This second installment is going to be by far the longest entry in this project, or on this site, ever. Oops, in fact, it was too long for the site’s software to handle, if you can believe that, so I’ve had to split it into two parts.
This is NOT, I repeat, NOT an essay or review or “blog entry,” so for god’s sake, please don’t try to read this if you’re not actually reading along in Moby-Dick!
Which you might as well do, ’cause why not, right?
Just a note about what I’ve gotten myself into here – I actually forgot, when I began this whole effort a couple weeks ago, that Moby-Dick was going to start with the following trial by fire for the Look-It-Up Club. Since my game plan is to only continue when I actually know what I’ve read, that necessitated tracking down each snippet. But it’s actually been a lot of fun getting to know all these “extracts.” I’d like to think that that fun is at least partially made available, below, to anyone who is actually reading along with me. However, I know that in such things, the process is its own reward, and what follows is mostly just a byproduct of my personal process. On the other hand, if someone had given me the following, prior to my reading this section, I would have been very glad to have it. So hopefully it can be worth something to somebody.
Now, I don’t actually think that Melville intended his readers to recognize (or god forbid track down) all his extracts. In fact I think the intended effect is supposed to be of inassimilable, incoherent overabundance. Semi-humorous but also a sort of clearing of the palate – like repeating a word over and over until it loses meaning to the ear. Also a sort of absurdist cetocentric human history, bringing us from the Creation all the way up into the salty American milieu of the novel with everyone ever and only talking about whales. Basically, I see it as similar in purpose and effect to the preceding Etymology, but more involved and, obviously, broader in scope.
I do, however, think that Melville expected a suitably educated reader to recognize many of these sources by their titles and authors, at least in a general way. The quotes may be meant to seem whimsically esoteric, but I think we as readers are expected to immediately make sense of the citations themselves. Well, maybe not all of them; some things here are really unavoidably obscure. But I certainly don’t think the impression of obscurity would have been so forceful for Melville’s intended reader, and in any case, you get to answer these questions for yourself: the notes (and links) below allow you to role-play a reader at a level of learnedness of your choosing.
You can bet I skipped this in high school! I think everyone skips this. But it’s been, as I said, lots of fun actually reading all of these and finding out what they are – I feel like I’ve been taken on a delightfully arbitrary whirlwind tour of the vast, extremely musty archives of Western Civilization, which is, I think, exactly what Melville had in mind. I think, in fact, the delightful arbitrariness was a crafted thing – I come away from this with the sense that the man put some thought into it and took care to get the effect he wanted. You just have to trust him and dive in to all the dust with your attention at full – and I do recommend it. Though, okay, maybe it’s not for everyone. But seriously, give it a shot. And take your time.
I’ve numbered my IDs of the extracts themselves, just to help clarify what’s what and hopefully make this endless list a little easier to follow. Vocabulary follows the ID of the extract in which it appears.
All definitions are from the OED, by the way. Also, you can get a good look at most pages of the edition I’m using (in smaller but more accurate scans than Amazon) through Google, starting here. My text varies a bit from the original version that you find for free all over the net. It’s the result of some scholarly work and in this section the differences really show – Melville made some little mistakes/changes in copying out these quotes, and the editors have reverted some of them to their correct, original form.
All the links from authors’ names are just to Wikipedia, but why not? So it’s occasionally completely sophomoric and/or inaccurate – it’s still the most useful reference source online. Plus, the articles generally contain a bunch of other relevant links, so it’s quite often the best starting place.
Okay then.
Vatican
1. b. Used with reference to the artistic or literary treasures preserved here; the Vatican galleries or library.
That’s not exactly it, though – in this case he apparently just means “Vatican-type places.”
promiscuously, adv.
1. In a promiscuous manner; without distinction, discrimination, or order; indiscriminately; at random, in confusion.
Hampton Court
I could have guessed, but I wasn’t sure.
hie, v.
2. To hasten, speed, go quickly.
royal-mast
royal, 12. Naut. a. royal sail, a small sail hoisted above the topgallant sail.
b. royal mast: (see quot. 1867).
1867 SMYTH Sailor’s Word-bk. 471 Royal-mast, a yet smaller mast, elevated through irons at the head of the topgallant-mast; but more generally the two are formed of one spar.
Essentially, the highest point on the ship.
seven-storied heavens
The idea of seven heavens seems to be common to Christianity, Islam, Jewish mysticism, and several Eastern religions as well. Purgatory is seven-tiered in Dante. Basically, a generic semi-mystical concept, though in the context I’m pretty sure he’s talking about the Christian heaven. For what it’s worth, I only count six vertical sails on the tallest diagram I can find.
Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael
The three (and only, in common tradition) archangels. I wasn’t familiar with Raphael.
splintered hearts
Apparently pure Melville and not an allusion. Though I found one guy who claims that this whole passage is a “burlesque” on 1 Corinthians 13:12 – “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” I guess he sees it as a play on “glass.” I’m not so sure I buy that, and what difference would it make anyway? It’s obvious enough that the passage is a burlesque in general and the quasi-religious aspect is already loud and clear.
And here we go with the extracts themselves.
1. Genesis.
Genesis 1:21 (King James Version, as are the rest of the Bible references)
2. Job.
Job 41:32 (just one small part of a whole litany about Leviathan, at the climax of God’s rant about His supremacy, all of which would seem to be the biblical precedent for Moby-Dick).
hoary, a.
1. b. Having white or grey hair, grey-haired.
Yeah, so I looked it up.
3. Jonah.
Jonah 1:17
4. Psalms.
Psalm 104:26
The context is pretty much “how great and manifold are thy works, including, for example, the sea and the stuff in it – we all wait on Thee for our sustenance.”
5. Isaiah.
Isaiah 27:1
Part of a confusing Messianic prophecy. Okay, I’m glad I just read the wikipedia article on Leviathan. That’s all probably pretty important basic grounding stuff, and it helps make some sense of passages like this.
sore, a.
1. Causing or involving bodily pain; painful, grievous; distressing or severe in this respect: b. Of a blow, bite, weapon, etc., now mainly arch. or dial.
6. Holland’s Plutarch’s Morals.
Plutarch‘s Moralia (basically his collected non-Lives essays), as translated by Philemon Holland (1552-1637). To my surprise, not only is the longstanding Holland translation nowhere to be found on the web, but NO translation of the complete Moralia is currently available in searchable form. I was reduced to downloading these hefty pdfs and poking around. I found the quote in volume V, in section 31 of the essay Which are Most Crafty, Water-Animals or Those Creatures That Breed Upon the Land? The excerpt is actually part of a strange and charming passage discussing the generous and sociable relationship between the whale and his friend, the “leader” fish, who shows him the way and helps him stay clear of the shallows. The sentence given is actually incomplete; it continues on to say, “but acknowledging his conductor, he receives him and lodges him, like an anchor, safely in his jaws.”
By the way, he’s going in chronological order, more or less. Plutarch = AD 46–122.
incontinently, adv.
Straightway, at once, immediately, arch.
7. Holland’s Pliny.
Pliny the Elder (AD 23–79): Naturalis Historiae, as translated, again, by Philemon Holland. This time, Holland’s version is online. The quote is from Book 9, Chapter III: Of the monstrous fishes in the Indian sea.
whirlpool, n.
? The large blowing whale, obs.
arpent
Also arpen, -ine (erron. arpentier).
An obsolete French measure of land, containing a hundred square perches, and varying with the different values of the perch from about an acre and a quarter to about five-sixths of an acre.
8. Tooke’s Lucian. The True History
The True History, a zany “Swiftian” parody of Homer, by Lucian of Samosata (120–180), satirist. In a translation by William Tooke, published 1820. From Book I. Melville has changed a couple words and done his best to cut out the really crazy stuff. The whale is described as being about 300 miles long. It swallows them and there’s a whole inhabited world inside it.
9. Other or Octher’s verbal narrative…
This is actually also from Hakluyt’s Principall Navigations…, as was the opening quote in the Etymology section in our last installment. – choose your link: Text copy (1884 ed.) / Original edition. Though this article (which goes into some depth investigating the transmission of many of the excerpts) notes that Melville apparently came by this quotation at least thirdhand, which would explain why he didn’t note the source the same way. If I understand correctly, Octher is from Finland and is talking about his explorations in northernmost Scandinavia.
horse-whale
The walrus.
10. Montaigne. Apology for Raimond Sebond.
Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592), from An Apology for Raymond Sebond. This passage is basically a sentence-for-sentence plagiarism of the Plutarch passage above, with a little “Plutarch writes about this” sentence appended. In fact, it seems to be part of a longer sequence all lifted more or less directly from the Plutarch essay.
sea-gudgeon
The Black Goby or Rock-fish. Obs.
11. Rabelais.
Gargantua and Pantagruel by François Rabelais (1493–1553), Book IV (1552), Chapter 33. Doré’s illustration of the monster in question, a little later when it’s dead.
12. Stowe’s Annals.
Annales, or a General Chronicle of England (1580 and many later editions) by John Stow (1525–1605). Noted for having been among Shakespeare’s sources in writing his Histories. Not online.
13. Lord Bacon’s Version of the Psalms.
From Psalm 104 (see above for the corresponding biblical line) as rendered in verse by Francis Bacon (1561–1626). “Leviathan” and “pan” are the rhyming ends of consecutive lines. The odd article-less use of “pan” might well just be a concession to the meter – see below. The complete poem can be read in this book.
pan, n.
OED doesn’t have any helpful surprises for me. It just means “pan.” I guess I’m just going to read this as equivalent to “like a boiling pan.” Unless anyone has better suggestions.
14. Ibid. History of Life and Death.
Bacon’s Historia Vitae et Mortis (1623). The two sentences are actually from separate places and presented in reverse order here: they are, respectively, taken from items 48 and 41 under “Length and Shortness of Life in Animals.” In context, Bacon is saying that he isn’t certain how long whales live. The version of the text given by Melville is from this 1834 edition by Basil Montagu, who seems to have rewritten rather freely. This direct reproduction of an early edition (1638) has yet a different text. Neither of the other two versions uses the word “ork,” by the way.
orc, n.
1. Originally: any of various ferocious sea creatures. In later use: a large cetacean, esp. the killer whale, Orcinus orca. Now rare.
or, if you prefer:
orken, n. pseudo-arch. Obs. rare.
A sea-monster.
15. King Henry.
History of Henry IV, Part I (1596?): Act I, scene 3. Hotspur is complaining about the irritating courier whose opinion this is. I think. Shakespeare’s dates, by the way, are (1564–1616). No Wikipedia this time.
sovereign, a.
3. Of remedies, etc.: Efficacious or potent in a superlative degree. Freq. in fig. use.
parmacety, n. Obs.
1. = SPERMACETI n. Also fig. arch. and Eng. regional in later use.
…and, well, we might as well get this out of the way now…
spermaceti
1. A fatty substance, which in a purified state has the form of a soft white scaly mass, found in the head (and to some extent in other parts) of the sperm-whale (Physeter macrocephalus) and some other whales and dolphins; it is used largely in various medicinal preparations, and in the manufacture of candles.
inward, a.
1. c. Of medicine: = INTERNAL a. Obs.
I think that makes sense of it. It’s the accumulation of tiny uncertainties like this that makes reading Shakespeare difficult.
16. Hamlet.
The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1602?): Act III, scene 2. Polonius, humoring Hamlet’s “madness,” is suckered into agreeing with his third consecutive assessment of the same cloud.
17. The Faerie Queen.
The Faerie Queene (1596) by Edmund Spenser (1552–1599), from Book VI, Canto X. This is not an easy read, but I believe the sense of the immediate context is just your typical Cupid’s arrow/sting of love talk. The excerpt begins oddly in the middle of a sentence; he’s talking about Sir Calidore’s “smart” from the “poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart.” Which, and here the excerpt begins, can’t be cured by a doctor; the only thing for him is to return to Pastorella, the woman who “wounded” him in the first place. Frankly, I’m not sure I understand the whale analogy: a wounded whale flees from the sea to the shore. First of all: it does? Second of all: how is that like returning to the source of one’s love-wound in order to ease the pain? Wouldn’t the source of the whale’s wound be at sea? I genuinely don’t get it and would love if someone would explain this to me.
recure, v. Obs.
2. To cure (a disease, sickness, etc.); to heal, make whole (a wound or sore).
mote, v. Now arch.
A modal auxiliary, normally complemented by the bare infinitive. 4. Expressing permission or possibility: was (or were) permitted to, might, could.
dint, v.
1. trans. To strike, beat, knock. Obs.
breed, v.
1. c. fig. Obs.
(Just making sure! I feel like I need to really be on my toes when it comes to archaic English)
main, n.
5. a. Short for MAIN SEA n.; the open sea. Now chiefly poet.
I mean, I knew that, but I didn’t know it.
18. Sir WIlliam Davenant. Preface to Gondibert
Sir WIlliam Davenant (1606-1668), A Discourse upon Gondibert, an heroick poem (1651), which included a “Preface to his most honour’d friend Mr. Hobs” (the friend being Thomas Hobbes, whose excellently-titled essay “The Answer of Mr. Hobbes to Sr Will. D’Avenant’s Preface before Gondibert” was also included). The quote is from paragraph 61. He’s discoursing on the troubled interrelationships among the various participants in government and is saying, I think, that military men generally see politicians as greedy little wimps, except for sometimes when they get envious and impressed, and then think them “immense as whales…” etc.
19. Sir T. Browne. Of Sperma Ceti and the Sperma Ceti Whale. Vide his V.E.
From Pseudodoxia Epidemica (1646-72), by Sir Thomas Browne (1685–1682), also known by the delightful name of Vulgar Errors. The work is a sort of scientific encylopedia based on the refutation of common misconceptions. The quote is the first sentence of the cited section on whales: Book III, chapter XXVI. The first vulgar error he dispenses with: no, it’s not whale sperm.
the learned Hofmannus in his work of thirty years
Caspar Hofmann (1572-1648), De medicamentis officinalibus (1646).
nescio quid sit
= “I don’t know what it is.”
20. Waller’s Battle of the Summer Islands.
Two excerpts from Canto III of The Battle of the Summer Islands (1645) by Edmund Waller (1606–1687). Included in this edition of Waller’s works. The Summer Islands (Somers’ Islands) are Bermuda. The poem is a mock-heroic account of men trying and failing to kill two whales that have been stranded in shallow water.
Spencer’s Talus with his iron flail
In Spencer’s The Faerie Queene, Sir Arthegall has an iron man, Talus, whom he sends to dish out justice with his iron flail. Crazy. Incidentally, the original edition of Moby-Dick has “modern” instead of “iron,” which must be an error because it makes absolutely no sense. Weird, though.
flail, n.
1. An instrument for threshing corn by hand, consisting of a wooden staff or handle, at the end of which a stouter and shorter pole or club, called a swingle or swipple, is so hung as to swing freely.
2. A military weapon resembling a threshing-flail in construction, but usually of iron or strengthened with iron, and often having the striking part armed with spikes. Cf. MORNING-STAR.
See, obvious though that may seem, that was a worthwhile look-up for me, because I sort of pictured something with a cat o’ nine tails shape when I heard the word “flail.” Whereas had you shown me the picture of the flail, I would probably have called it a “mace.” This sort of confusion comes from my never having played fantasy role-playing games.
21. Opening Sentence of Hobbes’s Leviathan.
That pretty much says it all. Except that it’s actually the fifth sentence. Published 1651. The fame of the metaphor notwithstanding, this really has nothing to do with whales. Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679).
22. Holy War.
In the original American edition, Melville attributed this to “Pilgrim’s Progress.” But that’s wrong, it’s from a different work by John Bunyan (1628–1688): The Holy War (1682). I wonder, though, if Melville had gotten it right the first time, whether he would have thought Holy War was really famous enough to stand alone without a clarifying Bunyan’s in front of it. Anyway, Mansoul is a town (or is it? oh-ho!) and it is here cheerfully agreeing to the demand of the tyrannical giant Diabolus that all the inhabitants recognize him as their king and pledge eternal and irreversible loyalty to him. Silly Mansoul!
sprat, n.
1. A small sea-fish, Clupea Sprattus, common on the Atlantic coasts of Europe.
” ‘Sprat’, you didn’t know? ‘Sprat?’ ” Shut up. I knew. Sure I knew. By the way, OED, it’s called Sprattus sprattus nowadays, and you’re not supposed to capitalize the species name.
23. Paradise Lost.
John Milton (1608–1674). Published 1667. Lines 201–202 of Book I. Context: Satan is as big as… (a whale!).
24. Ibid.
Lines 412–416 of Book VII. Here’s what those textual notes I found cached in Google have to say about this one:
In quoting from Paradise Lost (VII. 412–16), HM revised Milton: he gives “in the deep” instead of Milton’s original “on the deep” (although this may be a typo) and “his breath spouts out a sea” instead of Milton’s “his trunk spouts out a sea.” Both changes, neither one corrected by British editors, may reflect HM’s scorn (addressed in Ch. 55) for erroneous renderings of whales, which do not have “trunks” nor sleep “on” the deep.
These changes are, however, corrected (or scare-quotes “corrected,” depending on your opinion) by the editors of my edition.
25. Fuller’s Profane and Holy State.
Thomas Fuller (1608–1661), The Holy State and the Profane State (1642). Not yet available online so I can’t find out the actual object of the metaphor. Something moral no doubt. The work seems to have been often referred to as The Holy and Profane States, but this form, with the reversed billing, is exclusive to Melville, intentional or not.
26. Dryden’s Annus Mirabilis.
John Dryden (1631–1700), Annus Mirabilis (1667), a major poem about the historically significant events of the previous year: namely, the battles of the Second Anglo-Dutch War and the Great Fire of London. The Dutch eventually won the war but that hadn’t happened yet, so the poem just celebrates the English victory in the St. James’s Day Battle. The Leviathan image is a metaphor (apparently meant to inspire pride!) for the English warships that are waylaying Dutch merchant ships.
fry, n.
3. Young fishes just produced from the spawn; spec. the young of salmon in the second year, more fully salmon fry.
4. Hence, as a collective term for young or insignificant beings: now chiefly in phrase lesser, small or young fry. a. The smaller kinds of fish or other animals.
27. Thomas Edge’s Ten Voyages to Spitzbergen, in Purchass.
Okay, this was tough, but I think I’ve got it sorted out. This and the next three extracts are all from travel journals of the type collected in Hakluyt’s Principal Navigations (mentioned above and previously). These present quotes, however, come not from Hakluyt himself but from later collections, by authors who were intentionally following in Hakluyt’s footsteps. Hakluyt’s first major successor was Samuel Purchas (1575?–1626), who acknowledged his intentions in this regard right in the title of Hakluytus posthumus, or, Purchas his Pilgrimes (1625). So it would seem that Melville is saying he got this from Purchas’s collection. But I can’t find it there. I might just be overlooking it, but I don’ t think I am, because: In 1704, John Harris (1666–1719) published another such collection, called Navigantium atque Itinerantium Bibliotheca, or, A Compleat Collection of Voyages and Travels, which incorporated the bulk of Purchas his Pilgrimes. It is clear from the quotes that follow that Melville used Harris as a source. And this Thomas Edge thing appears there, in Book IV. Chap. XXIII: The Ten several Voyages of Captain Thomas Edge and others to Greenland (called by the Dutch Spitsbergen) at the Charge of the worshipful Muscovia Company, which is not one of the accounts attributed to Purchas’s collection. But my guess is, Melville got it from Harris, got confused in his notes and thought Harris had attributed it to Purchas, and so tried to attribute it back to its original source. Where it doesn’t actually appear.
Ahem.
28. Sir T. Herbert’s Voyages into Asia and Africa. Harris Coll.
In the Harris collection cited above, this appears in Book III, the section called Sir Thomas Herbert Baronet, his Travels, Begun in 1626, into divers parts of Africa and Asia Major, in which the two famous Monarchies of the Mogul and Persian are principally describ’d, with what is remarkable in those places from other Authors in Purchass, &c., and specifically in Chapter XX: Sir Thomas Herbert’s Travels from England to Goa in the East-Indies.
fuzz, v.
2. trans. To cover with fine or minute particles.
That’s the closest thing in the OED, but of course that’s not what’s meant here. Now that I know there’s no secret archaic meaning in the dictionary, I find this usage delightful. Obviously what he means is that the whales were, you know, fuzzing up the water, like whales do.
29. Schouten’s Sixth Circumnavigation
In the same Harris collection as the previous two quotes. The quote comes from Book I. Chap. VIII. The Sixth Circum-Navigation, by William Cornelison Schouten of Horne. This one actually is one of the narratives that comes from Purchas. If you check it out, you’ll see that the original version was a first-person account, which has been lightly reworded by Harris on its way into the third person.
30. A Voyage to Greenland, A.D. 1671. Harris Coll.
As it says. The five quotations are from several different sections of a long account in Book IV, and are not in their original order. The first quote is from Chap. XXXIX. The first Part of the Voyage to Spitzbergen and Greenland, containing an Account of the Voyage thither, and of the Weather, from April the 15th, to August the 21st, 1671. The rest of the quotes are from a whole section on whales in Chap. XLII. The Voyage to Spitzbergen, Part IV. Of the Animals of Spitzbergen.. Here’s the second quote, which is actually about the Finfish, an animal that the author contrasts with whales but which is now called a Fin Whale. The accompanying illustration. The third quote. The fourth quote (Melville has “Shetland”; my edition restores “Hitland.”) The noteworthy fifth quote. Whew.
from the Elbe
So sue me, I wasn’t sure where the mouth of the Elbe was. Right here, on the western side of the base of what I was about to call the Danish pensinsula, but which I have just learned I should call Jutland. Should I be embarrassed about my geographical ignorance? I was for a minute there, but I just now got over it.
Hitland
Old name (a variant on the original Norse name, Hjaltland) for Shetland. You know, the Shetland Islands. I guess Melville was doing us all an intentional favor changing this to “Shetland,” and the editors undid it. Thanks a lot, editors.
31. Sibbald’s Fife and Kinross.
Robert Sibbald (1641–1722), A History Ancient and Modern of the Sheriffdoms of Fife and Kinross (1710). Fife and Kinross-shire were adjacent counties (or at one time, I guess, “sheriffdoms”) in Scotland. Sibbald’s history isn’t anywhere online, but the whale incident and part of the same excerpt are included in these annals of Dunfermline, Dunfermline being a district of Fife and the ancient capital of Scotland.
Best to sort this stuff out now:
whalebone, n.
2. The elastic horny substance which grows in a series of thin parallel plates in the upper jaw of certain whales in place of teeth; baleen: used esp. for stiffening parts of the dress, etc.
5. a. attrib. and Comb. … whalebone-whale, a whale of the family Balænidæ, having plates of whalebone developed from the palate instead of teeth; a right whale.
baleen
3. Whalebone.
Pitfirten
“Pitfirten” is an outright typo in University of California edition. In the Northwestern-Newbery edition that it follows, this is “Pitfirren,” which is in turn an editorial emendation of Melville’s own typo, “Pitferren.” BUT, “Pitfirren” is an archaic version of what is today uniformly spelled “Pitfirrane,” which is an estate in present-day Crossford, just outside Dunfermline. Basically, the Dunfermline Golf Club on this map.
Added 11/17/06! Ladies and Gentlemen, I happened to come across the following information by sheer chance while in Scotland this August on non-Moby-Dick-related business. A whalebone arch, as described, stands on top of North Berwick Law in North Berwick, some miles away from Dunfermline, and has stood there since 1709. Okay, well, the jawbone isn’t actually there right now – the most recent one rotted and collapsed in 2005. But they’ll be replacing it, just like they replaced the original in 1933. Now, the date of 1709 (one year before Sibbald published his History) doesn’t jibe with Sibbald’s given date of 1652 for the whale, but perhaps the jaw was transferred to Berwick after 50 years elsewhere. Though that still doesn’t account for the fact that Sibbald, by 1710, would have known about this. One assumes he would have seen fit to mention that the garden was on top of a major feature like North Berwick Law if that was the bone he meant. So, regardless of what “Pitfirrane” signifies, it probably isn’t the same arch. There may well have been several whale-bone arches in the area – why not?
weight, n.
21. c. Used in various localities as a name for the customary unit for weighing particular commodities (e.g. wool, hemp, cheese, potatoes); the quantity denoted differs greatly in different places … Obs.
That’s something that I’ve always kind of rolled with, but it’s nice to see it in writing.
32. Richard Stafford’s Letter from the Bermudas. Phil. Trans. A.D. 1668.
An Extract of a Letter, written to the Publisher from the Bermudas by Mr. Richard Stafford; concerning the Tides there, as also Whales, Sperma Ceti, strange Spiders-Webbs, some rare Vegetables, and the Longevity of the Inhabitants, published in Philosophical Transactions (later of the Royal Society of London) Vol. III (1668). This paper contains an excerpt from some Society records that mention that Stafford was “sheriff” of the Bermudas, and this genealogical page gives his dates as (?1600–?1676). Those textual notes I found point out that Melville probably got the quote secondhand from this source, which will come up again later in Moby-Dick. Notice that in the original, Stafford was only one of about twenty men who intended to try to kill a sperm whale. In Melville’s version, he’s going it alone. I could believe that this has been changed because of the specific content of the novel, but it’s also possibly just a way of streamlining it. Though it does render the unmodified subject “myself” rather awkward.
33. N.E. Primer.
A couplet from the alphabet poem in The New England Primer. First edition circa 1686, attributed to Benjamin Harris. By Melville’s time, the W couplet had generally been replaced with one about Washington.
34. Captain Cowley’s Voyage round the Globe. A.D. 1729.
Account of William Ambrosia Cowley, buccaneer (fl. 1683-1699), as included in A Collection of Original Voyages by William Hacke, 1699, under the title “Cowley’s Voyage Round the Globe.” This page, for what it’s worth, shows how the published text compares to various surviving earlier manuscript copies of Cowley’s account. The voyage, incidentally, was in 1683; Melville’s date is and has always been flat-out wrong, and no editor yet seems to have been clever enough to point it out. Go me.
35. Ulloa’s South America.
From Relación historica del viaje a la America Meridional y observaciones sobre Astronomia y Fisica (1748) – or in English, A Voyage to South America – by Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa (1716-1795): explorer, scientist, governor of Louisiana. The original version of the translation has the whale’s breath giving off an unsupportable “fœtor” rather than “smell,” which is even more entertaining. Furthermore, though Google Print once again doesn’t want to let me browse this 250-year-old book, I’ve still managed to read enough lines to make out the context, and it’s pretty amusing – he’s reporting that some sort of serpent is claimed to have a kind of breath that hypnotizes its victims. The whale example is part of his explanation of why he’s willing to believe it – if whale breath can drive you mad, it’s surely conceivable that snake breath could hypnotize you.
insupportable
1. That cannot be supported, endured, or borne; insufferable; unbearable.
38. Rape of the Lock.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), The Rape of the Lock (1712-14). From Canto II. The poem is – for those of us who might have known this once but forgot – a mock-heroic account of a silly social incident in which a lock of hair is cut against the owner’s wishes. “Sylphs,” elemental spirits of some sort (see below), are here described as guarding over her various fan, her earring, her watch… and her petticoat.
sylph
1. a. One of a race of beings or spirits supposed to inhabit the air (orig. in the system of Paracelsus).
The poem, however, pretty much invents its own particular mythology for the word, only approximately derived from the pre-existing meaning.
seven-fold fence
He would seem to be describing the tiers of petticoats, or of a multi-layered petticoat. Seven may well have been a joking exaggeration at that time, though by the 19th century it certainly wasn’t.
ribs of whale
By this he’s referring to strips of whalebone, which are, just to review, not actually whale bones; they’re baleen. Frequently used to stiffen garments etc.
39. Goldsmith, Nat. His.
That’s Oliver Goldsmith (1730?-1774), the guy who wrote The Vicar of Wakefield (1766) and She Stoops to Conquer (1773). He apparently also wrote an eight-volume thing called An History of the Earth, and Animated Nature (1774), a compilation of other people’s work with a poetical spin put on it all. Prized today for its illustrated plates. An abridged version for school use was published in 1845 as Goldsmith’s Natural History. Can’t find an online copy.
contemptible
I looked this up because it had a note of hostility in it that seems incongruous today, but there is no alternate definition. The definition depends on the meaning of “despise,” so I looked that up too, and it also only has the one meaning. But I notice that both it and “contemn” (the infrequently heard verb form of “contempt”), to the degree that they don’t refer to one another, are defined as “to treat as of small value,” or “to look down upon,” which, strictly speaking, are just what is meant here. So I guess that either the words “despise” and “contemn” have only taken on a sneering connotation since 1774, or else in 1774 it was perfectly normal to apply a sneering tone to something as impersonal as the relative sizes of animals. On consideration, I’m pretty certain it’s the latter.
40. Goldsmith to Johnson
Same Goldsmith. This is from Boswell’s Life of Johnson, but not quite. Melville has paraphrased, apparently in order to get it all into one sentence, and in so doing has made it less clear and less witty. The context and actual quote: Goldsmith tells Johnson that the trick to writing a fable about little fishes is making them talk like little fishes, and then in response to Johnson’s laughter, says “Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think; for if you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like WHALES.”
41. Cook’s Voyages
From The Voyages of Captain James Cook Round the World, variously published starting around 1790. This edition, the only one I could find with anything like the Melville quote – he again seems to have reworded – is from 1842.