Imaginary Friend talks like Evert Duyckinck

E. A. Duyckinck

Historians of the American West understandably have wanted nothing to do with Philip St George Cooke's imaginary prairie friend.  They don't know what to make of him so they mostly ignore him—even when relying on Scenes and Adventures in the Army for primary source material.  Well for one thing, the invented "Imaginary Friend" or "I.F.," christened "Frank" in the August 1852 installment of "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," is a literary device, serving to advance the aims of philosophical fiction through dialogue.  What John Wenke says of Melville's Mardi (1849) applies also to the ongoing dialogues and their function in "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" / Scenes and Adventures in the Army, Part II:

The philosophical dialogue is congenial to Melville's loose episodic structure, with the questers wrangling indefatigably over such issues as the soul's immortality, art, inspiration, Oro (God), right reason, preexistence, atavism, and practical ethics.  A dialogue often generates from a contrived incident or setting that offers a quickly displaced point of departure. (Melville's Muse, 48-49)

For another thing, the device of the Imaginary Friend allows the writer to present and respond to criticism of the narrative itself, seemingly as it is being written.  Criticism of the narrative by the Captain's Imaginary Friend sounds like Evert Duyckinck, then editor of the New York Literary World, criticizing

the "painful contradictions" of Ishmael in Moby-Dick:  in subsequently deleted lines the imaginary friend claims to have the Captain "fairly pinned in contradiction" (August 1852)

and

Melville's aesthetic disregard in Pierre for "truth and nature":  when the Captain defensively explains that to please his imaginary friend (Frank), he added some poetry "most naturally and truly" (August 1853)

In May 1852 (before "Frank" got his name, when he was still called "I. F") appears the following exchange:

I.F. "Ah! gazing at the stars? The three mortal hours we passed on the verge of the table land, whilst the guide sought a clew to this strange labyrinth of hills, or mountains—"

C. "And found it, much thanks to the buffalo, and the aid of their paths—"

I. F. "Were enough, with an empty stomach, to evaporate an ocean of romance."

C. "Considering, too, how dry it was; we had not drank for thirteen hours."

I.F. "Considering, too, you slipped off alone to the island yesterday, and 'fell asleep;' but as I verily believe, only dreamed; for, in our silent ride to overtake the regiment, you were still rapt, past all observation."

I. F associates the image of diminishing romance, a disappearing "ocean of romance," with the effects of "an empty stomach."  As it happens, Evert Duyckinck is on record talking exactly that way after an 1848 excursion with Herman Melville:

I was out the other day to Fort Lee with Melville—a grand picnicking day.  The first lady & gentleman we came upon were in front of a table cloth spread on a rock and covered with hams, sardines, &c, affectionately mouthing to each other, the Lady of Lyons.  They had just reached the 'magnificent' Tale of Como hostage [passage,surely] "Dont [Do'st] like the picture lady?"  A remark she let fall that champagne didn't inhale on an empty stomach distressed the romance or whatever it was. 
(Evert Duyckinck to William A. Jones, July 28, 1848, quoted here from Jay Leyda's The Melville Log, 279)

"Whatever it was"?  That's E. A. D. for you. And I. F. / Frank, too:

F.  "Come now, no romance; you must tell how that was done."  (September 1852)

 If you ask me, that's a fine passage to read aloud with your lover!  . 

Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer
     Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower
     Of coolest foliage musical with birds,
     Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon
     We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder
     Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens
     Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends
     That were not lovers; no ambition, save
     To excel them all in love; we'd read no books
     That were not tales of love—that we might smile
     To think how poorly eloquence of words
     Translates the poetry of hearts like ours!
     And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens
     We'd guess what star should be our home when love
     Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light
     Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps,
     And every air was heavy with the sighs
     Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes,
     And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth
     I' the midst of roses!—Dost thou like the picture?

     Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang
     Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue!
     Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly,
     Who would not love thee like Pauline?