was discovered in Pennsylvania. Kerosene, pe-
troleum, and paraffin began rapidly to replace whale oil,
sperm oil, and spermaceti wax as illuminating oil, lubri-
cants, and raw materials for candles.)

Whaling expanded at a time when agriculture not
industry was the base of labor and when foreign not do-
mestic commerce was the base of trade. A few facts:

by 1833, 70,000 persons and $70,000,000 were tied up
in whaling and such associated crafts as shipbuilding,
sail-lofts, smiths to make toggle irons, the thieving
outfitters, their agents and the whores of ports like
New Bedford;

by 1844 (peak years roughly 1840-1860) the figure is
up to $120,000,000, whaling competes successfully in
attracting capital to itself with such opening indus-
tries as textiles and shoes, and the export of whale
products— one-fourth of the catch— is third to meat
products and lumber.

A NECESSARY DISSOCIATION: the notion that the
China trade and clipper ships made and made up the
maritime America which went down as did agrarian
America before land and finance speculation, hard metal
industry.

The China trade was, economically, distribution, ap-
peared after England closed the West Indies to our rum
merchants following the Revolution. It was the way the
smugglers, themselves the answer to England's pre-Revo-
lutionary restrictions, went straight.

Whaling was production, as old as the colonies and, in
capital and function, forerunner to a later America, with
more relation to Socony than to clippers and the China
trade.

Call me Ishmael 19

As early as 1688 there is a record at Boston of a New
York brig petitioning Governor Andross for permission
to set out "upon a fishing design about the Bohames Is-
lands, And Cap florida, for sperma Coeti whales and
Racks."

This was new to whaling, BRAND NEW, American.
A FIRST. All the way back to French and Spanish
Basques of the Middle Ages it had been cold water whales,
the black, right or Greenland whales of northern waters,
which had been hunted. But the Yankees had discovered
that the Sperm whale had the finest oil and brought the
biggest price.

They went after it. And it led them into all the oceans.
And gave whaling its leading role in making the Pacific
the American lake the navy now, after a lapse of 100 years,
has been about the business of certifying.

A FACT: whale logbooks are today furnishing sea law-
yers first claims to islands— the flag & all that;

for whaler as pioneer, cf. chp. the advocate,
Moby-Dick.

You will also discover in that chapter Melville's figures
on the value of the industry. Compare to mine above.
Thus:

we whalemen of America now outnumber all the
rest of the banded whalemen in the world; sail a navy
of upward of seven hundred vessels; manned by
eighteen thousand men; yearly consuming 4,000,000
dollars; the ships worth, at the time of sailing,
$20,000,000; and every year reporting into our har-
bours a well-reaped harvest of $7,000,000.

1 About this outnumbering: of 900 whaling vessels of all
nations in 1846, 735 were American.

20 Call me Ishmael

All this is by way of CORRECTION. I don't intend to
dish up cold pork. There are histories of whaling if you
are interested. BUT no study weighs the industry in the
scale of the total society. What you get is this: many of
the earliest industrial fortunes were built on the "bless-
ing" of the whale fishery!

TWO INTERPOLATIONS. Melville did not know
Number 1. Maybe somewhere he does point out Number
2. For he was wide. Add to his knowledge of whaling:

merchant marine (read Redburn)

the Navy (ditto White-Jacket)

assorted carriers of the

Pacific (OmoOj, Mardi, etc.)

and the Spanish (by all means read "Benito

Cereno" and "The En-
cantadas," the finest
things outside Moby-
Dick)

Interpolation 1

1762: the colonies still very English, so much so they have
little to do with one another, face and act toward Lon-
don.

Rhode Island: makers of spermaceti candles meet and
make covenant to raise the price of wax candles— and
keep it raised, it goes without saying. The first Ameri-
can TRUST.

Name: The United Company of Spermaceti Chandlers.

Importance: "shows how colonial boundaries were being
eliminated in the minds of the moneyed groups as con-
trasted with the as yet extremely provincial outlook and
provincial patriotism of the smaller people of town and
country."

I'm putting a stress Melville didn't on whaling as

Call me Ishmael 21

industry. Cutting out the glory: a book Moby-Dick turns
out to be its glory. We still are soft about our industries,
wonder-eyed. What's important is the energy they are a
clue to, the drive in the people. The things made are OK,
too, some of them. But the captains of industry ain't worth
the powder etc. Take the Revolution so long as we're on
the subject: whose revolution was it but the "moneyed
groups' "; Breed's Hill two weeks after Lexington and it
was all over for the "smaller people" until Jefferson gave
them another chance.

Don't think whaling was any different from any other
American industry. The first men in it, the leaders, ex-
plorers, were WORKERS. The money and the glory came
later, on top with the exploiters. And the force went down,
stayed where it always does, at the underpaid bottom.
Where the worker is after the leader is gone.

Whaling started, like so many American industries, as
a collective, communal affair. See any history of Sag Har-
bor or Nantucket. And as late as 1850 there were still
skippers to remember the days when they knew the fathers
of every man in their crew. But it was already a sweated
industry by the time Melville was a hand on a lay (1841-
43).

THE TRICK-then as now:

reduce labor costs lower than worker's efficiency— \
during the 1840's and '50's it cost the owners 15^ to -
30^ a day to feed each crew member

combine inefficient workers and such costs by main-
taining lowest wages and miserable working condi-
tions—vide TYPEE, early chps., and Omoo, same.

THE RESULT: by the 1840's the crews were the bottom
dogs of all nations and all races. Of the 18,000 men (Mel-
ville above) one-half ranked as green hands and more
than two-thirds deserted every voyage.

22 Call me Ishmael

There were so many Pacific natives like Queequeg, the
second colored harpooneer, that a section of Nantucket
came to be known as New Guinea.

There were so many Portuguese from the Islands that
a section of New Bedford was called Fayal.

The third of Melville's harpooneers was the imperial
African Negro Ahasuerus Daggoo.

For bottom dogs made pretty SEE the balletic chap-
ter called midnight, forecastle, in Moby-Dick.

I insert here a document of our history left out of the
published works of Herman Melville. It was written at
the same time as Moby-Dick and is headed:

"What became of the ship's company of the whale-
ship 'Acushnet/ according to Hubbard who came
home in her (more than a four years' voyage) and
who visited me at Pittsfield in 1850."

Captain Pease— retired & lives ashore at the Vineyard
Raymond 1st Mate— had a fight with the Captain & went

ashore at Payta
Hall 2nd Mate came home & went to California
3rd Mate, Portuguese, went ashore at Payta
Boatsteerer Brown, Portuguese, either ran away or killed

at Ropo one of the Marquesas
Smith went ashore at Santa coast of Peru, afterwards com-
mitted suicide at Mobile
Barney boatsteerer came home

Carpenter went ashore at Mowee half dead with disrep-
utable disease

The Crew:

Tom Johnson, black, went ashore at Mowee half dead

(ditto) 8c died at the hospital
Reed— mulatto— came home

Call me Ishmael 23

Blacksmith— ran away at St. Francisco

Backus— little black— Do

Bill Green— after various attempts at running away, came

home in the end
The Irishman ran away at Salango, coast of Columbia
Wright went ashore half dead at the Marquesas
John Adams <t? Jo Portuguese came home
The old cook came home
Haynes ran away aboard of a Sydney ship
Little Jack— came home
Grant— young fellow— went ashore half dead, spitting

blood, at Oahu
Murray went ashore, shunning fight, at Rio Janeiro
The Cooper— came home

Melville himself is a case in point. He deserted the
Acushnet, his first whaleship, at the Marquesas. He was
one of eleven mutineers aboard his second, a Sydney ship
the Lucy Ann, at Tahiti. Nothing is known of his con-
duct on the third, except that he turned up after it,^J
ashore, at Honolulu.

So if you want to know why Melville nailed us in Moby-
Dick, consider whaling. Consider whaling as FRON-
TIER, and INDUSTRY. A product wanted, men got it:
big business. The Pacific as sweatshop. Man, led, against
the biggest damndest creature nature uncorks. The whale- .,
ship as factory, the whaleboat the precision instrument.
The 1840's: the New West in the saddle and Melville
No. 20 of a rough and bastard crew. Are they the essen-
tials?

BIG? Melville may never have seen the biggest of
whales, the blue, the principal kill of the present day. He
reaches his full size, 100 feet, at 11 years, lives 20 to 25
years, and weighs 150 tons— or four times the estimated

24 Call me Ishmael

weight of the biggest prehistoric monster and equal to the
weight of 37 elephants or 150 fat oxen.

There are two classes of whale: the baleen and the
toothed whale. The blue is a baleen. Melville was satis-
fied with the biggest of the toothed whales, the sperm.

Whales have lungs. To breathe they come to the sur-
face about every half hour. It is this fact that makes them
vulnerable to attack by the only important enemy they
have—the whaleman.

Melville didn't put it all on the surface of Moby-Dick.
You'll find the frontier all right, and Andrew Jackson re-
garded as heavyweight champion (READ end of first
knights and squires chapter for finest rhetoric of democ-
racy). And the technic of an industry analyzed, scrupu-
lously described. But no economics. Jefferson and John
Adams observed that in their young days very few men
had thought about ' 'government/ ' there wrere very few
writers on "government." Yes, the year Moby-Dick was
being finished Marx was writing letters to the N. Y. Daily
Tribune. But Melville

SOME NECESSARY ECOLOGY. With his baleen the
blue whale strains out of the water and eats KRILL.
Krill is a shrimplike fish which itself feeds on floating
green diatoms. These algae develop in summer in the
neighborhood of drift ice.

color: krill spawn at the border of arctic and ant-
arctic ice. The offspring drift with the cur-
rents toward the equator. They are in such
abundance they turn the waters pink.

The sperm whale feeds on cuttlefish, particularly on
the GIANT SQUID which grows to a 33-foot spread of
tentacles and an arm length of 21 feet. Compare Moby-

Call me Ishmael 25

Dick, LIX, SQUID. The squid lives on big prawn and
small fish, and to catch him the whale dives into depths of
several hundred fathom. The struggle leaves sores and
marks of the armed suckers on the whale's skin around
the mouth.

what counts, Mel-
ville had, the experience, what lies under. And his own
force to resolve the forces.

Interpolation No. 2

Quote. The American whaling era— in contrast to the
Basque, French, Dutch and English-
developed independently
concentrated on different species of whale
covered all seas including the Arctic
yielded on a larger scale than in any other coun-
try or group of countries before.

Unquote.

Usufruct

1841

"When I was on board the ship Acush-
Jan.-June net of Fairhaven, on the passage to the

Pacific cruising-grounds, among other
matters of forecastle conversations at
times was the story of the Essex. It was
then that I first became acquainted with
her history and her truly astounding
fate.

"But what then served to specialize my
interest at the time was the circumstance
that the Second mate of our ship, Mr
Hall, an Englishman & Londoner by
26

Call me Ishmael

27

birth, had for two three-years voyages
sailed with Owen Chace (then in com-
mand of the whaleship "Charles Carroll"
of Nantucket). This Hall always spoke
of Chace with much interest & sincere
regard— but he did not seem to know
anything more about him or the Essex
affair than any body else.

December

"Somewhere about the latter part of
A.D. 1841, in this same ship the Acush-
net, we spoke the "Charles Carroll" of
Nantucket, & Owen Chace was the cap-
tain, & so it came to pass that I saw him.
He was a large, powerful well-made
man; rather tall; to all appearances
something past forty-five or so; writh a
handsome face for a Yankee, & expres-
sive of great uprightness & calm unosten-
tatious courage. His whole appearance
impressed me pleasurably. He was the
most prepossessing-looking whalehunter
I think I ever saw.

"Being a mere foremast-hand I had no
opportunity of conversing with Owen
(tho' he was on board our ship for two
hours at a time) nor have I ever seen
him since.

November

"But I should have before mentioned,
that before seeing Chace's ship, we spoke
another Nantucket craft & gammed with
her. In the forecastle I made the ac-
quaintance of a fine lad of sixteen or
thereabouts, a son of Owen Chace! I

28 Call me Ishmcel

questioned him concerning his father's
adventure; and when I left his ship to
return again the next morning (for the
two vessels were to sail in company for
a few days) he went to his chest k
handed me a complete copy (same edi-
tion as this one) of the Narrative. This
was the first printed account of it I had
ever seen, & the only copy of Chace's
Narrative (regular & authentic) except
the present one.

"The reading of this wondrous story
upon the landless sea, $c close to the very
latitude of the shipwreck had a surpris-
ing effect upon me."

All the above— under the heading "What I Know of Owen
Chace, ire"— is written in Melville's own copy of

NARRATIVE OF THE MOST
EXTRAORDINARY AND DIS-
TRESSING SHIPWRECK OF THE
WHALE-SHIP ESSEX, OF NAN-
TUCKET; WHICH WAS AT-
TACKED AND FINALLY DE-
STROYED BY A LARGE SPERMA-
CETI-WHALE, IN THE PACIFIC
OCEAN. By OWEN CHASE, of
NANTUCKET, First Mate of Said
Vessel. LONDON, 1821.

The comments by Melville appear to
1851 have been written in the spring of 1851.

Melville at that time was already a year
out on the writing of Moby-Dick and
was approaching the end, preparing to

Call me Ishmael 29

close with the destruction by the White
Whale of the ship Pequod, the three-day
catastrophe which parallels what hap-
pened to the Essex.

The front fly-leaf carries this inscription
in Melville's hand:

Herman Melville from Judge Shaw,
April April, 1851. The Chief Justice, his

father-in-law, had acquired the copy for
Melville a month earlier from Thomas
Macy at Nantucket.*

"General Evidence

"This thing of the Essex is found
(stupidly alterated) in many compila-
tions of nautical adventure made
within the last 15 or 20 years.
"The Englishman Bennett in his exact
work (Whaling Voyage Round the
Globe) quotes the thing as an acknowl-
edged fact.

"Besides seamen, some landsmen
(Judge Shaw & others) acquainted
with Nantucket, have evinced to me
their unquestioning faith in the
thing; having seen Captain Pollard
himself, & being conversant with his
situation in Nantucket since the dis-
aster.

"Authorship of the Book

"There seems no reason to suppose

* I publish these notes for the first time through the courtesy of the
present owner of the volume, Mr. Perc Brown.

I have raised questions about the Essex, as well as on the Acushnet
and the Globe, with friends Tripp of New Bedford and Stackpole of
Nantucket, and they have been most kind. As were Dr. and Mrs. Will
Gardner when I was last on the Island.

30 Call me Ishmael

that Owen himself wrote the narra-
tive. It bears obvious tokens of having
been written for him; but at the same
time, its whole air plainly evinces that
it was carefully & conscientiously
written to Owen's dictation of the
facts.— It is almost as good as tho'
Owen wrote it himself.

"Another Narrative of the Adventure
"I have been told that Pollard, the
Captain, wrote, or caused to be wrote
under his own name, his version of
the story. I have seen extracts pur-
porting to be from some such work.
But I have never seen the work itself.
—I should imagine Owen Chace to
have been the fittest person to narrate
the thing."

In Melville's copy the last pages of the Narrative are miss-
ing. So he adds in his notes— under the title "Sequel"— a
summary of what happened to the "poor fellows" in the
Captain's boat and what he had learned of the fate of the
three men left on Elizabeth Isle. He records how Pollard
fetched his next command up on unknown rocks off the
Sandwich Islands, disclosing that "I got this from Hall,
Second Mate of the Acushnet." Melville goes on:

"Pollard, it seems, now took the hint, &
after reaching home from the second
shipwreck, moved to abide ashore. He
has ever since lived in Nantucket. Hall
told me that he became a butcher there.
I believe he is still living."

Call me Ishmael 31

At this point he makes a general comment:

"All the sufferings of these miserable
men of the Essex might, in all human
probability, have been avoided had they,
immediately after leaving the wreck,
steered straight for Tahiti, from which
they were not very distant at the time
and to which there was a fair trade wind.
But they dreaded cannibals $c strange to
tell knew not that for more than 20
years the English missions had been resi-
dent in Tahiti, & that in the same year
of the shipwreck— 1820— it was entirely
safe for the ships to touch at Tahiti. But
they chose to stem a head wind & make
a passage of some thousand miles (an
unavoidably roundabout one, too) in
order to gain a civilized harbour on the
coast of South America. "

He continues with remarks "Further Concerning Owen
Chace":

"The miserable pertinaciousness of mis-
fortune which pursued Pollard, the
Captain, in his second disaster $c entire
shipwreck, did likewise hunt poor
Owen, tho' somewhat more dilatory in
overtaking him, the second time.

"For, while I was in the Acushnet we
heard from some whaleship that we
spoke, that the captain of the "Charles
Carroll"— that is Owen Chace— had re-
cently received letters from home, in-
forming him of the certain infidelity of

32 Call me Ishmael

his wife, the mother of several children,
one of them being the lad of sixteen,
whom I alluded to as giving me a copy
of his father's narrative to read. We also
heard that this receipt of this news had
told most heavily upon Chace, & that he
was a prey to the deepest gloom.,,

There is a last note, without a heading. It reads:

* 'Since writing the foregoing I— some-

probably time about 1850-3— saw Capt. Pollard on

July, 1852 the island of Nantucket, and exchanged

some words with him. To the islanders
he was a nobody— to me, the most im-
pressive man, tho' wholly unassuming,
even humble, that I ever encountered."

And added, in pencil, along the margin of his earlier re-
marks concerning Pollard, this:

"a night-watchman"

PART TWO

Shakespeare

Which is the best of Shakespeare's plays?
I mean in what mood and with what ac-
companiment do you like the sea best?"

keats, Letter to Jane Reynolds
Sept, 14, 1817

Shakespeare, or the discovery of Moby-Dick

Moby -Dick was two books written between February,
1850 and August, 1851.

The first book did not contain Ahab.

It may not, except incidentally, have contained Moby-
Dick.

On the 7th of August, 1850, the editor Evert Duyckinck
reported to his brother:

Melville has a new book mostly done, a romantic,
fanciful & most literal 8c most enjoyable presentment
of the Whale Fishery— something quite new.

It is not surprising that Melville turned to whaling in

35

36 Call me Ishmael

February, 1850, on his return from a trip to England to
sell his previous bookyWhite-Jacket. It was the last of the
materials his sea experience offered him.

He had used his adventures among the South Sea islands
in Typee (1846) and Omoo (1847). He had gone further
in the vast archipelago of Mardi, written in 1847 and 1848,
to map the outlines of his vision of life. The books of
1849, Redburn and White-Jacket, he had based on his
experiences aboard a merchant ship and a man-of-war.
The whaling voyage in the Acushnet was left.

There is no evidence that Melville had decided on the
subject before he started to write in February. On the
contrary. Melville's reading is a gauge of him, at all points
of his life. He was a skald, and knew how to appropriate
the work of others. He read to write. Highborn stealth,
Edward Dahlberg calls originality, the act of a cutpurse
Autolycus who makes his thefts as invisible as possible.
Melville's books batten on other men's books. Yet he
bought no books on whaling among the many volumes
purchased in England on his trip and soon after his re-
turn Putnam's the publishers were picking up in London
for him such things as Thomas Beale's The Natural His-
tory of the Sperm Whale.

He went at it as he had his last two books, "two jobs,"
as he called Redburn and White-Jacket in a letter to his
father-in-law, "which I have done for money— being forced
to it, as other men are to sawing wood." He had a family
to support.

By May it was half done. So he told Richard Henry
Dana in a letter on the 1st, the only other information of
the first Moby-Dick which has survived. The book was
giving Melville trouble. Referring to it as "the 'whaling
voyage,' " he writes:

It will be a strange sort of a book, I fear; blubber is
blubber you know; tho you may get oil out of it,

Coll me Ishmael 37

the poetry runs as hard as sap from a frozen maple
tree;— & to cook the thing up, one must needs throw
in a little fancy, which from the nature of the thing,
must be ungainly as the gambols of the whales them-
selves. Yet I mean to give the truth of the thing, spite
of this.

That's the record of Moby-Dick No. 1, as it stands.
There is nothing on why, in the summer of 1850, Mel-
ville changed his conception of the work and, on some-
thing "mostly done" on August 7th, spent another full year
until, in August, 1851, he had created what we know as
Moby-Dick or, The Whale.

"Dollars damn me." Melville had the bitter thing of
men of originality, the struggle between money and me.
It was on him, hard, in the spring of 1850. He says as
much in the Dana letter: "I write these books of mine
almost entirely for 'lucre'— by the job, as a wood-sawyer
saws wood," repeating on Moby-Dick what he had said
about Redburn and White- Jacket.

He knew the cost if he let his imagination loose. He had
taken his head once, with Mardi. In this new work on
whaling he felt obliged, as he had, after Mardi, with Red-
burn and White-Jacket, "to refrain from writing the kind
of book I would wish to."

He would give the truth of the thing, spite of this, yes.
His head was lifted to Dana as it was to his father-in-law
seven months earlier. He did his work clean. Exs: Red-
burn and White-Jacket. "In writing these two books I
have not repressed myself much— so far as they are con-
cerned; but have spoken pretty much as I feel."

There was only one thing in the spring of 1850 which
he did not feel he could afford to do: "So far as I am indi-
vidually concerned, & independent of my pocket, it is my

38 Call me Ishmael

earnest desire to write those sort of books which are said
to 'fail.' "■

In the end, in Moby-Dick, he did. Within three months
he took his head again. Why?

Through May he continued to try to do a quick book
for the market: "all my books are botches.,, Into June he
fought his materials: "blubber is blubber." Then some-
thing happened. What, Melville tells:

I somehow cling to the strange fancy, that, in all men
hiddenly reside certain wondrous, occult properties
—as in some plants and minerals— which by some
happy but very rare accident (as bronze was discov-
ered by the melting of the iron and brass at the
burning of Corinth) may chance to be called forth
here on earth.

When? Melville is his own tell-tale: he wrote these words in
July, 1850. They occur in an article he did for Duyckinck's
magazine. He gave it the title HAWTHORNE AND HIS
MOSSES, WRITTEN BY A VIRGINIAN SPENDING
A JULY IN VERMONT.

The subject is Hawthorne, Shakespeare and Herman
Melville. It is a document of Melville's rights and percep-
tions, his declaration of the freedom of a man to fail.
Within a matter of days after it was written (July 18 ff.),
Melville had abandoned the account of the Whale Fishery
and gambled it and himself with Ahab and the White
Whale.

The Mosses piece is a deep and lovely thing. The spirit
is asweep, as in the book to come. The confusion of May
is gone. Melville is charged again. Moby -Dick is already
shadowed in the excitement over genius, and America as
a subject for genius. You can feel Ahab in the making,

Call me Ishmael 39

Ahab of "the globular brain and ponderous heart," so
much does Melville concern himself with the distinction
between the head and the heart in Hawthorne and Shakes-
peare. You can see the prose stepping off.

The germinous seeds Hawthorne has dropped in Mel-
ville's July soil begin to grow: Bulkington, the secret
member of the crew in Moby-Dick, is here, hidden, in
what Melville quotes as Hawthorne's self-portrait— the
"seeker/' rough-hewn and brawny, of large, warm heart
and powerful intellect.

Above all, in the ferment, Shakespeare, the cause. The
passages on him— the manner in which he is introduced,
the detail with which he is used, the intensity— tell the
story of what had happened. Melville had read him again.
His copy of THE PLAYS survives. He had bought it in
Boston in February, 1849. He described it then to Duyck-
inck:

It is an edition in glorious great type, every letter

whereof is a soldier, & the top of every Y like a

musket barrel.

I am mad to think how minute a cause has prevented

me hitherto from reading Shakespeare. But until now

any copy that was come-atable to me happened to be

a vile small print unendurable to my eyes which are

tender as young sperms.

But chancing to fall in with this glorious edition, I

now exult over it, page after page.

The set exists, seven volumes, with passages marked, t
and comments in Melville's hand. The significant thing \
is the rough notes for the composition of Moby-Dick on
the fly-leaf of the last volume. These notes involve Ahab,
Pip, Bulkington, Ishmael, and are the key to Melville's
intention with these characters. They thus relate not to ^
what we know of the Moby-Dick that Melville had been

40 Call me Ishmael

working on up to July but to Moby-Dick as he came to
conceive it at this time.

Joined to the passages on Shakespeare in the Mosses
piece, the notes in the Shakespeare set verify what Moby-
Dick proves: Melville and Shakespeare had made a Cor-
inth and out of the burning came Moby-Dick, bronze.

A note of thanks

The Melville people are rare people, and this is the right
place to tell:

of Eleanor Melville Metcalf and Henry K. Metcalf, with
whom the Shakespeare was only a beginning, for they
have made all Melville's things mine, indeed have made
me a member of their family;

of Raymond Weaver and Henry A. Murray, Jr., the other
true biographer, who have been my generous friends;

and of those early criers of Melville, Carl Van Doren and
Van Wyck Brooks, who have spoken up for me.

For the original use of the Shakespeare set and Melville's
notes in it I wish also to thank another granddaughter,
Mrs. Frances Osborne.

American Shiloh

Shakespeare emerged from the first rush of Melville's
reading a Messiah: as he put it in the Mosses piece in 1850,
a "Shiloh"; as he put it to Duyckinck in 1849, "full of
sermons-on-the-mount, and gentle, aye, almost as Jesus."
Melville had a way of ascribing divinity to truth-tellers,
Solomon, Shakespeare, Hawthorne, or Jesus.

He next limited Shakespeare. He advanced a criticism
in his second letter to Duyckinck in 1849 which is central
to all his later published passages on the poet. It keeps
him this side idolatry. It arises from what Melville takes
to be an "American" advantage:

I would to God Shakespeare had lived later, 8c prom-
enaded in Broadway. Not that I might have had the

41

42 Call me Ishmael

pleasure of leaving my card for him at the Astor, or
made merry with him over a bowl of the fine Duyck-
inck punch; but that the muzzle which all men wore
on their souls in the Elizabethan day, might not have
intercepted Shakespeare's free articulations, for I
hold it a verity, that even Shakespeare was not a
frank man to the uttermost. And, indeed, who in this
intolerant universe is, or can be? But the Declaration
of Independence makes a difference.

In the Mosses piece, a year and a half later, he gives it
tone:

In Shakespeare's tomb lies infinitely more than
Shakespeare ever wrote. And if I magnify Shakes-
peare, it is not so much for what he did do as for
what he did not do, or refrained from doing.
For in this world of lies, Truth is forced to fly like a
scared white doe in the woodlands; and only by cun-
ning glimpses will she reveal herself, as in Shakes-
peare and other masters of the great Art of Telling
the Truth,— even though it be covertly and by
snatches.

In his copy of the PLAYS, when Shakespeare muzzles
truth-speakers, Melville is quick to mark the line or inci-
dent. In Antony and Cleopatra he puts a check beside
Enobarbus' blunt answer to Antony's correction of his
speech: "That truth should be silent I had almost forgot."

In Lear he underscores the Fool's answer to Lear's
angry threat of the whip: "Truth's a dog must to kennel;
he must be whipp'd out, when Lady the brach may stand
by th' fire and stink." The very language of Melville in
the Mosses thing is heard from the Fool's mouth.

As an artist Melville chafed at representation. His work
up to Moby-Dick was a progress toward the concrete and

Call me Ishmael 43

after Moby -Dick a breaking away. He had to fight him-
self to give truth dramatic location. Shakespeare's dra-
matic significance was not lost upon him, but he would
have been, as he says, "more content with the still, rich
utterance of a great intellect in repose.,, Melville's demand
uncovers a flaw in himself.

Fortunately— for Moby-Dick— the big truth was not
sermons-on-the-mount. Melville found these in Measure
for Measure. It is, rather

those deep far-away things in him; those occasional
flashings-forth of the intuitive Truth in him; those
short, quick probings at the very axis of reality;—
these are the things that make Shakespeare, Shakes-
peare.

Such reality is in the mouths of the "dark" characters,
Hamlet, Timon, Lear and Iago, where the drama Melville
could learn from, lay. For blackness fixed and fascinated
Melville. Through such dark men Shakespeare

craftily says, or sometimes insinuates the things which
we feel to be so terrifically true, that it were all but
madness for any good man, in his own proper char-
acter, to utter or even hint of them!

It is this side of Shakespeare that Melville fastens on.
Madness, villainy and evil are called up out of the plays
as though Melville's pencil were a wand of black magic.
To use Swinburne's comment on Lear, it is not the light
of revelation but the darkness of it that Melville finds
most profound in Shakespeare. He was to write in Moby-
Dick:

Though in many of its aspects the visible world
seems formed in love, the invisible spheres were
formed in fright.

Man, to man

Shakespeare reflects Melville's disillusion in the treach-
erous world. In The Tempest, when Miranda cries out
"O brave new world!", Melville encircles Prospero's an-
swer " 'Tis new to thee," and writes this note at the bot-
tom of the page:

Consider the character of the persons concerning
whom Miranda says this— then Prospero's quiet
words in comment— how terrible! In Timon itself
there is nothing like it.

Shakespeare frequently expresses disillusion through
friendship and its falling off. The theme has many varia-
tions. Melville misses none of them. Caesar and Antony

44

Call me Ishmael 45

on the fickleness of the people to their rulers, in Antony
and Cleopatra. Achilles and Ulysses on the people's faith-
lessness to their heroes, in Troilus and Cressida. Henry V
and Richard II on treachery within the councils of the
state. Melville pulls it out of the tragedies: in Lear, when
the Fool sings how fathers who bear bags draw forth love
and those who wear rags lose love; and in Hamlet, the
lines of the Player King:

For who not needs, shall never lack a friend
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.

To betray a friend was to make— for Melville as for Rich-
ard—a second fall of cursed man. Shakespeare gives the
theme its great counterpoint in Timon. In that play the
whole issue of idealism is objectified through friendship.
When his friends fail him Timon's love turns to hate. His
world— and with it the play— wrenches into halves as the {
earth with one lunge tore off from a sun.

Melville took a more personal possession of the tragedy
of Timon than of any of the other dark men. In Lear he
found ingratitude, but what gave Timon its special in-
tensity was that Timon was undone by friends, not
daughters.

Melville makes little out of the love of man and woman.
It is the friendship of men which is love. That is why
Hawthorne was so important to him, to whom he wrote
his best letters and to whom he dedicated Moby-Dick.
That is why he never forgot Jack Chase, the handsome
sailor he worked under in the Pacific, to whom he dedi-
cated his last book, Billy Budd.

Melville had the Greek sense of men's love. Or the
Roman's, as Shakespeare gives it in Coriolanus. In that
play the only place Melville heavily marks is the long
passage in which Coriolanus and Aufidius meet and em-

/

46 Call me Ishmael

brace. They are captains, with the soldier's sense of com-
rade. Melville's is the seaman's, of a shipmate. Aufidius
speaks the same passionate images of friendship Melville
uses to convey the depth of feeling between Ishmael and
Queequeg in Moby-Dick. Ishmael and Queequeg are as
"married" as Aufidius feels toward Coriolanus:

that I see thee here
Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold.

Like Timon Melville found only disappointment. He
lost Jack Chase, and Hawthorne, shyest grape, hid from
him. In a poem of his later years Melville wrote:

To have known him, to have loved him

After loneness long
And then to be estranged in life

And neither in the wrong
Ease me, a little ease, my song!

Timon is mocked with glory, as his faithful Steward
says, lives, as Melville notes, but in a dream of friendship.
Melville uses the blasted hero as a symbol throughout his
books, sometimes in Plutarch's convention as a misan-
thrope, often as another Ishmael of solitude, most signifi-
cantly—in Pierre— -as disillusion itself, man undone by
goodness. It is the subject of Pierre and the lesson of The
Confidence Man.

Melville's feeling for the play is summarized by a line
he underscores in it, the Stranger's observation on the
hypocrisy of Timon's friends:

Why, this is the world's soul.

Lear and Moby-Dick

It was Lear that had the deep creative impact. In Moby-
Dick the use is pervasive. That its use is also the most
implicit of any play serves merely to enforce a law of the
imagination, for what has stirred Melville's own most is
heaved out, like Cordelia's heart, with most tardiness.

In the Hawthorne-Mosses article it is to Lear's speeches
that Melville points to prove Shakespeare's insinuations
of "the things we feel to be so terrifically true:"

Tormented into desperation, Lear, the frantic king,
tears off the mask, and speaks the same madness of
vital truth.

Under this title an earlier version of this material appeared in the maga-
zine Twice- A-Y ear.

47

48 Call me Ishmoel

His copy of the play is marked more heavily than any of
the others but Antony and Cleopatra. Of the characters
the Fool and Edmund receive the attention. I have said
Melville found his own words in the Fool's mouth when
the Fool cries, "Truth's a dog must to kennel.,, He found
them in such other speeches of that boy, as

Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt
catch cold shortly.

For Melville sees the Fool as the Shakespeare he would
have liked more of, not one who refrained from hinting
what he knew.

Melville is terrified by Edmund who took his fierce
quality in the lusty stealth of nature and who, in his evil,
leagued with that world whose thick rotundity Lear
would strike flat. The sources of this man's evil, and his
qualities, attract the writer who is likewise drawn to
Goneril, to Iago— and who himself creates a Jackson in
Redburn and a Claggart in Billy Budd.

It is the positive qualities in the depraved: Edmund's
courage, and his power of attracting love. When Edmund
outfaces Albany's challenge, denies he is a traitor, and
insists he will firmly prove his truth and honor, Melville
writes this footnote:

The infernal nature has a valor often denied to
innocence.

When Edmund is dying he fails to revoke his order for
the death of Lear and Cordelia, only looks upon the bodies
of Goneril and Regan and consoles himself: "Yet Edmund
was belov'd!" This Melville heavily checks. It is a twisting
ambiguity like one of his own— EviLb£lqyed.

Melville is dumb with horror at the close, blood-stop
double meaning of Shakespeare's language in the scene of

Call me Ishmael 49

the blinding of Gloucester. His comment is an exclama-
tion: "Terrific!" When Regan calls Gloucester "Ingrate-
ful fox!" Melville writes:

Here's a touch Shakespearean— Regan talks of ingrat-
itude!

First causes were Melville's peculiar preoccupation. He
concentrates on an Edmund, a Regan— and the world of
Lear, which is almost generated by such creatures, lies
directly behind the creation of an Ahab, a Fedallah and
the White, lovely, monstrous Whale.

Melville found answers in the darkness of Lear. Not in
the weak goodness of an Albany who thinks to exclude
evil from good by a remark as neat and corrective as
Eliphaz in the Book of Job:

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
Filths savor but themselves.

The ambiguities do not resolve themselves by such "right-
mindedness." Albany is a Starbuck.

Melville turned rather to men who suffered as Job
suffered— to Lear and Edgar and Gloucester. Judged by
his markings upon the scene in which Edgar discovers,
with a hot burst in his heart, his father's blindness, Mel-
ville perceived what suggests itself as a symbol so inherent
to the play as to leave one amazed it has not been more
often observed— that to lose the eye and capacity to see,
to lose the physical organ, "vile jelly," is to gain spiritual
sight.

The crucifixion in Lear is not of the* limbs on a cross-
beam, but of the eyes put out, the eyes of pride too sharp
for feeling. Lear himself in the storm scene senses it, but
Gloucester blind speaks it: "I stumbled when I saw."

Lear's words:

50 Call me Ishmael

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just.

Gloucester's words come later, Act IV, Sc. 1. It is the
purgatorial dispensation of the whole play. Gloucester,
who aches to have his son Edgar back-
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'ld say I had eyes again!

—has his wish and does not know it. He does not know,
because he cannot see, that Edgar is already there beside
him in the disguise of Tom o' Bedlam. Gloucester takes
him for the poor, mad beggar he says he is. He seconds
Lear thus:

Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens'

plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched
Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he does not feel, feel your pow'r quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough.

lThe underscore is Melville's.

What moves Melville is the stricken goodness of a Lear,
i Gloucester, an Edgar, who in suffering feel and thus

Call me Ishmael 51

probe more closely to the truth. Melville is to put Ahab
through this humbling.

Shakespeare drew Lear out of what Melville called "the
infinite obscure of his background." It was most kin to
Melville. He uses it as an immediate obscure around his
own world of Moby-Dick. And he leaves Ishmael at the
end to tell the tale of Ahab's tragedy as Kent remained to
speak these last words of Lear:

Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.

A Moby-Dick manuscript

It is beautifully right to find what I take to be rough
notes for Moby-Dick in the Shakespeare set itself. They
are written in Melville's hand, in pencil, upon the last
fly-leaf of the last volume, the one containing Lear,
Othello and Hamlet. I transcribe them as they stand:

Ego non baptizo te in nomine Patris et
Filii et Spiritus Sancti— sed in nomine
Diaboli. —madness is undefinable—
It & right reason extremes of one,
—not the (black art) Goetic but Theurgic magic-
seeks converse with the Intelligence, Power, the
Angel.

52

Call me Ishmael

53

The Latin is a longer form of what Melville told Haw-
thorne to be the secret motto of Moby-Dick. In the novel
Ahab howls it as an inverted benediction upon the har-
poon he has tempered in savage blood:

Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine
diaboli.

I do not baptize thee in the name of the father, but
in the name of the devil.

The change in the wording from the notes to the novel
is of extreme significance. It is not for economy of phrase.
The removal of Christ and the Holy Ghost— Filii et Spir-
itus Sancti— is a mechanical act mirroring the imaginative.
Of necessity, from Ahab's world, both Christ and the Holy
Ghost are absent. Ahab moves and has his being in a
world to which They and what They import are inimical:
remember, Ahab fought a deadly scrimmage with a Span-
iard before the altar at Santa, and spat into the silver
calabash. The conflict in Ahab's world is abrupt, more that
between Satan and Jehovah, of the old dispensation than
the new. It is the outward symbol of the inner truth that
the name of Christ is uttered but once in the book and
then it is torn from Starbuck, the only possible man to use
it, at a moment of anguish, the night before the fatal third
day of the chase.

Ahab is Conjur Man. He invokes his own evil world.
He himself uses black magic to achieve his vengeful ends.
With the very words "in nomine diaboli" he believes he
utters a Spell and performs a Rite of such magic.

The Ahab-world is closer to MacbetJLlhan to Lear. In
it the supernatural is accepted. Fedallah appears as freely
as the Weird Sisters. Before Ahab's first entrance he has
reached that identification with evil to which Macbeth
out of fear evolves within the play itself. The agents of

\

'

54 Coll me Ishmoel

evil give both Ahab and Macbeth a false security through
the same device, the unfulfillable prophecy. Ahab's tense
and nervous speech is like Macbeth's, rather than Lear's.
Both Macbeth and Ahab share a common hell of wicked,
sleep-bursting dreams. They both endure the torture of
isolation from humanity. The correspondence of these two
evil worlds is precise. In either the divine has little place.
Melville intended certain exclusions, and Christ and the
Holy Ghost were two of them. Ahab, alas, could not even
baptize in the name of the Father. He could only do it
in the name of the Devil.

That is the Ahab-world, and it is wicked. Melville
meant exactly what he wrote to Hawthorne when* the
book was consummated:

I have written a wicked book, and feel as spotless as
the lamb.

Melville's ' 'wicked book" is the drama of Ahab, his hot
hate for the White Whale, and his vengeful pursuit of it
from the moment the ship plunges like fate into the At-
lantic. It is that action, not the complete novel Moby-Dick,
The Moby-Dick universe contains more, something differ-
ent. Perhaps the difference is the reason why Melville felt
"spotless as the lamb." The rough notes in the Shake-
speare embrace it.

"Madness is undefinable." Two plays from which the
thought could have sprung are in the volume in which it
is written down: Lear and Hamlet. Of the modes of mad-
ness in Lear— the King's, the Fool's—which is definable?
But we need not rest on supposition as to what Melville
drew of madness from Hamlet, or from Lear: Moby-Dick
includes both Ahab and Pip. Melville forces his analysis
of Ahab's mania to incredible distances, only himself to
admit that "Ahab's larger, darker, deeper part remains
unhinted." Pip's is a more fathomable idiocy: "his ship-

Call me Ishmael 55

mates called him mad." Melville challenges the descrip-
tion, refuses to leave Pip's madness dark and unhinted,
declares: "So man's insanity is heaven's sense."

The emphasis in this declaration is the key to resolve
apparent difficulties in the last sentence of the notes in
the Shakespeare volume:

It & right reason extremes of one,— not the (black
art) Goetic but Theurgic magic— seeks converse with
the Intelligence, Power, the Angel.

I take "it" to refer to the "madness" of the previous sen-
tence. "Right reason," less familiar to the 20th century,
meant more to the last, for in the Kant-Coleridge termin-
ology "right reason" described the highest range of the
intelligence and stood in contrast to "understanding."
Melville had used the phrase in Mardi. What he did with
it there discloses what meaning it had for him when he
used it in these cryptic notes for the composition of Moby-
Dick. Mardi:

Right reason, and Alma (Christ), are the same; else
Alma, not reason, would we reject. The Master's
great command is Love; and here do all things wise,
and all things good, unite. Love is all in all. The
more we love, the more we know; and so reversed.

Now, returning to the notes, if the phrase "not the (black
art) Goetic but Theurgic magic" is recognized as paren-
thetical, the sentence has some clarity: "madness" and its
apparent opposite "right reason" are the two extremes of
one way or attempt or urge to reach "the Intelligence,
Power, the Angel" or, quite simply, God.

The adjectives of the parenthesis bear this reading out.
"Goetic" might seem to derive from Goethe and thus
Faust, but its source is the Greek "goetos," meaning vari-
ously trickster, juggler and, as here, magician. (Plato called

56 Call me Ishmoel

literature "Goeteia") Wherever Melville picked up the
word he means it, as he says, for the "black art." "Theur-
gic," in sharp contrast, is an accurate term for a kind of
occult art of the Neoplatonists in which, through self-puri-
fication and sacred rites, the aid of the divine was evoked.
In thus opposing "Goetic" and "Theurgic" Melville is
using a distinction as old as Chaldea between black and
white magic, the one of demons, the other of saints and
angels, one evil, the other benevolent. For white or "The-
urgic" magic, like "madness" and "right reason," seeks
God, while the "black art Goetic" invokes only the devil.

Now go to Moby-Dick. In the Ahab-world there is no
place for "converse with the Intelligence, Power, the
Angel." Ahab cannot seek it, for understood between him
and Fedallah is a compact as binding as Faust's with
Mephistopheles. Melville's assumption is that though both
Ahab and Faust may be seekers after truth, a league with
evil closes the door to truth. Ahab's art, so long as his hate
survives, is black. He does not seek true converse.

"Madness," on the contrary, does, and Pip is mad, pos-
sessed of an insanity which is "heaven's sense." When the
little Negro almost drowned, his soul went down to won-
drous depths and there he "saw God's foot upon the
treadle of the loom, and spoke it." Through that accident
Pip, of all the crew, becomes "prelusive of the eternal
time" and thus achieves the converse Ahab has denied
himself by his blasphemy. The chapter on the doubloon
dramatizes the attempts on the part of the chief active
characters to reach truth. In that place Starbuck, in his
"mere unaided virtue," is revealed to have no abiding
faith: he retreats before "Truth," fearing to lose his "right-
eousness." . . . Stubb's jollity and Flask's clod-like stupidity
blunt the spiritual. . . . The Manxman has mere supersti-
tion, Queequeg mere curiosity. . . . Fedallah worships the
doubloon evilly. . . . Ahab sees the gold coin solipsistically:
"three peaks as proud as Lucifer" and all named "Ahab!"

Call me Ishmael 57

Pip alone, of all, has true prescience: he names the dou-
bloon the "navel" of the ship—Truth" its life.

"Right reason" is the other way to God. It is the way of
man's sanity, the pure forging of his intelligence in the
smithy of life. To understand what use Melville made of
it in Moby-Dick two characters, both inactive to the plot,
have to be brought forth.

Bulkington is the man who corresponds to "right
reason." Melville describes him once early in the book
when he enters the Spouter Inn. "Six feet in height, with
noble shoulders, and a chest like a coffer-dam." In the
deep shadows of his eyes "floated some reminiscences that
did not seem to give him much joy." In the lee shore
chapter Bulkington is explicitly excluded from the action
of the book, but not before Melville has, in ambiguities,
divulged his significance as symbol. Bulkington is Man
who, by "deep, earnest thinking" puts out to sea, scorning
the land, convinced that "in landlessness alone resides the
highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God."

The rest of the Pe quod's voyage Bulkington remains a
"sleeping-partner" to the action. He is the secret member
of the crew, below deck always, like the music under the
earth in Antony and Cleopatra, strange. He is the crew's
heart, the sign of their paternity, the human thing. And
by that human thing alone can they reach their apotheosis.

There remains Ishmael. Melville framed Ahab's action,
and the parts Pip, Bulkington and the rest of the crew
played in the action, within a narrative told by Ishmael.
Too long in criticism of the novel Ishmael has been con-
fused with Herman Melville himself. Ishmael is Active,
imagined, as are Ahab, Pip and Bulkington, not so com-
pletely perhaps, for the very reason that he is so like his
creator. But he is not his creator only: he is a chorus
through whom Ahab's tragedy is seen, by whom what is
black and what is white magic is made clear. Like the

58 Call me Ishmael

Catskill eagle Ishmael is able to dive down into the black-
est gorges and soar out to the light again.

He is passive and detached, the observer, and thus his
separate and dramatic existence is not so easily felt. But
unless his choric function is recognized some of the vision
of the book is lost. When he alone survived the wreck of
the Pequod, he remained, after the shroud of the sea
rolled on, to tell more than Ahab's wicked story. Ahab's
self-created world, in essence privative, a thing of blasphe-
mies and black magic, has its offset. Ahab has to dominate
over a world where the humanities may also flower and
man (the crew) by Pip's or Bulkington's way reach God.
By this use of Ishmael Melville achieved a struggle and a
catharsis which he intended, to feel "spotless as the lamb/'

Ishmael has that cleansing ubiquity of the chorus in all
drama, back to the Greeks. It is interesting that, in the
same place where the notes for Moby-Dick are written in
his Shakespeare, Melville jots down: "Eschylus Tragedies."
Ishmael alone hears Father Mapple's sermon out. He
alone saw Bulkington, and understood him. It was Ishmael
who learned the secrets of Ahab's blasphemies from the
prophet of the fog, Elijah. He recognized Pip's God-sight,
and moaned for him. He cries forth the glory of the crew's
humanity. Ishmael tells their story and their tragedy as
well as Ahab's, and thus creates the Moby-Dick universe
in which the Ahab-world is, by the necessity of life— or the
Declaration of Independence— included.

Ahab and his fool

Life has its way, even with Ahab. Melville had drawn
upon another myth besides Shakespeare's to create his
dark Ahab, that of both Marlowe and Goethe: the Faust
legend. But he alters it. After the revolutions of the 18th-
19th century the archetype Faust has never been the same.
In Melville's alteration the workings of Lear and the Fool
can also be discerned.

The change comes in the relation of Ahab to Pip. Ahab
does not die in the tempestuous agony of Faustus pointing
to Christ's blood and crying for His mercy. He dies with
an acceptance of his damnation. Before his final battle
with the White Whale Ahab has resigned himself to his
fate.

His solipsism is most violent and his hate most engen-

59

60 Call me Ishmael

dered the night of the candles when he raises the burn-
ing harpoon over his crew. It is a night of storm. The
setting is Lear-like. Ahab, unlike Lear, does not in this
night of storm discover his love for his fellow wretches.
On the contrary, this night Ahab uncovers his whole hate.
He commits the greater blasphemy than defiance of sun
and lightning. He turns the harpoon, forged and baptized
for the inhuman Whale alone, upon his own human com-
panions, the crew, and brandishes his hate over them. The
morning after the storm Ahab is most subtly dedicated
to his malignant purpose when he gives the lightning-
twisted binnacle a new needle. Melville marks this pitch
of his ego:

In his fiery eyes of scorn and triumph, you then saw
Ahab in all his fatal pride.

In a very few hours the change in Ahab sets in and Pip
—the shadow of Pip— is the agent of the change. Like a
reminder of Ahab's soul he calls to Ahab and Ahab, ad-
vancing to help, cries to the sailor who has seized Pip:
"Hands off that holiness! " It is a crucial act: for the first
time Ahab has offered to help another human being. And
at that very moment Ahab speaks Lear's phrases:

Thou touchest my inmost centre, boy; thou art tied
to me by cords woven of my heart-strings. Come, let's
down.

Though Ahab continues to curse the gods for their "inhu-
manities," his tone, from this moment, is richer, quieter,
less angry and strident. He even questions his former
blasphemies, for a bottomed sadness grows in him as Pip
lives in the cabin with him. There occurs a return of
something Peleg had insisted that Ahab possessed on the
day Ishmael signed for the fatal voyage. Peleg then refuted
Ishmael's fears of his captain's wicked name— that dogs

Call me Ishmael 61

had licked his blood. He revealed that Ahab had a wife
and child, and concluded:

hold ye then there can be any utter, hopeless harm
in Ahab? No, no, my lad; stricken, blasted, if he be,
Ahab has his humanities!

These humanities had been set aside in Ahab's hate for
the White Whale. One incident: Ahab never thought, as
he paced the deck at night in fever of anger, how his
whalebone stump rapping the boards waked his crew and
officers. The aroused Stubb confronts Ahab. Ahab orders
him like a dog to kennel. For Stubb cannot, like Pip, affect
Ahab. When it is over Stubb's only impulse is to go down
on his knees and pray for the hot old man who he feels
has so horribly amputated himself from human feelings^

Pip continues to be, mysteriously, the agent of this
bloom once it has started. Says Ahab: "I do suck most
wondrous philosophies from thee!" He even goes so far
as to ask God to bless Pip and save him. BUT before he
asks that, he threatens to murder Pip, Pip so weakens his
revengeful purpose.

Though Pip recedes in the last chapters, the suppleness
he has brought out of old Ahab continues to grow. Pip is
left in the hold as though Ahab would down his soul
once more, but above decks Ahab is no longer the proud
Lucifer. He asks God to bless the captain of the Rachel,
the last ship they meet before closing with Moby-Dick, the
vessel which later picks Ishmael up after the tragedy. The
difference in his speech is commented on: "a voice that
prolongingly moulded every word." And it is noticed that
when, toward the last days, Ahab prepares a basket look-
out for himself to be hoisted up the mast to sight Moby-
Dick, he trusts his "life-line" to Starbuck's hands. This
running sap of his humanities gives out its last shoots in
the symphony chapter: observe that Ahab asks God to

62 Call me Ishmael

destroy what has been from the first his boast— "God! God!
God! stave my brain!'' He has turned to Starbuck and
talked about his wife and child! And though this apple,
his last, and cindered, drops to the soil, his revenge is now
less pursued than resigned to. His thoughts are beyond the
whale, upon easeful death.

In the three days' chase he is a tense, mastered, almost
grim man. He sets himself outside humanity still, but he
is no longer arrogant, only lonely: "Cold, cold . . ."
After the close of the second day, when Fedallah cannot
be found, he withers. His last vindictive shout is to rally
his angers which have been hurled and lost like Fedallah
and the harpoon of lightning and blood. He turns to Fate,
the handspike in his windlass: "The whole act's immu-
tably decreed." That night he does not face the whale as
was his custom. He turns his "heliotrope glance" back to
the east, waiting the sun of the fatal third day like death.
It is Macbeth in his soliloquy of tomorrow, before Macduff
will meet and match him. On the third day the unbodied
winds engage his attention for the first time in the voyage.
Even after the White Whale is sighted Ahab lingers, looks
over the sea, considers his ship, says goodbye to his mast-
head. He admits to Starbuck he foreknows his death: the
prophecies are fulfilled. In his last speech he moans only
that his ship perishes without him:

Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel my
topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief.

He rushes to the White Whale with his old curse dead on
his lips.

The last words spoken to him from the ship had been
Pip's: "O master, my master, come back!"

What Pip wrought in Ahab throws over the end of
Moby-Dick a veil of grief, relaxes the tensions of its hate,
and permits a sympathy for the stricken man that Ahab's

Call me Ishmael 63

insistent diabolism up to the storm would not have
evoked. The end of this fire-forked tragedy is enriched
by a pity in the very jaws of terror.

The lovely association of Ahab and Pip is like the rela- /
tions of Lear to both the Fool and Edgar. What the King /
learns of their suffering through companionship with
them in storm helps him to shed his pride. His hedging
and self-deluding authority gone, Lear sees wisdom in
their profound unreason. He becomes capable of learning
from his Fool just as Captain Ahab does from his cabin- I
boy. l

In Lear Shakespeare has taken the conventional ' 'crazy-
witty' ' and brought him to an integral place in much more
than the plot. He is at center to the poetic and dramatic
conception of the play. Melville grasped the development.

Someone may object that Pip is mad, not foolish. In
Shakespeare the gradations subtly work into one another.
In Moby-Dick Pip is both the jester and the idiot. Before
he is frightened out of his wits he and his tambourine are
cap and bells to the crew. His soliloquy upon their mid-
night revelry has the sharp, bitter wisdom of the Eliza-
bethan fool. And his talk after his "drowning" is parallel
not only to the Fool and Edgar but to Lear himself.

A remark in Moby-Dick throws a sharp light over what
has just been said and over what remains to be said. Mel-
ville comments on Pip:

all thy strange mummeries not unmeaningly blended
with the black tragedy of the melancholy ship, and
mocked it.

For Pip by his madness had seen God.

Shakespeare, concluded

Melville was no naive democrat. He recognized the
persistence of the "great man" and faced, in 1850, what
we have faced in the 20th century. At the time of the rise
of the common man Melville wrote a tragedy out of the
rise, and the fall, of uncommon Ahab.

In the old days of the Mediterranean and Europe it was
the flaw of a king which brought tragedy to men. A ca-
lamity was that which "unwar strook the regnes that been
proude." When fate was feudal, and a great man fell, his
human property, the people, paid.

A whaleship reminded Melville of two things: (1) democ-
racy had not rid itself of overlords; (2) the common man,
however free, leans on a leader, the leader, however dedi-
cated, leans on a straw. He pitched his tragedy right there.

64

Call me Ishmael 65

America, 1850 was his GIVEN:

"a poor old whale-hunter' ' the great man;

fate, the chase of the Sperm whale, plot (economics

is the administration of scarce resources);
the crew the commons, the Captain over them;

EQUALS:

tragedy.

For a consideration of dominance in man, read by all
means the chapter in Moby-Dick called the specksynder,
concerning emperors and kings, the forms and usages of
the sea:

through these forms that certain sultanism of Ahab's
brain became incarnate in an irresistible dictatorship.

For be a man's intellectual superiority what it will,
it can never assume the practical, available suprem-
acy over other men, without the aid of some sort of
external arts and entrenchments, always, in them-
selves, more or less paltry and base.

Nor will the tragic dramatist who would depict mor-
tal indomitableness in its fullest sweep and direct
swing, ever forget a hint, incidentally so important
in his art, as the one now alluded to.

More, much more.

Melville saw his creative problem clearly:

/He had a prose world, a NEW.
I But it was "tragedie," old.
I Shakespeare gave him a bag of tricks.
* The Q.E.D.: Moby-Dick.

66 Call me Ishmael

The shape of Moby-Dick, like the meaning of its action,
has roots deep in THE PLAYS. Melville studied Shake-
speare's craft. For example, characterization. In at least
three places Melville analyzes Hamlet. There are two in
Pierre. One enlarges upon the only note he writes in his
copy of the play: "the great Montaignism of Hamlet."
The third and most interesting passage is in The Confi-
dence Man. There Melville makes a distinction between
the making of "odd" and the creation of "original" char-
acters in literature. Of the latter he allows only three:
Milton's Satan, Quixote, and Hamlet. The original char-
acter is

like a revolving Drummond light, raying away from
itself all round it— everything is lit by it, everything
starts up to it (mark how it is with Hamlet).

Melville likens the effect to "that which in Genesis attends
upon the beginning of things." In the creation of Ahab
Melville made the best use of that lesson he knew how.

Structure, likewise. Moby-Dick has a rise and fall like
the movement of an Elizabethan tragedy. The first twenty-
two chapters, in which Ishmael as chorus narrates the
preparations for the voyage, are precedent to the action
and prepare for it. Chapter XXIII is an interlude, the
lee shore; Bulkington, because he is "right reason,"
is excluded from the tragedy. With the next chapter the
book's drama begins. The first act ends in the quarter-
deck chapter, the first precipitation of action, which
brings together for the first time Ahab, the crew, and the
purpose of the voyage—the chase of the White Whale.
All the descriptions of the characters, all the forebodings,
all the hints are brought to their first manifestation.

Another interlude follows: Ishmael expands upon
moby-dick and the whiteness of the whale.

Merely to summarize what follows, the book then moves

Call me Ishmael 67

up to the meeting with the Jeroboam and her mad
prophet Gabriel (chp. LXXI) and, after that, in a third
swell, into the visit of Ahab to the Samuel Enderby to see
her captain who had lost his arm as Ahab his leg to Moby-
Dick (chp. C). The pitch of the action is the storm scene,
the candles. From that point on Ahab comes to repose,
fifth act, in his fate.

In this final movement Moby-Dick appears, for the first
time. It is a mistake to think of the Whale as antagonist
in the usual dramatic sense. (In democracy the antago-
nisms are wide.) The demonisms are dispersed, and Moby-
Dick but the more assailable mass of them. In fact the
actual physical whale finally present in Moby-Dick is more
comparable to death's function in Elizabethan tragedy:
when the white thing is encountered first, he is in no
flurry, but quietly gliding through the sea, "a mighty
mildness of repose in swiftness/!

Obviously Moby-Dick is a novel and not a play. It con-
tains creations impossible to any stage— a ship the Pequod,
whales, Leviathan, th,e vast sea. In the making of most of
his books Melville used similar things. In Moby-Dick he
integrated them as he never had before nor was to again.

The whaling matter is stowed away as he did not man-
age the ethnology of Typee nor was to, the parables of
The Confidence Man. While the book is getting under
way— that is, in the first forty-eight chapters— Melville al-
lows only four "scientific" chapters on whaling to appear.
Likewise as the book sweeps to its tragic close in the last
thirty chapters, Melville rules out all such exposition.
The body of the book supports the bulk of the matter on
the Sperm whale— "scientific or poetic.,, Melville carefully
controls these chapters, skillfully breaking them up: the
eight different vessels the Pequod meets as she moves
across the oceans slip in and cut between the consider-
ations of cetology. Actually and deliberately the whaling

68 Call me Ishmael

chapters brake the advance of the plot. Van Wyck Brooks
called them "ballast.''

Stage directions appear throughout. Soliloquies, too.
There is a significant use of the special Elizabethan solilo-
quy to the skull in Ahab's mutterings to the Sperm whale's
head in the sphinx (chp. LXX). One of the subtlest
supernatural effects, the "low laugh from the hold" in the
quarter-deck scene, echoes Shakespeare's use of the Ghost
I below ground in Hamlet.

Properties are used for precise theater effect. Ahab
smashes his quadrant as Richard his mirror. Of them the
Doubloon is the most important. Once Ahab has nailed
the coin to the mast it becomes FOCUS. The imagery,
the thought, the characters, the events precedent and to
come, are centered on it. It is there, midstage, Volpone,
gold.

Of the soliloquies Ahab's show the presence of Eliza-
bethan speech most. The cadences and acclivities of Mel-
ville's prose change. Melville characterized Ahab's language
as "nervous, lofty." In the soliloquies it is jagged like that
of a Shakespeare hero whose speech like his heart often
cracks in the agony of fourth and fifth act.

The long ease and sea swell of Ishmael's narrative prose
contrasts this short, rent language of Ahab. The opposition
of cadence is part of the counterpoint of the book. It
adumbrates the part the two characters play, Ishmael the
passive, Ahab the active. More than that, it arises from
and returns, contrapunto, to the whole concept of the
book revealed by the notes in Melville's copy of Shake-
speare—the choric Ishmael can, like the Catskill eagle,
find the light, but Ahab, whose only magic is Goetic, re-
mains dark. The contrast in prose repeats the theme of
calm and tempest which runs through the novel. Without
exception action rises out of calm, whether it is the first
chase of a whale, the appearance of the Spirit Spout, the

Call me Ishmael 69

storm, or the final chase of Moby-Dick precipitously fol-
lowing Upon THE SYMPHONY.

As the strongest literary force Shakespeare caused Mel-
ville to approach tragedy in terms of the drama. As the
strongest social force^ America caused him to approach
tragedy in terms of democracy.

It was not difficult for Melville to reconcile the two.
Because of his perception of America: Ahab.

It has to do with size, and how you value it. You can
approach BIG America and spread yourself like a pan-
cake, sing her stretch as Whitman did, be puffed up as
we are over PRODUCTION. It's easy. THE AMERI-
CAN WAY. Soft. Turns out paper cups, lies flat on the'
brush. N.G.

Or recognize that our power is simply QUANTITY.
Without considering purpose. Easy too. That is, so long
as we continue to be INGENIOUS about machines, and
have the resources.

Or you can take an attitude, the creative vantage. See
her as OBJECT in MOTION, something to be shaped,
for use. It involves a first act of physics. You can observe
POTENTIAL and VELOCITY separately, have to, to
measure THE THING. You get approximate results.
They are usable enough if you include the Uncertainty
Principle, Heisenberg's law that you learn the speed at
the cost of exact knowledge of the energy and the energy
at the loss of exact knowledge of the speed.

Melville did his job. He calculated, and cast Ahab.
BIG, first of all. ENERGY, next. PURPOSE: lordship
over nature. SPEED: of the brain. DIRECTION: venge-
ance. COST: the people, the Crew.

Ahab is the FACT, the Crew the IDEA. The Crew is
where what America stands for got into Moby-Dick.
They're what we imagine democracy to be. They're Mel-
ville's addition to tragedy as he took it from Shakespeare.

70 Call me Ishmael

He had to do more with the people than offstage shouts
in a Julius Caesar. This was the difference a Declaration
of Independence made. In his copy of the play Melville
writes the note

Tammany Hall
in heavy strokes beside Casca's description of the Roman
rabble before Caesar:

If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him,
according as he pleas'd and displeas'd them, as they
use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true
man.

Melville thought he had more searoom to tell the truth.
He was writing in a country where an Andrew Jackson
could, as he put it, be "hurled higher than a throne/'
A political system called "democracy" had led men to
think they were "free" of aristocracy. The fact of the
matter is Melville couldn't help but give the "people" a
larger part because in the life around him they played a
larger part. He put it this way:

this august dignity I treat of, is not the dignity of
kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which
has no robed investiture.

Thou shalt see it shining in the arm that wields a
pick and drives a spike; that democratic dignity
which, on all hands, radiates without end from God;
Himself! The great God absolute! The center and
circumference of all democracy! His omnipresence,
our divine equality!

If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and
castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities,
though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if
even the most mournful, perchance the most abased,

Coll me Ishmael 71

among them all, shall at times lift himself to the ex-
alted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm
with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow
over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal
critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality,
which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over
all my kind!

Remember Bulkington.

To MAGNIFY is the mark of Moby-Dick. As with
workers, castaways, so with the scope and space of the sea,
the prose, the Whale, the Ship and, OVER ALL, the
Captain. It is the technical act compelled by the Ameri-
can fact. Cubits of tragic stature. Put it this way. Three
forces operated to bring about the dimensions of Moby-
Dick: Melville, a man of MYTH, antemosaic; an experi-
ence of SPACE, its power and price, America; and ancient
magnitudes of TRAGEDY, Shakespeare.

It is necessary now to consider Antony and Cleopatra,
the play Melville pencilled most heavily. Rome was the
World, and Shakespeare gives his people and the action
imperial size. His hero and heroine love as Venus and
Mars, as planets might.

His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
Crested the world.

So Cleopatra dreamed of Antony. Melville marked her
words. He marked Antony's joyful greeting to Cleopatra
after he has beaten Caesar back to his camp:

O thou day o' th' world!

And Cleopatra's cry of grief when Antony dies:

72 Call me Ishmael

The crown o' th' earth doth melt.

Antony and Cleopatra is an East. It is built as Pyramids
were built. There is space here, and objects big enough
to contest space. These are men and women who live life
large. The problems are the same but they work them-
selves out on a stage as wide as ocean.

When Enobarbus comments on Antony's flight from
Actium in pursuit of Cleopatra, we are precisely within
the problems of Moby-Dick:

To be furious
Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood
The dove will peck the estridge. I see still
A diminution in our captain's brain
Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason
It eats the sword it fights with.

In exactly what way Ahab, furious and without fear, re-
tained the instrument of his reason as a lance to fight the
White Whale is a central concern of Melville's in Moby-
Dick. In his Captain there was a diminution in his heart.
From whaling, which America had made distinctly a
part of her industrial empire, he took this "poor old
whale-hunter,,, as he called him, this man of "Nantucket
grimness and shagginess." Out of such stuff he had to
make his tragic hero, his original. He faced his difficulties.
He knew he was denied "the outward majestical trappings
and housings' ' that Shakespeare had for his Antony, his
Lear and his Macbeth. Melville wrote:

Oh, Ahab! what shall be grand in thee, must needs
be plucked at from the skies, and dived for in the
deep, and featured in the unbodied air!

He made him "a khan of the plank, and a king of the

Call me Ishmael 73

sea, and a great lord of leviathans." For the American has
the Roman feeling about the world. It is his, to dispose
of. He strides it, with possession of it. His property. Has
he not conquered it with his machines? He bends its re-
sources to his will. The pax of legions? the Americani-
zation of the world. Who else is lord?

Melville isolates Ahab in "a Grand-Lama-like exclusive-
ness." He is captain of the Pequod because of "that cer-
tain sultanism of his brain." He is proud and morbid,
willful, vengeful. He wears a "hollow crown," not Rich-
ard's. It is the Iron Crown of Lombardy which Napoleon
wore. Its jagged edge, formed from a nail of the Cruci-
fixion, galls him. He worships fire and swears to strike
the sun.

OVER ALL, hate— huge and fixed upon the impercep-
tible. Not man but all the hidden forces that terrorize
man is assailed by the American Timon. That HATE,
extra-human, involves his Crew, and Moby-Dick drags
them to their death as well as Ahab to his, a collapse of a
hero through solipsism which brings down a world.

At the end of the book, in the heart of the White
Whale's destruction, the Crew and Pip and Bulkington
and Ahab lie down together.

All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea.

FACT # 2 dromenon

FACT # 2

On the night of January 26, 1824, as the Nantucket
whaleship the Globe cruised in the Pacific Ocean off
Fannings Island, latitude 3 49' North, longitude 158 29'
West, one of the vessel's two harpooneers, called boat-
steerers, Samuel B. Comstock, aged 21, the son of a
Quaker schoolmaster of Nantucket and a descendent on
iiis mother's side of the Mitchells, a family as organic to
the life of the island as the Coffins, Starbucks, Gardners
and Macys, went down into the cabin shortly after 12
o'clock and, with a short axe, split the Captain's head in
two as he slept, killed the Chief Mate the same way, con-
fronted the two remaining officers with the cry, "I am
die bloody man, I have the bloody hand and I will have

77

78 Call me Ishmael

revenge/' shot the Third Mate with a musket and left the
Second Mate dying from the wounds he gave him with a
boarding knife, a two-edge instrument four feet long,
three inches wide, used in whaling to cut the blubber
from the body of a whale.

i

PART THREE

Moses

The book of the law of the blood

In Moby-Dick the sea, its creature, and man are all
savage. The Whale is "athirst for human blood." Ahab
has "that that's bloody on his mind." The sea will "for-
ever and forever, to the crack of doom, insult and murder
man."

It is cannibalism. Even Ishmael, the orphan who sur-
vives the destruction, cries out: "I myself am a savage,
owing no allegiance but to the King of Cannibals; and
ready at any moment to rebel against him.',

It is the facts, to a first people.

(Nothing is without efficient cause)
81

82 Calf me tshmaei

| 1 Melville wanted a god. Space was the First, before

time, £afth, man. Melville sought it: "Polar eternities"
behind "Saturn's gray chaos." Christ, a Holy Ghost, Jeho-
vah never satisfied him. When he knew peace it was with
a god of Prime. His dream was Daniel's: the Ancient of
Days, garment white as snow, hair like the pure wool.
Space was the paradise Melville was exile of.

When he made his whale he made his god. Ishmael
once conies on the bones of a Sperm whale pitched up on
land. They are massive, and he is struck with horror at
the "antemosaic unsourced existence of the unspeakable
terrors of the whale."

When Moby-Dick is first seen he swims a snow-hill on
the sea. To Ishmael he is the white bull Jupiter swimming
to Crete with ravished Europa on his horns: a prime,
lovely, malignant, white.

\ 2 Melville was agonized over paternity. He suffered

as a son. He had lost the source. He demanded to know
the father.

Kronos, in order to become god, armed himself with a
sickle and castrated his father Uranus. Saturn used a prun-
ing knife. Kronos and Saturn in turn were overthrown
by their sons banded together in a brother horde. The
new gods of Jupiter were, in their turn, attacked by other
sons. These sons—they were the "Giants"— lost. They are
described as more akin to men.

Enceladus was among them. He is a constant image in
Melville. Melville saw his likeness in defeated and exiled
heroes, not in successful sons who, by their triumph, be-
come the fathers.

I 3 The fable of Moby-Dick is vengeance. On a previ-

ous voyage Ahab and the White Whale had met and
fought. The whale had suddenly swept "his sickle-shaped

Coll me Ishmael 83

lower jaw beneath him" and reaped away Allah's leg— "as
a mower a blade of grass in the field."

(Osiris, Egyptian hero and god, was mangled by his son
and enemy Seth in the shape of a boar, rent into fourteen
pieces and scattered on the Nile, where fish ate his phallus.)

Ahab then had one purpose: "an audacious, immitiga-
ble, and supernatural revenge/ ' For Ahab "piled upon the
whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and
hate felt by his whole race from Adam down."

4 It is necessary to understand this rage and hate.

Melville is not Jonathan Edwards. His answer to the
angry god is an Ahab, a man of elements not of sins:

Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the
sun if it insulted me.

Melville's ethic is mythic. Shame with him was prece-
dent to any Eden, was of Prime: the concord of Space,
"sweet milk" to Melville as universal peace was to Shake-
speare's Malcolm, was curdled and made sour by man,
and blood.

It was not acts but Act, Original Act, that gave man
guilt. Man's "imperial theme" is the fruit of First Murder.

Crime is large and imponderable when a man's experi-
ence of violence is mutiny, on wide sea. To kill a Captain!

Conscience is not the caliper to measure it:

(remember the story of the ship the Town-Ho in
Moby-Dick} who can pass judgment on Steelkilt
when it is the White Whale who executes justice on
the First Mate, Radney?)

immediately that Macbeth murders the King he strides
hugely forward into the mystery. He steps from Scotland
into the spheres to be damned:

84 Call me Ishmael

Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act
Threaten his bloody stage.

Space and time were not abstraction but the body of
Melville's experience, and he cast the struggle in their
dimension. The White Whale became the biggest single
creature a man has been pitted against and Ahab's rage
and hate is scaled like Satan's, the largest enemy of the
Father man has imagined.

5 Ahab's birth was dark, uncanonical. Starbuck
took him for "more demon than man." To Stubb he was
"old man of oceans." Ishmael saw him "gnawed within
and scorched without." Ahab felt himself to be "deadly
faint, bowed and humped as though I were Adam."

Ahab had known an earlier terror than the sea. He had
woe on him. He was branded with a "slender rod-like
mark, lividly whitish" the length of him. The prophet
Elijah told Ishmael that Ahab lay in a trance like dead
for three days and nights off Cape Horn. At another time
he looked like a man cut away from a stake.

The night of the candles, when lightning turns his
masts to tapers, Ahab seizes the conductor chains of his
ship. He does it, he says, to match his blood with fire. He
cries up into the night:

Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me,
and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.

(There is a myth that Prometheus did more than steal
fire from the sun and bring it down to man: it is said that
Prometheus fathered man.)

6 In Moby-Dick, when Ishmael has said all he can
say about Ahab, he admits that the larger, darker, deeper
part of the man is obscure. He suggests the same holds
true for any man and insists it is necessary to go down to

Call me Ishmael 85

a place far beneath a man's upper earth in order to un-
cover the unknown part.

There, he says, a man will find that his root of grandeur,
his whole awful essence sits in bearded state

an antique buried beneath antiquities and throned
on torsos.

Ishmael makes this comment:

So, with a broken throne, the great gods mock that
captive king.

He answers his own question who the king is:

it is your own grim sire, who did beget ye, exiled
sons.

Then, for a climax, offers this enigma:

from him only will the old State-secret come.

The Melville who wrote Moby-Dick had a firm hold on
that secret. He was a strong and sure-footed son as a re-
sult. He was not weakened by any new testament world.
He had reached back to where he belonged. He could
face up to Moses: he knew the great deed and misdeed of
primitive time. It was in himself.

This once he had his answer— how man acquires the
lost dimension of space. There is a way to disclose pa-
ternity, declare yourself the rival of earth, air, fire and
water.

Now he counted his birthdays as the Hebrews did: a
son's years gathered not from the son's birth but from the
father's death. Another Moses Melville wrote in Moby-
Dick the Book of the Law of the Blood.

PART FOUR

Christ

for

edward dahlberg, my other genius of the Cross and
the Windmills. If the Fool is in this book, you nur-
tured him.

Melville read Don Quixote as you have. He did it at a
most important time, when he was turning for succor,
as I imagine you have turned, to the Mediterranean
world, and Christ. He acquired his copy in September,
1855.

Two of the passages he marked belong to your experi-
ence as to his. I want you particularly to have them:

Sancho Panza alone believed all that his master
said to be true, knowing who he was, and having
been acquainted with him from his birth.

The other is Don Antonio's cry against all the Simon
Carrascos of life who gloat when they have unseated
a poor Knight:

Oh! sir, God forgive you the injury you have
done the whole world, in endeavoring to restore
to his senses the most diverting madman in it.

Christ

In 1841 Melville had gone to the Pacific. In 1856 he
went to the Holyland. It is in such contrast that the work
of his last forty years, from Moby-Dick in 1851 to his
death in New York in 1891, stands to the Pacific experi-
ence and the books which issued from it: Typee, Omoo,
Mardi, White-Jacket, and Moby-Dick.

The trip of 1856 is an unnatural twin to the better
known earlier voyage. He made it at a critical time in his
career and it tells, as story, what is the truth, as I see it,
of his loss of power.*

* The principal acts of the last forty years are:

Pierre, a novel of New York, written 1851-2 (1852) ;

"Bartleby the Scrivener," "The Encantadas" and "Benito Cereno," three
important short prose pieces, two of them throw-backs to the Pacific; first

89

90 Call me Ishmael

r~ When he set out in October of that year he had reasons
of health for doing so. The writing of Moby-Dick had
hurt him. He was 31. The immediate labor on Pierre ag-
gravated his condition. It went so far his family in 1853
called in doctors, among them Oliver Wendell Holmes,
Pittsfield neighbor, to judge his sanity.

As early as 1851 Melville had figured it would help if
he got away. A relative who came to call in December
shortly after the publication of Moby-Dick reported her
conversation with Melville to Duyckinck in New York:

I laughed at him somewhat and told him that the
recluse life he was leading made his city friends think
that he was slightly insane— he replied that long ago
he came to the same conclusion himself but if he left
home to look after Hungary the cause in hunger
would suffer.

By 1856 and the writing of The Confidence-Man, wild
and whirling words, the whole persistent multitude of
Melvilles and Shaws felt that something had to be done,
that there had to be some disposition, once and for all,
of this man whom some tolerated and others feared, and
of whom most were ashamed and all seemed weary. The
money for the trip came from his father-in-law, Justice
Shaw. This time Melville did not go away on his own;
he was— though guardedly— sent away.

published in Putnam's Monthly Magazine, 1853, '54, '55, collected in The
Piazza Tales (1856);

The Confidence-Man, a novel called a "masquerade," apparently written
from 1854 to 1856 (1857);

the Holyland journey, October 1856-May 1857;

verse from 1859 on, including the two- volume narrative in four parts
Clarel, A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holyland (1876);

and the return to prose, Billy Buddy Foretopman, a short novel, written
1888-91, found in mss. 1919.

Coll me Ishmoel 91

In England, to book passage on a Mediterranean
steamer, he visited Hawthorne. Hawthorne describes him
as "looking much as he used to do (a little paler, and per-
haps a little sadder), a rough outside coat, and with his
characteristic gravity and reserve of manner.,, The two
men spent a day by the sea near Southport, sheltering
themselves from the wind in a hollow among the sand-
hills. They had what Melville calls in his journal simply
"good talk." Hawthorne, in his, says more:

Melville, as he always does, began to reason of Provi-
dence and futurity, and of everything that lies be-
yond human ken, and informed me that he had
'pretty much made up his mind to be annihilated';
but still he does not seem to rest in that anticipation,
and, I think, will never rest until he gets hold of a
definite belief.

It is strange how he persists— and has persisted ever
since I knew him, and probably long before— in
wandering to and fro over these deserts, as dismal
and monotonous as the sandhills amid which we were
sitting. He can neither believe, nor be comfortable
in his unbelief; and he is too honest and courageous
not to try to do one or the other.

If he were a religious man, he would be one of the
most truly religious and reverential; he has a very
high and noble nature and is better worth immor-
tality than most of us.

Hawthorne saw Melville again the day before he sailed:
"He said that he already felt better than in America; but
observed that he did not anticipate much pleasure in his
rambles, for the spirit of adventure is gone out of him.
He certainly is much overshadowed since I saw him last;
but I hope he will brighten as he goes onward."

92 Call me lshmael

Seven years earlier, before Moby -Dick, Melville had
almost made the same trip. 1849, at sea, bound for Eng-
land to sell White-Jacket:

This afternoon Dr Taylor and I sketched a plan for
going down the Danube from Vienna to Constanti-
nople; thence to Athens on the steamer; to Beyroot
and Jerusalem— Alexandria and the Pyramids . . .

I am full (just now) of this glorious Eastern jaunt.
Think of it: Jerusalem and the Pyramids!— Constan-
tinople, the Aegean and also Athens!

Age 37 now, Melville goes to the Mediterranean world
to refresh himself. He offers himself, as he says, a "passive
subject" to a more immediate past than at 21 he had
found in primitive Polynesia.

He does not bring back a Typee. The Journal Up the
Straits is an uncreated thing. It is the record of Melville's
rediscovery of the East and then, his loss of it. The story
can be told now that Raymond Weaver has, after much
labor, made the text available. It lies under the Journal's
illegible surface.

The sun and the darker races stirred up feelings Mel-
ville had for twelve years beaten back, even as he worked.
In spite of his writing he had become wedded to a white
guilt. The pressures had originated from his environment
America and tightened inwards. The stifling forces had a
traitorous agent to help them: the ethical and Northern
Melville.

There seems no doubt he brought back from the South
Seas a number of shames, social shames to add to earlier
ones reaching back to his father's sins and failures. Mel-
ville's behavior in the years 1851-56 was ill. He remained
periodically violent to his wife, and strange with his
mother. There was shock in him. Pierre is documentation

Call me Ishmaei 93

enough. Add The Confidence-Man. In each Christ is of
the subject and the matter.

In the Journal Up the Straits the story of Melville's
return starts after Cape Finisterre is passed, off Cape Vin-
cent. The entry for that day is a dumb show of what is to
follow. The contraries of the man who now turns to the
East for some resolution of them lie in these natural sen-
tences, as outward as gestures:

Sunday 23d. Passed within a third of a mile of

Cape St. Vincent. Light house 8c monastery on
Sunday, bold cliff. Cross. Cave underneath light house.
Nov. 23, The whole Atlantic breaks here. Lovely after-
1856 noon. Great procession of ships bound for

Crimea must have been descried from this

point.

Melville had started a ghost. What he sees on the cliff is,
quick, his, life: HEIGHT and CAVE, with the CROSS
between. And his books are made up of these things: light
house, monastery, Cross, cave, the Atlantic, an afternoon,
the Crimea: truth, celibacy, Christ, the great dark, space
of ocean, the senses, man's past.

First act, the Mediterranean. It is reiteration, it might
have been rite. Melville makes this entry his first day on
it: "Pacific." A Noah, Melville had dominated and sur-
vived his Flood. Moby-Dick, ark, is behind him, and so
are the waters of his Flood, the Atlantic and the Pacific.
He returns to smaller waters, the Mediterranean. "In
landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, in-
definite as God," Melville had written, to characterize
Bulkington, in the lee shore chapter of Moby-Dick.

The Mediterranean is a close sea, is in the middle of the
land, is the old center of earth. On its shores Noah's chil-

\

94 Call me Ishmoel

dren, Shem, Ham and Japeth, and their sons, have worked
out life since flood. Melville had the alternative Noah had
when the waters shrank: to be a husbandman. There was
much for him to do— as much had been done— from
Genesis on, before Christ. Melville had room in an old
testament world, ample space and time to reify. There
was a Covenant for him to share, the everlasting one be-
tween God and every living creature of all flesh that is
upon the earth. The pity of it, in 1856, is this: the only
place Melville manages to see the token of covenant, the
rainbow, is over the waters of the Dead Sea.

He missed his own truth. The Atlantic, the Pacific and
the Mediterranean formed a trinity more natural to him,
as po£te d'espace, than that other Trinity, that desert he
chose to wander to and fro in, his last forty years. "Ego
non baptizo te in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti
— sed in nomine Diabolic

Constantinople gave Melville back to sensation. He had
shown a marked interest in the women of two harems
aboard ship on the passage in. He likens the city to a
woman: "The fog lifted from about the skirts of the
city ... It was a coy disclosure, a kind of coquetting . . .
like her Sultanas she was thus seen veiled in her 'ash-
mack/ " It is an unusual image for Melville to use. There
is not only an absence of palpable woman in his works,
there is rarely a sense of what accompanies her, clothes,
charm, pleasure. Fayaway, of Typee, perhaps, as a mem-
ory, a dream. There are the two pairs, Lucy and Isabel of
Pierre and their prototypes, Yillah and Hautia of Mardi.
And there is only one other, the best of them, the Chola
Widow of "The Encantadas," who takes body from the tale
of her suffering.

The two pairs are unfelt and unfleshed. Hautia is a
Pacific island "Queen" whom Melville, in trying to turn
into a Salem witch, handles as gingerly as Cotton Mather

Call me Ishmael 95

did poor Margaret Rule. She is unburnt, unconfessed, her
"zone unbound," "brazen" and inviting, "I the vortex
that draws all in," absurd. Isabel too. She is Melville's
chromo Cenci, sorceress and "sister" to Pierre, their com-
mon spell a lampish incest. Lucy, meant to be as Yillah a
contrast, is a "betrothed" who sketches and sews, a chalk-
ish lady, a lace of "earthly frailty" who can give Pierre
nothing but a text: "heaven hath called me to a wonder-
ful office toward thee"!

That Melville did, on this trip, at Constantinople and
elsewhere, find some spontaneity toward woman sug-
gests a change in the contours of his psyche profound
enough to free forces in him long checked. He ranges the
polyglot city wildly, writes about it extravagantly. He
mixes in the crowds of the suburbs of Galata and Pera.
He mounts the bridges to watch them moving below.
When he leans over the First Bridge his body is alive as
it has not been since he swung with Jack Chase in main-
tops above the Pacific. The difference: he is brooding
over a city of a million and a half human beings, not so
many square miles of empty ocean:

To the Bazaar. A wilderness of traffic. Furniture,
arms, silks, confectionery, shoes, sandles— everything.
(Cairo). Crowded overhead with stone arches, with
side openings.

Immense crowds. Georgians, Armenians, Greeks,
Jews, fc Turks are the merchants. Magnificent em-
broidered silks & gilt sabres 8c caparisons for horses.

You loose yourself & are bewildered & confounded
with the labyrinth, the din, the barbaric confusion
of the whole.

The Propontis, the Bosphorus, the Golden Horn,
the domes, the minarets, the bridges, the men of war,
the cypresses. Indescribable.

96 Call me Ishmael

What is common to all passages is the attention to the
human and natural, the concrete, what has been hus-
banded. Architecture buds and leafs. He finds the source
of the mosque dome in the tents of the nomadic tribes,
the form of the minaret in the cypress tree. Asia and
Europe confronting each other at the Bosphorus are two
women in "a contest of beauty." The color of Asia is "like
those Asiatic lions one sees in menageries— lazy & torpid."

Turn your attention now to stone. To stone as it is. As
it is built with. As it is rubble.

Turn first to standing stone, to Egypt. The Journal
comes to climax before the Pyramids.

Whether it is the appropriation of space involved or
the implied defiance of time or the enceladic assault on
the heavens, MASONRY is especially associated with
MYTH in man. The tale of the Great Tower is as ulti-
mate a legend as the Flood, Eden, Adam.

Whatever the explanation of the great pyramid at Cho-
lula or the source of Plato's description of the watch-
towers of Atlantis, they, like the Pyramids, partake of this
need of man to persist in monument as well as in myth.
The temple of the sun at Babel was named E-sagila, mean-
ing, the House of the Lifting of the Head.

THE PYRAMIDS loom, a long slope of crags and
precipices/ the tablerock overhanging, adhering
solely by mortar, twisted at angles like broken cliffs.
Masonry— and is it man's? The lines of stone do not
seem like courses of masonry, but like strata of rocks.
Slanting up the sweeping flanks people move like
mules on the Andes. They ascend guided by Arabs
in flowing white mantles, conducted as by angels.
These are the steps Jacob lay at.

I shudder at the idea of the ancient Egyptians. It

Call me Ishmael

97

was in these pyramids that the idea of Jehovah was
born. A terrible mixture of the cunning and the
awful. Moses was learned in all the lore of the
Egyptians.

No wall, no roof. In other buildings, however vast,
the eye is gradually innured to the sense of magni-
tude, by passing from part to part. But here there is
no stay or stage. It is all or nothing. It is not the
sense of height or breadth or length or depth that is
stirred. It is the sense of immensity that is stirred.

The theory that they were built as a defense
against the desert is absurd. They might have been
created with the Creation.

As with the ocean, you learn as much of its vast-
ness by the first five minutes' glance as you would in
a month, so with the pyramid.

Its simplicity confounds you. Finding it vain to
take in the sea's vastness man has taken to sounding it
and weighing its density; so with the pyramid, he
measures the base and computes the size of individ-
ual stones. It refuses to be studied or adequately
comprehended. It still looms in my imagination, dim
and indefinite.

The tearing away of the casing, though it removed
enough stone to build a walled-town, has not one
whit subtracted from the apparent magnitude. It has
had just the contrary effect. When the pyramid pre-
sented a smooth plane, it must have lost as much in
impressiveness as the ocean does when unfurrowed.
A dead calm of masonry. But now the ridges ma-
jestically diversify.

It has been said in panegyric of some extraordi-
nary works of man, that they affect the imagination
like the works of Nature. But the pyramid affects
one in neither way exactly. Man seems to have had
as little to do with it as Nature.

98 Call me Ishmael

It was that supernatural creature, the priest. They
must needs have been terrible inventors, those Egyp-
tian wise men. And one seems to see that, as out of
the crude forms of the natural earth they could evoke
by art the transcendent mass and symmetry and awe
of the pyramid, so out of the rude elements of the
insignificant thoughts that are in all men, they could
rear the transcendent conception of a God.

But for no holy purpose was the pyramid founded.

Nor Moby-Dick written. But see how Melville turned,
turned to stone as it is rubble, to Judea:

Stones of Judea. We read a good deal about stones
in Scriptures. Monuments & memorials are set up of
stones; men are stoned to death; the figurative seed
falls in stony places; and no wonder . . . Judea is one
accumulation of stones.

It is LAST ACT. When Melville went from the Pyra-
mids to Jerusalem he lost all he had gained. The power
so to describe the Pyramids leaves him, as did the power
to do Moby-Dick, prey to Christ. He had observed in
Egypt that the Sphinx has its "back to desert & face to
verdure." Melville reversed his Sphinx. He thought he
faced verdure in Christ. It turned out to be desert.

Barrenness of Judea

Whitish mildew pervading whole tracts of landscape
—bleached— leprosy— encrustation of curses . . . bones
of rocks, —crunched, knawed, & mumbled— mere
refuse fe rubbish of creation . . .

No moss as in other ruins— no grace of decay— no ivy
—the unleavened nakedness of desolation— whitish
ashes— lime-kilns— You see the anatomy— compares

Call me Ishmael

99

with ordinary regions as skeleton with living & rosy
man.

Two weeks in the Holyland sealed Melville in a bitterness
of disillusion from which he never recovered, out of
which, fifteen years later, he wrote Clarel, that rosary of
doubt, a two-volume Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy-
land and, thirty-odd years later, Billy Budd, that most
Christian tale of a ship, and mutiny. The stones, the rub-
ble in the pool of Bethseda, Sodom's "bitumen & ashes,"
the Dead Sea with the foam on its beach "like slaver of
mad dog," and the Holy Sepulcher "a sickening cheat"
led Melville to one final question:

Is the desolation of the land the result of the fatal /
embrace of the Deity? -^

)

Melville became Christ's victim, and it was death, and-
lack of love, that let him be it. "Poor soul, the centre of
my sinful earth," Shakespeare wrote. Melville became un-
sure of the center. It had been strong, a backward and
downward in him like Ahab's, like a pyramid's:

The old mummy lies buried in cloth on cloth; it
takes time to unwrap this Egyptian king.

With the coming of despair he called it a bulb of nothing.
In the middle of the writing of Moby-Dick he wrote to
Hawthorne:

But I feel that I am now come to the inmost leaf of
the bulb, and that shortly the flower must fall to the
mould.

In Pierre— it was between these two books that the change
came— he wrote:

100 Call me Ishmael

By vast pains we mine into the pyramid; by horrible
gropings we come to the central room; with joy we
espy the sarcophagus; but we lift the lid— and no
body is there! —appallingly vacant as vast is the soul
of man!

He denied himself in Christianity. It is space, and its
feeding on man, that is the essence of his vision, bred in
him here in America, and it is time which is at the heart
of Christianity. What the Pacific had confirmed for him
he allowed Christ to undo. It was on the promise of a
future life that Melville caught.

Death bothered him. That bare-headed life under the
grass, his own, worried him, in Dickinson's words, like a
wasp. He looked for solace to the Resurrection. He got
nothing. For the loss of mortality he got nothing in re-
turn. The dimensions of life as he had felt them merely
dwindled. Objects lost their gravity as they bulk in space.

All he has left in 1856 is the shell of his own faith: he
tells Hawthorne he has "pretty much made up his mind
to be annihilated/ ' The charge Melville levels at Christ
in Clarel is the lie in the promise of life beyond death:

Behold him— yea— behold the Man

Who warranted if not began

The dream that drags out its repulse.

He mocks Christ with His own cry to the Father, why hast
Thou forsaken me:

Upbraider! we upbraid again.

The sense of life and death that Melville forfeited is
one the experience of space gives. The vision of it is
Moby-Dicky and its savage myth. In Pierre it is reduced,
as Melville was, to statement. There are two passages
which speak out, fatty as the prose is. They may say why

Call me Ishmael 101

Christ hampered him. One is a celebration of Enceladus
for his war with the other Giants to reclaim his birthright
from the father. That was battle for mortality as Melville
understood it best, and on which his imagination fed.
The other passage celebrates annihilation freed from the
doubt Christ brought:

Of old Greek times, before man's brain went into
doting bondage, and bleached and beaten in Bacon-
ian fulling-mills, his four limbs lost their barbaric
tan and beauty; when the round world was fresh,
and rosy, and spicy, as a new-plucked apple; — all's
wilted now!— in those bold times, the great dead
were not, turkey-like, dished in trenchers, and set
down all garnished in the ground, to glut the damned
Cyclop like a cannibal; but nobly envious life cheated
the glutton worm, and gloriously burned the corpse;
so that the spirit up-pointed, and visibly forked to
heaven!

Somewhere Yeats uses the phrase ' 'sighing after Jerusa-
lem in the regions of the grave." Christ's slide of future
life deflected Melville's sight of past. Melville had made
his act of faith in Mardi: "My memory is a life beyond
birth." His natural sense of time was in its relation to
space. It was not diverted as Christ's was, away from ob-
ject, to the individual, and the passage of the personal
soul. To Melville the intimate and the concrete of the
present, as for example he felt it at Constantinople, en-
abled a man to loose himself into space and time and, in
their dimensions, to feel and comprehend such an object
as the Pyramids, to create, in like dimensions, an Ahab
and a White Whale. Time was riot a line drawn straight
ahead toward future, a logic of good and evil. Time re- \
turned on itself. It had density, as space had, and events
were objects accumulated within it, around which men

102 Call me Ishmael

could move as they moved in space. The acts of men as a
group stood, put down in time, as a pyramid was, to be
reexamined, reenacted. He wrote in Mardi:

Do you believe that you lived three thousand years
ago? No. But for me, I was at the subsiding of the
Deluge, and helped swab the ground, and build the
first house.

With the Israelites, I fainted in the wilderness; was
in court when Solomon outdid all the judges before
him.

I, it was, who suppressed the lost work of Manteo,
on the Egyptian theology, as containing mysteries
not to be revealed to posterity, and things at war
with the canonical scriptures.

Melville was.

I have called Moby-Dick a book of the Old Dispensa-
tion. Christ's dispensation was as strange to Melville as it
would have been to the First Adam.

Hawthorne was right, Melville could not rest without a
belief, he had to have a god. In Moby-Dick he had one. I
called him the Ancient of Days. The job was a giant's, to
make a new god. To do it, it was necessary for Melville,
because Christianity surrounded him as it surrounds us,
to be as Anti-Christ as Ahab was. When he denied Ahab,
he lost the Ancient. And Christianity closed in. But he
had done his job.

Christ as god contracted his vision. The person of Jesus
was another matter. Melville never did come to tolerate
the god, and the religion. He merely surrendered to it.
The result was creatively a stifling of the myth power in
him. The work from Moby-Dick on is proof. Melville was

Call me Ishmael 103

the antithesis of Dante.j When he permitted himself to try
to put his imagination to work in a world of Christian
values, as he first did in Pierre, it is disaster. Pierre is a
Christ syllogism: "I hate the world." The Confidence-
Man, Clarel, and Billy Budd are sorites which follow
from it.

Melville paid with his flesh too. What he was left with,
when he had lost his myth to Christ, was the image of
Jesus the person, and he spent forty years trying to turn
Him into someone he could love. But those Melville
turned to for love, turned away: his mother first, his sister
Augusta to her Bible, Hawthorne to his notebook to
write: "Herman Melville's linen is none too clean." By
the time Melville wrote Pierre sex had become to him
"the idiot crowned with straw." In the year of his death
he published these lines:

What Cosmic jest or Anarch blunder

The human integral clove asunder

And shied the fractions through life's gate? *

After Moby-Dick Melville had only Jesus left as the image
of what he calls in Clarel his "fonder dream of love in
man toward man."

* They are from a poem based on an incident of the 1856 trip. It is
called "After the Pleasure Party" and is addressed to "Amor Threaten-
ing."

There is another curious reflection of woman. It is the only comment
Melville made in his copy of Don Quixote, which he read, it will be re-
membered, in 1855-56. It refers to this passage of Cervantes:

I have already often said it, and now repeat it,
that a knight-errant without a mistress is like
a tree without leaves, a building without cement,
a shadow without a body that causes it.

The note in Melville's hand reads:

or as Confucius said 'a dog without a master,'
or, to drop both Cervantes & Confucius parables
—a god-like mind without a God.

104 Call me ishmael

After Ahab his men decline. They are either abstrac-
tion, Pierre, or epicene, Billy Budd. Bartleby is an excep-
tion—he is parsed into being like the Carpenter in Moby-
Dick. Benito Cereno is another exception. * The rest are
portraits of Jesus: "soft, hermaphroditical Christs." They
seek to come together with one another, to close "like
halves of apple sweet" :

'After confidings that should wed
Our souls in one: —Ah, call me brother!'
So feminine his passionate mood
Which, long as hungering unfed,
All else rejected or withstood.

The character of Vine in Clarel is a denominator. He has
"no trace of passion's soil," is shy and languid, has resisted
some "demon" of desire in his "Adam's secret frame"—
and shows "disuse of voice." Ahab's Pacific has shrunk to
Sodom lake.

The men are also physically flawed, and in mean ways,
as if it were Melville's personal revenge on flesh, not the
ways of gods and whales who mangled and branded Ahab
because he dared to match them in huge contest of
elemental force. In Clarel, Vine's double, Celio, is a
hump-back, a creature of "crook and lump." In The Con-
fidence-Man a Negro beggar crawls along the deck of the
Mississippi steamboat a cripple, Pip befouled. And the
end of them all, Billy or "Baby" Budd, the Latter-day
Ishmael, has a stutter. The stutter is the plot. Unable to
speak Billy strikes out with his fist and kills his accuser,
Claggart, the Master-At-Arms.

It all finally has to do with the throat, SPEECH. Jesus

* Both belong, along with the Chola Widow, to that short return,
after Pierre, to his source of power the Pacific, and the last throw it
gave him, from 1853 to 1855. It was the last, to those of us who find the
admiration for Billy Budd largely a technical one. Men do lose out.

Call me Ishmoel 105

unstrung him. The creator of Moby-Dick comes to value
the secretive and silent, what lack of love had made his
flesh. The American Elizabethan ends by agreeing with
a Maurice de Guerin:

There is more power and beauty in the well-kept
secret of one's self and one's thoughts than in the
display of a whole heaven that one may have inside
one.

Melville's comment, 1869:

This is the finest verbal statement of a truth which
everyone who thinks in these days must have felt.

In The Confidence-Man, when Melville used Christ him-
self directly as a character, he clothed him in white doe-
skin—and made him a MUTE.

THE EPILOGUE of the '56 Journal Off Cyprus, on
his way from the Holyland to Greece, Melville can no
more imagine a Venus to have risen from these waters
than "on Mt. Olivet that from there Christ rose."

In Moby-Dick, in his analysis of what is the hidden
nature of the Pacific he had compared its "gentle awful
stirrings" to the "fabled undulations of the Ephesian sod
over the buried Evangelist St. John." Now, off Patmos,
he can "no more realize that St. John had ever had revela-
tions here."

It is the denial. He has faced about, and goes West, to
suffer the balk the rest of his days on earth.

A LAST FACT

A LAST FACT

In the back pages of the second of the two notebooks
which go to make the Journal Up the Straits, among scat-
tered notes which can be identified as directions made by
Melville to himself for (1) stories he did not later write
but turned into verse, (2) for travel lectures he had to give
to help support his family the three years immediately fol-
lowing his return, and (3) for Clarel, you will find one
note unrelated to the others and untraceable to the
Journal or later work, a title, a noun (or another title)
and a name, as Melville set them down together, in a
triangle thus:

Eclipse.
Noah after the Flood. Cap. [tain] Pollard.

of iVan£.[ucket]

109

PART FIVE

Noah

for Constance

The conclusion: Pacific man

There was a story told before Christ of a fisherman of
Boeotia named Glaucus who found an herb to revive fish
as they lay gasping on shore. He ate it himself and was
changed into a sea thing, half fish half man. Melville told
Hawthorne he dated his life from his return from the
Pacific.

MOBY-DICK

CHAPTER CXI

The Pacific

When gliding by the Bashee isles we emerged at last
upon the great South Sea; were it not for other
things, I could have greeted my dear Pacific with un-
counted thanks, for now the long supplication of my

113

1 1 4 Call me Ishmoel

youth was answered; that serene ocean rolled east-
ward from me a thousand leagues of blue.

There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about
this sea

What the Pacific was to HM:

(1) an experience of SPACE most Americans are only
now entering on, 100 years after Melville. Of waters, as
Russia of land, the Pacific gives the sense of immensity.
She is HEART SEA, twin and rival of the HEART-
LAND.

The Pacific is, for an American, the Plains repeated, a
20th century Great West. Melville understood the relation
of the two geographies. A Texas painter settled in Brit-
tany and spent his life on canvases of French fishermen
and the Atlantic Ocean. But the paint, the motion, the
reality turned out to be the Plains. Each canvas was the
Panhandle seen through a screen of sea.

Space has a stubborn way of sticking to Americans,
penetrating all the way in, accompanying them. It is the
exterior fact. The basic exterior act is a BRIDGE. Take
them in order as they came: caravel, prairie schooner,
national road, railway, plane. Now in the Pacific THE
CARRIER. Trajectory. We must go over space, or we
wither.

Exception: the plane. It is a time experience, not of
space. Speed is its value. The vertical is still will. Flight
does not turn out to be the conquest Daedalus and Da
Vinci imagined it to be. We are (inevitably?), as humans,
Antaean: only in touch with the land and water of the
earth do we keep our WEIGHT, retain POTENTIAL.
Melville kept his by way of the Pacific.

(2) a comprehension of PAST, his marriage of spirit to
source. The Pacific turned out to be his Atlantis, the

Call me Ishmoel 115

buried place. The Pacific was "father," older than
America, "new-built Calif ornian towns," older than Asia,
and Abraham:

this mysterious, divine Pacific zones the world's
whole bulk about; makes all coasts one bay to it;
seems the tide-beating heart of earth. Lifted by these
eternal swells, you needs must own the seductive
god . . .

In Homer the god of genesis was "River Ocean." The
Greeks had a myth that Venus was born from the foam of
a tidal wave which swept the Aegean after the genitals of
Kronos, sickled off by his son, fell into the sea.

Ishmael had to go far down below Ahab's upper earth
to find out Ahab's father. Melville's voyage to the Pacific at
21 was a similar quest. The Pacific carried him, much as
it did the little Negro Pip, when he drowned, to "won-*
drous depths where strange shapes of the unwarped primal
world glided to and fro before his passive eyes.,, In Moby-
Dick Melville speaks of "ocean's utmost bones":

To have one's hands among the unspeakable foun-
dations, ribs, and very pelvis of the world; this is a
fearful thing.

In another place, the chapter the gilder, he is describing
the Pacific, and how land-like a calm of its waters can be,
when he bursts out:

Where is the foundling's father hidden? Our souls
are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die
in bearing them; the secret of our paternity lies in
their grave, and we must there to learn it.

In the deep, where Pip saw "God's foot on the treadle of
the loom," Melville found Ahab's "grim sire," and the

116 Call me Eshmael

State-secret. Pip came to the surface mad, Melville pos-
sessed of his imagination. The Pacific gave him the right
of primogeniture.

The Egyptians believed that Osiris, after he was muti-
lated by his son Seth, had to be buried in the Nile and
carried with the mud into the Mediterranean before he
could become King of Eternity, Lord of the Underworld,
and, his chief attribute, Ruler of the Dead. Noah was
Osiris to the Hebrews, and it can be said of him as the
Egyptians said: "This is the form of him whom one may
not name, Osiris of the mysteries, who springs from the
returning waters." In Mardi Melville wrote: "Who may
call to mind when he was not? To ourselves we all seem
coeval with creation. King Noah fathered us all!,, After
Pacific flood Melville took his dead to be all the fathers
and sons of man. The Pacific taught him how to repeat
great RITES, of spring. The unceasing ebb and flow took
him into a patrimony of Past:

And meet it is, that over these sea-pastures, wide-
rolling watery prairies and Potters* Fields of all four
continents, the waves should rise and fall; for here,
millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned
dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call
lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming still; tossing
like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves
but made so by their restlessness.

It was in meadows of brit he found his seed.

The Pacific was also:
(3) a confirmation of FUTURE. We think we measure the
significance of Columbus and his discoveries. We still fail
to calculate the consequence of Magellan's discovery of
the Pacific. 3000 years went overboard, and the gains are
still unaccomplished.

Call me Ishmael 117

First, the economic history. Up to the discoveries of the
15th century the Mediterranean remained the center of
the world. The basis of commerce was the spices and fine
goods of the Orient. It was a trade in luxuries, of high
value and small bulk because of limited transportation.
The spices varied and made palatable the coarse food of
the Middle Ages. The fine goods satisfied a need for com-
fort, a hunger for beauty, and a desire for display. Venice,
then Florence was metropolis.

Columbus operated on the theory: sail to the West and
the East will be found. He made the Atlantic the central
sea. The mercantilism of 1500-1800 followed. It was the
substitution of the Atlantic for the Mediterranean which
worked a revolution for England. She was at the center,
midway between the Baltic and the Mediterranean and
thrust out toward the New World.

With the Pacific opens the NEW HISTORY. Melville:
"It rolls the midmost waters of the world, the Indian
Ocean and the Atlantic but its arms." The movement into
it during the 19th century, of which Melville was a part,
makes the third great shift.

Melville felt the movement as American. He under-
stood that America completes her West only on the coast \
of Asia. He was a sea frontiersman like the whalers Fan-
ning, Delano and other outriders. He was a contemporary
in the Pacific of Commodore Charles Wilkes and the U.S.
Exploring Expedition, 1838-1842. Later, when Commo-
dore Perry wanted a writer to tell the story of the opening
of Japan, Hawthorne recommended Melville as the Pacific
man.

I said 3000 years went overboard in the Pacific. I was ^
going back to Homer. The evolution in the use of Ulysses
as hero parallels what has happened in economic history. -

Homer was an end of the myth world from which the
Mediterranean began. But in Ulysses he projected the

1 1 8 Call me Ishmael

archetype of the West to follow. It was the creative act of
anticipation.

Homer's world was locked tight in River Ocean which
circled it, in Anaximander's map, like a serpent with tail
in mouth. But in the Odyssey Ulysses is already pushing
against the limits, seeking a way out. Homer gave his hero
the central quality of the men to come: search, the indi-
vidual responsible to himself.

We forget that by 200 B.C. the scope of Western thought
had been more or less outlined. The Mediterranean world
was already born: the Athenians complain about the vul-
gar exchanges and busy wharves of Piraeus. Even the
range of action has been prospected: Plato has located
Atlantis outside Homer's terminus, the Pillars of Her-
cules.

By 1400, in Dante's hands Ulysses is again prospective.
He is already an Atlantic man. In the Inferno he speaks, a
Columbus, to his crew:

'O brothers!' I said, 'who through a hundred thou-
sand dangers have reached the West, deny not, to
this the brief vigil of your senses that remains, expe-
rience of the unpeopled world behind the sun.'

He bends the crew to his purpose, forces them West. They
drive through the Pillars, cross the Equator, and after five
months on the Atlantic find the New Land only to be
destroyed and drowned before they can touch on it.

At the end of the Paradisio, when from the seventh
sphere the earth is so small its features are obscured as
the moon's to us, Dante recognizes one spot on all its
surface—that entrance to the West, the Pillars. Dante's
last glance is on the threshold to that future Columbus
made possible.

The third and final odyssey was Ahab's. The Atlantic
crossed, the new land America known, the dream's death

Coll me Ishmoel 119

lay around the Horn, where West returned to East. The
Pacific is the end of the UNKNOWN which Homer's and
Dante's Ulysses opened men's eyes to. END of individual
responsible only to himself. Ahab is full stop.

Porphyry wrote that the generation of images in the
mind is from water.

The three great creations of Melville and Moby-Dick
are Ahab, The Pacific, and the White Whale.

The son of the father of Ocean was a prophet Proteus,
of the changing shape, who, to evade philistine Aristaeus
worried about bees, became first a fire, then a flood, and
last a wild sea beast.

PB-6555-1
5-37T

University of
Connecticut

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