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https://melvilliana.blogspot.com/2022/01/sunday-dispatch-super-friendly-notices.html
the New York Sunday Dispatch highly commended Herman Melville's first two books. The Dispatch praised Typee as "beautiful and fascinating, and best of all, truthful"; and loved Omoo even more for its "spontaneous genial mirth." Mardi: and a Voyage Thither, not so much.
In a word,
"Faugh!"
From the Sunday Dispatch of April 22, 1849; found on GenealogyBank among digitized pages added within the past week. Also accessible via the Library of Congress, Chronicling America.
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| New York Sunday Dispatch - April 22, 1849 via GenealogyBank |
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| New York Sunday Dispatch - April 22, 1849 via GenealogyBank |
New Books.
MARDI AND A VOYAGE THITHER.— By HERMAN MELVILLE.Two Volumes. New York, Harper & Brothers.
Mr. Herman Melville is the most frank and obliging author of these latter days. He tells his readers at the outset, this is fact: this fiction. The most extraordinary yarn ever spun by an "old salt" to credulous mariners was Typee. That was Mr. Melville's first book and one of his facts. The second book, equally strange and improbable, but also a fact, was Omoo. Both these books took wonderfully well. The London critics said that there was a freshness about them which was delightful. We don't deny that for an old salt, Mr. Melville was and is marvelously fresh. The third work, that before us, Mr. Melville admits to be fiction. We are much obliged to him for saving us the trouble of proving it so. We have not read ten pages before we were entirely satisfied on that point.
Fancy, if you please, a sailor spinning off a yarn to a gaping crowd of green horns, after this fashion. I, Melville, and my shipmate Jarl, on board of an old tub of a whaler got tired of "chassezing across the Line, to and fro in search of prey"—worse and worse when the old man finding no luck, resolved to bob for the right whale on the northwest coast. Could'nt stand it, concluded to leave the ship. Got our traps in readiness, put in our stock of water and provisions, and one quiet night, the ship under sail, lowered one of the whale boats, cut the slings and were off, for Mardi. Lots of adventures. Fell in with a Sandwich Island craft—two persons on board—man and wife. More incident. Gale—craft goes down, wife lost. Take again to the whale boat—three persons in all—Melville, Jarl and Samoa. Put for Mardi. On the way fall in with a native canoe, an old man, a priest, on board, with his sons, and a beautiful white girl, who is to be sacrificed to the Mardi gods. Kill the old man, rescue the girl, with whom Melville falls in love (fact or fiction you must throw in a petticoat) and put for Mardi. Approaching one of the Islands of the group, the natives pull up their canoes and run into the grove. Melville dispatches Jarl and the Sandwich Islander to open communications with the natives and meanwhile lays off at safe distance from the shore, he and the beautiful girl Yillah. After a little time Jarl and Samoa come to the shore followed by the natives. Jarl calls to Melville to land without fear, that he has humbugged the natives into the belief that Melville is a god. Of course the runaway sailor pulls in, but ere his craft has touched ground, the natives rush into the water, lift the boat in their brawny arms, and bear it into the grove, where it finds a resting place "in a couple of twin-like trees some four paces apart and a little way from the ground conveniently crotched." Samoa the rascally Kanaka, now calls upon Melville to announce himself as the god Taji, and Melville, nothing loth, thereupon commences his speech. We quote:— [extract that follows is from the first volume of Mardi chapter 54, A Gentleman from the Sun]
Plucking up heart of grace, I crossed my cutlass on my chest, and reposing my hand on the hilt, addressed their High Mightinesses thus: “Men of Mardi, I come from the sun. When this morning it rose and touched the wave, I pushed my shallop from its golden beach, and hither sailed before its level rays. I am Taji."
More would have been added, but I paused for the effect of my exordium.
Stepping back a pace or two, the chiefs eagerly conversed.
Emboldened, I returned to the charge, and labored hard to impress them with just such impressions of me and mine, as I deemed desirable. The gentle Yillah was a seraph from the sun; Samoa I had picked off a reef in my route from that orb; and as for the Shyeman [Skyeman], why, as his name imported, he came from above. In a word, we were all strolling divinities.
Advancing toward the Chamois, one of the kings, a calm old man, now addressed me as follows:— "Is this indeed Taji? he who according to a tradition, was to return to us after five thousand moons? But that period is yet unexpired. What bring'st thou hither, then, Taji, before thy time? Thou wast but a quarrelsome demi-god, say the legends, when thou dwelt among our sires. But wherefore comest thou, Taji? Truly thou wilt interfere with the worship of thy images, and we have plenty of gods besides thee. But comest thou to fight? We have plenty of spears, and desire not thine. Comest thou to dwell? Small are the houses of Mardi. Or comest thou to fish in the sea? Tell us, Taji.”'
Now, all this was a series of posers, hard to be answered; furnishing a curious example, moreover, of the reception given to strange demi-gods when they travel without their portmanteaus; and also of the familiar manner in which these kings address the immortals. Much I mourned that I had not previously studied better my part, and learned the precise nature of my previous existence in the land.
But nothing like carrying it bravely.
“ Attend. Taji comes, old man, because it pleases him to come. And Taji will depart when it suits him. Ask the shades of your sires whether Taji thus scurvily greeted them, when they came stalking into his presence in the land of spirits. No. Taji spread the banquet. He removed their mantles. He kindled a fire to drive away the damp. He said not, 'Come you to fight, you fogs and vapors? come you to dwell? or come you to fish in the sea?' Go to, then, kings of Mardi !"
Upon this, the old king fell back; and his place was supplied by a noble chief, of a free, frank bearing. Advancing quickly toward the boat, he exclaimed— “I am Media, the son of Media. Thrice welcome, Taji. On my island of Odo hadst thou an altar. I claim thee for my guest.” He then reminded the rest that the strangers had voyaged far, and needed repose. And, furthermore, that he proposed escorting them forthwith to his own dominions; where, next day, he would be happy to welcome all visitants.
And good as his word, he commanded his followers to range themselves under the Chamois. Springing out of our prow, the Upoluan was followed by Jarl; leaving Yillah and Taji to be borne therein toward the sea.
Soon we were once more afloat; by our side, Media sociably seated; six of the paddlers, perche[d] upon the gunwale, swiftly urging us over the lagoon.
The transition from the grove to the sea was instantaneous. All seemed a dream.
The place to which we were hastening, being some distance away, as we rounded isle after isle, the extent of the Archipelago grew upon us greatly."
We have now got as far as the 199th page of the first volume. The remainder of the work is a stupid imitation of Voltaire's "Candid," Johnson's "Rasselass," and Swift's "Gulliver." Mr. Melville can spin a very good yarn—but as philosopher or satirist—faugh!
-- New York Sunday Dispatch, April 22, 1849.
<https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83030362/1849-04-22/ed-1/seq-1/>
Related post:
- Sunday Dispatch, super friendly notices of Typee and Omoo
https://melvilliana.blogspot.com/2022/01/sunday-dispatch-super-friendly-notices.html
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