strong coffee, again

Update!  First posted here last year, now re-posting to add another parallel from Melville's writings, one that explicitly links strong coffee and nerves:

"But he [Harry Bolton] could not be induced to try it over again; the fact was, his nerves could not stand it; in the course of his courtly career, he had drunk too much strong Mocha coffee and gunpowder tea, and had smoked altogether too many Havannas." --Redburn: His First Voyage

Herman Melville, 1849 journal entry:

I impute the nightmare to a cup of prodigiously strong coffee...

 Herman Melville, Letter to Catherine Gansevoort Lansing (12 August 1878):

After two prodigious bumpers of coffee at the depot (from the effect of which I have hardly yet recovered)...

F.—"...The day should commence with the morning, and the brighter the better; not with the nightmare of a sleeper, who should have watched." 

C.—"Perhaps a nervous fit—from your strong coffee?"

--"Scenes Beyond the Western Border" in Southern Literary Messenger 19 - March 1853, 157

References to nerves and strong coffee were deleted in revision of this passage for the 1857 book, Scenes and Adventures in the Army. In the 1857 book version, the narrator's imaginary traveling companion (formerly named "Frank") is called "Friend."

really wants to converse

There was no one with whom I could freely converse; no one to whom I could communicate my thoughts; no one who could sympathize with my sufferings. (Typee)

"They Converse of the Mollusca, Kings, Toad-stools and other Matter"  (Mardi)

Have tried to read, but found it hard work. However, there are some very pleasant passengers on board, with whom to converse.  (1849 Journal)

More familiarly to consort, men of a practical turn must sympathetically converse, and upon topics of real life.  (“John Marr” prose headnote)

 and here as a noun, but again the theme of wanting (though usually not getting) a good conversation:

In this line of reading he found confirmation of his own more reasoned thoughts--confirmation which he had vainly sought in social converse….  (BillyBudd)

Oh reader! "gentle" or not,—I care not a whit,—so you are honest—I will tell you a secret. I write not to be read, and I swear never even to transcribe for your benefit, unless I change my mind. All I want is a good listener; I want to converse with you; and if you are absolutely dumb, why I will sometimes answer for you.   

(opening lines of first installment of "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," Southern Literary Messenger vol. 17, June 1851, 372; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army, Part II.)

the sacrifice of a goat

The unique italicized headnote for the March 1853 installment of "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" bills one episode therein as "Cub, a tragedy in three acts."  Cub is so rhetorically loaded and so stylistically over the top for a hard-bitten Captain of U. S. Dragoons, you have to wonder what all the fuss is about.  As suggested here, the mockudrama of the "imprisoned hero" makes the poor grizzly cub into another (like Bartleby) of Melville's Prisoners, and to one "future reader" (yours truly) reads like Herman Melville's seriocomic reply to criticism of his last novel (Pierre, 1852) in the New York Herald.

Now I notice too, how the Captain knows about the supposed origins of classical tragedy in "the sacrifice of a goat":

In crossing the Platte this morning, the grizzly bear cub came on the scene in his final act.

It will be remembered by the patient and attentive future reader of this dry and methodical narrative, that its first appearance on any stage, was in "high" tragedy—that the first act embraced an unusual amount of sanguinary incident—that an innocent brother, (or sister,) being ruthlessly slain, and the baffled lady-mother left (unceremoniously) full of towering and demonstrative rage,— the imprisoned hero himself sank overwhelmed.—or in a well-acted counterfeit of death, (and was borne off, remember, on a "real" horse.) That in the next act, (and three acts shall do for the tragedy of my bear,—originally they had but one,—but that was at the sacrifice of a goat,) he came to life in a manner that might very well have been criticised as an overdone piece of stage-effect,—but that in fact, the spectators were much moved, and gave full credit to the dangerous passion of his howl....  (March 1853)

 One place you can find the history of Greek tragedy traced to "the sacrifice of a goat" is in John S. Harford's "Essay on the Grecian Drama," reprinted as an introduction to Aeschylus, translated by R. Potter (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1839).  As nicely documented over at Melville's Marginalia Online, on March 19, 1849 Melville bought his own copy of Aeschylus from the Harpers, his publishers.  Very early in the "Essay on Grecian Drama" (the second page in my 1839 edition of Aeschylus), Harford writes:

In all countries where the worship of Bacchus prevailed, it was strongly tinctured by that spirit of licentiousness and sensuality which more or less disgraced the rites of paganism; and in this respect the refined Greeks differed little from neighbouring and less polished nations.
The sacrifice of a goat to Bacchus, which formed a part of the ceremonial, is said to have given birth to the term "tragedy," τραγῳδία, signifying the goat-song. 
--Harford essay in Potter's Aeschylus

theorists and their popularity

Orville Dewey (1794-1882)
Unitarian minister, lecturer on "The Problem of Human Destiny"

"The mass of Mardians do not believe because they know, but because they know not. And they are as ready to receive one thing as another, if it comes from a canonical source…. I sometimes fancy, that our theorists divert themselves with the greediness of Mardians to believe.” (Mardi)

C.  "But even science is at fault—philosophy at a discount. The public mind is occupied with the theorism of demagogues and infidels, who, abandoning themselves to licentious speculations on human destiny, attract multitudes of fanatical followers, whose minds they bewilder, and whose morals they debase." (June 1852; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army)

I fancy

"Well, well, — I wrote what pleased myself; and, — another object I have, which I did not mention: with scarce a book to read, if one did not write,
I fancy the beef and pork and beans would in time form a coating round his brain; — turn it all perhaps to thick and solid skull! How is it with you, Frank? Does yours retain a slight softness?"  

"Scenes Beyond the Western Border," August 1853; and (with "Frank" revised to "my Friend") Scenes and Adventures in the Army

  "I fancy that this moment Shakspeare in heaven ranks with Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael." (Letter to Evert Duyckinck, February 1849)

"By the way, I have recently read his 'Twice Told Tales' (I hadn't read but a few of them before). I think they far exceed the 'Mosses.' They are,
I fancy, an earlier vintage from his vine. Some of those sketches are wonderfully subtle. Their deeper meanings are worthy of a Brahmin.  Still there is something lacking—a good deal lacking—to the plump sphericity of the man. What is that? — He does'nt patronise the butcher—he needs roast-beef, done rare."  (Letter to Evert Duyckinck, February 1851)

“There are times when I fancy myself a lunatic,” resumed Babbalanja.

“Ah, now he’s beginning to talk sense,” whispered Mohi.  (Mardi)

fates and functionaries, 1851

But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer than anyone else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:

"Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States.
"WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL.
"BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN."

Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage....  Moby-Dick (1851)

1st English edition published by Richard Bentley on October 18, 1851
1st American edition published by Harper & Brothers on November 14, 1851

"Here, indeed, the imagery brings up one of the major theme of Moby-Dick.   In most general terms the theme may be defined as the problem of free will, of responsibility for one's actions....it appeared under the loosely equivalent image or concept of "the Fates" and "Providence," with supplementary allusion to an "invisible police officer of the Fates," who is evidently a sort of special daemon or supervisory angel put into modern dress and so comically demeaned as a petty official who 'dogs' one."  (Harrison Hayford)

"There has been a change; Destiny has new shuffled the cards of our small fates; they had been stocked by some attendant imp, who was leading us (and tickling us the while with exciting chimeras) to the D—."

I. F.  "Nay, Friend, I belong to earth—from thy flight descend not lower: as your old fashioned friend, I feel interested in your surface wanderings; but let your double-refined poetry and romance go 'to the D—.'"

"I submit. But the Reality I think is too darkly, coldly real, the earth very earthy; but, to please you, mark—I now attempt a lower level."

 "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," Southern Literary Messenger (December 1851)

Don't forget,  I. F. stands for "Imaginary Friend."

high tragedies

Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces- though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment. (Moby-Dick)

It will be remembered by the patient and attentive future reader of this dry and methodical narrative, that its first appearance on any stage, was in "high" tragedy—

"Scenes Beyond the Western Border" (March 1853); and
Scenes and Adventures in the Army

This concern for the genre of high tragedy comes of reading Shakespeare, and Aeschylus. On the mock "Tragedy of the Cub" (1853) as a reply to the mean and nasty review of Pierre (1852) in the New York Herald, see "dumb beasts prefer death to slavery," here.

Poetry by Mattie Griffith, Recited by A Captain of U. S. Dragoons

One of the most astounding passages in "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" appears in the last installment
(August 1853), when the homeward-bound "Captain of U. S. Dragoons" breaks into poetry:

Well!—I have long been a wanderer, and I rather like it.

Yes! it has its pleasures.

It is easy to turn aside to perfect solitude, when—

"the twilight soft comes stealing on,
With its one star,—the star of Memory,
Pale,—pale,—but very beautiful!"

A gentle air rustles the grass or leaves; the running waters too, give music: and then, they seem the voices of gentle spirits, which may in this hour of calm and loveliness awake to Eden memories. As sometimes suddenly, the innocent prattle of children falls as music on the mother's ears,— banishing happily, vexing cares,—so, nature now seems soothed, and harmony reigns.

And as the mother, first musing in loving mood, then timidly questioning her happiness; — so too, to the eloquence of this sweet hour, my heart first beats a pleased response; and then, in reverie, my soul wanders over spare and time, until all sense is wrapt, in a thought,—a memory.

Then ever I awake with a convulsive sigh, which comes unbidden—like an echo. 'Tis the answer to the summons of the REAL.

The mortal sound has banished the happy whispering spirits; I am recalled mayhap to find the tone, the colouring, the vitality of the scene all gone: 'tis a dismal prairie now. It is dark; the winds are hoarse.

And so we wear on—like all the world. Often in the broad field of labour and care, which in prospect was all barren, we find that Heaven has provided for us little flowery valleys of rest, where our souls are strengthened and our hearts refreshed. 
("Scenes Beyond the Western Border," August 1853); and
Scenes and Adventures in the Army

The "little vein" (as the Captain calls it subsequently in dialogue with his critical friend "Frank") of poetry is mined from Poems by Mattie Griffith (New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1852).  Weirdly enough in view of the new prairie setting, the quoted lines come from Griffith's poem of spurned affection,  "Thou Lovest Me No More." 

Harvard has Charles Sumner's copy of Mattie Griffith's Poems, digitized by Google Books in January 2009.  The review of Griffith's Poems in the New York Literary World (October 30, 1852) points out that many of the poems were first published in the Louisville Journal.  For more on Mattie or Martha Griffith Browne, check out
American National Biography Online
and the entry by William L Andrews at Documenting the American South

One cool chick for sure, but what is she (not to mention the jilted speaker from "Thou Lovest Me No More") doing on the prairie?

Agathon and Plato's Banquet on the Prairie

In the prairie dialogue from March 1853, "lover of antithesis" has long perplexed me.  Now, aha! I find this very attribute assigned to the Greek dramatist and poet Agathon in the first volume of Bayle's Dictionary:

AGATHON, a Tragic and Comic Poet [A] Disciple of Prodicus (a), and Socrates (b), is greatly celebrated for his Beauty in Plato's Dialogue (c), in which he is farther commended for his Good Nature (d)....The Pieces of This Poet were so full of Antitheses, that he replyed one day to a Person, who was for expunging them, You are not aware, that you rob Agathon of himself (k). (Bayle)

UDAPTE 1:  Merton M. Sealts, Jr. ranks Bayle's Dictionary as "the most important secondary source of Melville's knowledge of ancient thought" ("Melville and the Philosophers" in Pursuing Melville).  In 1849, in Boston, Melville bought a set of his own. 

In Bayle the phrase "lover of antithesis" occurs when quoting from the (incorrect, according to Bayle)  Dictionary of Charles Stephens, thus:

 "Agatho, the Pythagorean Philosopber, a great Lover of Antithesis..."

Agathon is the host at Plato's Banquet (Symposium) and delivers one of the panegyrics on Love.  Famed for his own personal beauty, Agathon among other things "makes Eros beautiful and a lover of beauty."  (R. E. Allen)

From The Theatre of the Greeks  (Cambridge, 1830):

With Euripides, as far as we are concerned, the History of ancient Tragedy comes to an end, though there were many more recent Tragedians, for instance, Agathon, whom Aristophanes describes to us as perfumed all over, and crowned with flowers, and into whose mouth Plato, in his Symposion, puts a speech in the taste of the sophist Gorgias, full of the most exquisite elegancies and unmeaning antitheses. He was the first that forsook Mythology, as the natural material of the drama, and sometimes wrote tragedies with purely fictitious names, (this is to be noticed as forming a transition to the newer Comedy) one of which was called the Flower, and probably, therefore, was neither seriously touching, nor terrible, but of an idyllic and pleasing character.

UPDATE 2: Again as shown by Sealts, the remark about hugging "ugly Socrates" in Melville's November 1851 letter to Hawthorne makes for "an unmistakable allusion to the Symposium, or Banquet," supplying "clear evidence that Melville was reading Plato in Pittsfield."  ("Melville and the Platonic Tradition")  More recently, Beverly R. Voloshin finely considers the importance of Plato's Banquet for Melville in her 2011 Leviathan article, "Parables of Creation:  Hawthorne, Melville, and Plato's Banquet."

Back on the prairie,
The Captain's expressed pity for one who escapes suffering ("pitiable exempt from love's misery") makes for an antithesis or paradox worthy of Agathon.  The Captain's antithetical style reminds Frank of Agathon; his themes of beauty and love allusively recall the philosophical talk at Plato's Banquet.

F.—"Now, listen to the song of that bird; it will soothe your nerves."

C.—"Nerves! It is medicine to the mind!—it comes like a message of love!"

F.—"Nay, there, we have agreed to disagree."

C.—"Thou pitiable exempt from love's misery, thou believest in beauty?"

F.—"Yes, thou unintelligible lover of antithesis, (not to say plagiarism.)"

C.—"Is any thing so beautiful as unbounded faith?"

F.—"Listen! that's 'to horse.'"

C.—"Answer me then!"

F.—"Pshaw !—Of course it's beautiful; or rather, sublime."

C.—"It is the very attribute of human love!"

July 8th.—Those who lack faith that the above was dreamed, spoken and scribbled, as described, lack, too, experience of the human mind, and prairie or desert influences and feelings.

"Scenes Beyond the Western Border," March 1853 and (revised)
Scenes and Adventures in the Army