Friday, August 26, 2011

a little rock music


What happened was, Sarah Morewood hid a music box at Balance Rock, astonishing her fellow picnickers--one of whom was Herman Melville. Sarah Morewood, who loved to devise magical entertainments for her friends, is the "cunning priestess" and "wood nymph" of Godfrey Greylock's account in Taghconic; the Romance and Beauty of the Hills, quoted below from the 1879 edition because I like the quote from Comus which the 1852 first edition lacks:
I have since heard the story of the merry hour when " Memnon" was inscribed by a hand which has written many a witty and clever volume. Indeed, indeed there must have been a deal of witchery in the cunning priestess who made that stern old rock breathe such mysterious and enchanting music.
"Can any mortal creature of earth's mould
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ?" [Milton, Comus lines 244-5]
I should think not. Was it a wood-nymph then with her music box!  Was there ever anything in that broken champagne bottle at the foot of the sphynx ?  And do wood-nymphs drink champagne ?  This grove is very questionable and full of marvels.

When we had clambered with a world of pains on to the top of the rock, we, too, had music — merry and sad — "music at the twilight hour."  Then, as the evening shades deepened in the wood came low spoken words of memory and of longing for those far away.
In Reading Melville's Pierre (LSU Press, 2007) Brian Higgins and Hershel Parker date the episode to the fall of 1851, probably September 26, 1851.

Well OK then.  See what happens to the Captain of U. S. Dragoons, reclining on a rock (with a lake in the background!), in the next-to-last installment of "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," Southern Literary Messenger 17 (May 1853), 313:
July 25th.—Last night I was moody and sleepless, and so witnessed several sublime and beautiful changes of weather and sky; such as, indeed, many scarcely notice, and few in houses observe,—as in cities and towns they rarely can; and they were accompanied by an incident, as startling as delightful, in my ignorance that there existed in the camp any means to produce it.

The labours of the day, the duties of the evening, all over, sleep had followed, as the labourer's luxury:  lights had gone out; the little fires sunk and paled; sounds gradually died away; the tents gleamed strangely in the moonlit solitude. I would have taken refuge from my thoughts in sleep; but sleep often flies us when most invoked.

At last I wandered forth alone, and ascended the mount.

The moon, not yet full, was high in heaven; the deep shadow of the pines slept on the grassy mountain top; the little lake below brightly mirrored the glittering sky; now and then came deep breaths of air,—like sighs from the gentle heart of Night. Long I reclined motionless upon a rock: I was alone—there was no sight or sound of past or present life—but had no sense of loneliness; for the soul felt not a motive, and the heart seemed dead. Vain were the silent appeals of beauty; —vain even the solemn dirge-notes of the pine forests.

At last I gave a deep, involuntary sigh. Just then, O strange, upon the mountain top! —as if in answer, came, gently stealing on the air, a strain of soft music. This Heaven-bestowed key to all hearts, and to all moods, aroused in me some of that life which silence and solitude so profound had absorbed. It was like an exquisite dream closely following the last weary and oblivious sense.

But soon, the music changed; and, stranger then and there, to a sweet waltz!

Then swiftly awoke Memory, to make it an echo of the Past; and vigilant, prisoned  Hope stole forth trembling, like the moonbeam on the little lake.
Something made the music.  The Captain hints as much in the original magazine version, when he explains his surprise as mainly resulting from his lack of information:
"in my ignorance that there existed in the camp any means to produce it."

Meaning his ignorance that somebody brought a music box?  This important confession of ignorance does not appear in the corresponding passage in the later book version, Scenes and Adventures in the Army (Philadelphia, 1857).  Wow!  Comparing versions I just realized the significance of another alteration to the text as originally printed in the May 1853 Southern Literary Messenger.  In the original magazine version, the music is "a sweet waltz."  Or rather, the music starts one way then changes "to a sweet waltz."

But why transform the waltz into the vaguer "joyous air" for the book version?  Same reason you cut the reference to some real, tangible "means to produce" the music.  Taken together, both references, to practical "means" of making music, and to the specific type of music produced, "a sweet waltz," evoke the likeliest mechanism for producing waltzes in the wilderness...

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Strong Coffee


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)...

"Scenes Beyond the Western Border," Southern Literary Messenger 19 (March 1853): 157 
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?"

References to nerves and strong coffee were deleted in revision of this passage for the 1857 book,
Scenes and Adventures in the Army.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Ah, Byron


White-Jacket
And was not Byron a sailor? an amateur forecastle-man, White-Jacket, so he was; else how bid the ocean heave and fall in that grand, majestic way?
 Letter to Thomas Melville, 25 May 1862
You remember what the Bible [Byron's Don Juan] says...
Annotation by Herman Melville in Don Juan:
This is excellent—the poetical abandonment of good-humored devil-may-care.  Byron is a better man in Don Juan than in his serious poems.
[As quoted in Edward Fiess, "Melville as a Reader and Student of Byron," American Literature 24.2 (May 1952): 186-194 at 193.]

 "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," Southern Literary Messenger 17 (September 1851): 569 / Scenes and Adventures in the Army, 569.
Strange, indeed, that of ten young officers, not one brought a Don Juan into the wilderness. Is it possible that already the torrent of steam literature has cast Byron into the drift?  How many verses of the sublime, of the beautiful,— of love, of hate, of joy and grief, of pathos and most comic bathos, does that name bring crowding on my memory.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Where's Bacchus?


Herman Melville, To Daniel Shepherd (1859):
Now, is it for oft cursing gold,
   For lucre vile,
The Hags do thus from me withhold
   Sweet Bacchus' smile?

Scenes Beyond the Western Border by A Captain of U. S. Dragoons (June 1851):
Here Venus never smiles; nor Bacchus grins....
Southern Literary Messenger 17 (June 1851): 372 ; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army (1857).

Saturday, July 16, 2011

but in degree



Mardi
Other worlds differ not much from this, but in degree.

Scenes and Adventures in the Army, 316
Human intelligences, emanations from Divinity, and partakers of God's nature, can differ in myriad worlds but in degree...

Thursday, July 14, 2011

instinct = prejudice

Babbalanja the wandering philosopher in Herman Melville's Mardi: And a Voyage Thither (1849):
"Our very instincts are prejudices," saith Alla Mallolla....



"Scenes Beyond the Western Border" in the Southern Literary Messenger Volume 18, July 1852, page 415; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army (1857 and 1859) page 341.
... a kind of prejudice or instinct—often the same thing—

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Books and Brains


But I don’t know but a book in a brain is better off than a book bound in calf—at any rate it is safer from criticism. And taking a book off the brain, is akin to the ticklish & dangerous business of taking an old painting off a panel—you have to scrape off the whole brain in order to get at it with due safety—& even then, the painting may not be worth the trouble.
-- Herman Melville, letter to Evert A. Duyckinck on December 13, 1850; collected in the 1993 Northwestern-Newberry Edition of Melville's Correspondence, edited by Lynn Horth page 174.

* * * 

C.—" 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 BorderSouthern Literary Messenger 19 (August 1853) page 461; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army page 426.