Herman Melville, Mariner and Mystic

by Raymond M. Weaver

Under the date of April 3, 1846—two days after the appearance in England of Part II of Typee, Gansevoort wrote Melville the following letter—the last letter, it appears, he ever wrote:

“My Dear Herman:

“Herewith you have copy of the arrangement with Wiley & Putnam for the publication in the U. S. of your work on the Marquesas. The letter of W. & P. under date of Jan. 13th is the result of a previous understanding between Mr. Putnam and myself. As the correspondence speaks for itself, it is quite unnecessary to add any comment. By the steamer of to-morrow I send to your address several newspaper comments and critiques of your book. The one in the Sun was written by a gentleman who is very friendly to myself, and who may possibly for that reason have made it unusually eulogistic.

“Yours of Feb. 28 was rec’d a few days ago by the daily packet from Joshua Bates. I am happy to learn by it that the previous intelligence transmitted by me was ‘gratifying enough.’ I am glad that you continue busy, and on my next or the after that will venture to make some suggestions about your next book. In a former letter you informed me that Allan had sent you $100 home, the fruit of my collection. (I refer to the money sent at your request). It appears that this was not so, for Allan informs me that the $100 was part of the £90 s 10—making £100 which I sent out by the Jan. 2 Steamer. Allan seems to find it entirely too much trouble to send me the monthly accounts of receipts and disbursements. I have received no accounts from him later than up to Nov. 30th and consequently am in a state of almost entire ignorance as to what is transpiring at No. 10, Wall Street. This is very unthinking in him, for my thoughts are so much at home that much of my time is spent in disquieting apprehensions as to matters & things there. I continue to live within my income, but to do so am forced to live a life of daily self-denial. I do not find my health improved by the sedentary life I have to lead here. The climate is too damp & moist for me. I sometimes fear I am gradually breaking up. If it be so—let it be—God’s will be done. I have already seen about as much of London society as I care to see. It is becoming a toil to me to make the exertion necessary to dress to go out, and I am now leading a life really as quiet as your own in Lansingburg.—I think I am growing phlegmatic and cold. Man stirs me not, nor women either. My circulation is languid. My brain is dull. I neither seek to win pleasure or avoid pain. A degree of insensibility has been long stealing over me, & now seems completely established, which, to my understanding, is more akin to death than life. Selfishly speaking, I never valued life very much—it were impossible to value it less than I do now. The only personal desire I now have is to be out of debt. That desire waxes stronger within me as others fade. In consideration of the little egotism which my previous letters to you have contained, I hope that mother, brothers & sister will pardon this babbling about myself.

“Tom’s matter has not been forgotten. You say there is a subject, etc., etc., ‘on which I intended to write but will defer it.’ What do you allude to? I am careful to procure all the critical notices of Typee which appear & transmit them to you. The steamer which left Boston on the 1st inst. will bring me tidings from the U. S. as to the success of Typee there. I am, with love and kisses to all,

“Affectionately, Your brother,
“Gansevoort Melville.”

With this letter, Gansevoort enclosed fourteen lines from Act III, Scene I of Measure for Measure, beginning “Ah, but to die.” On May 12, he was dead. His countrymen celebrated his decease. The Wisconsin, a newspaper published in Milwaukee, for example, published, on July 1, a florid tribute to his memory, declaring him “dear to the people of the West.” “And though he died young in years,” the Wisconsin goes on to say, “for genius, thrilling eloquence and enlarged patriotism, he was known to the people from Maine to Louisiana.”

But already had Melville achieved a wider, if less beatified, reputation. The notice that Typee attracted extended considerably beyond either Maine or Louisiana. And its success was none the less brilliant because it was in part a succes de scandal. Christendom has progressed since 1846, and Typee has, for present-day readers, lost its charm of indelicacy. Yet, despite the violation of the proprieties of which Melville was accused, Longfellow records in his journal for July 29, 1846: “In the evening we finished the first volume of Typee, a curious and interesting book with glowing descriptions of life in the Marquesas.” There is no indication that even Longfellow found it discreet to omit any passages as he read Typee to his family before the fire. It is to be remembered, however, that in 1851 the Scarlet Letter was attacked as being nothing but a deliberate attempt to attract readers by pandering to the basest taste: “Is the French era actually begun in our literature?” a shocked reviewer asked.