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- Герман Мелвилл
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- Моби Дик
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Why
to
the
man
of
untutored
ideality
,
who
happens
to
be
but
loosely
acquainted
with
the
peculiar
character
of
the
day
,
does
the
bare
mention
of
Whitsuntide
marshal
in
the
fancy
such
long
,
dreary
,
speechless
processions
of
slow-pacing
pilgrims
,
down-cast
and
hooded
with
new-fallen
snow
?
Or
to
the
unread
,
unsophisticated
Protestant
of
the
Middle
American
States
,
why
does
the
passing
mention
of
a
White
Friar
or
a
White
Nun
,
evoke
such
an
eyeless
statue
in
the
soul
?
Or
what
is
there
apart
from
the
traditions
of
dungeoned
warriors
and
kings
(
which
will
not
wholly
account
for
it
)
that
makes
the
White
Tower
of
London
tell
so
much
more
strongly
on
the
imagination
of
an
untravelled
American
,
than
those
other
storied
structures
,
its
neighbors
--
the
Byward
Tower
,
or
even
the
Bloody
?
And
those
sublimer
towers
,
the
White
Mountains
of
New
Hampshire
,
whence
,
in
peculiar
moods
,
comes
that
gigantic
ghostliness
over
the
soul
at
the
bare
mention
of
that
name
,
while
the
thought
of
Virginia
's
Blue
Ridge
is
full
of
a
soft
,
dewy
,
distant
dreaminess
?
Or
why
,
irrespective
of
all
latitudes
and
longitudes
,
does
the
name
of
the
White
Sea
exert
such
a
spectralness
over
the
fancy
,
while
that
of
the
Yellow
Sea
lulls
us
with
mortal
thoughts
of
long
lacquered
mild
afternoons
on
the
waves
,
followed
by
the
gaudiest
and
yet
sleepiest
of
sunsets
?
Or
,
to
choose
a
wholly
unsubstantial
instance
,
purely
addressed
to
the
fancy
,
why
,
in
reading
the
old
fairy
tales
of
Central
Europe
,
does
"
the
tall
pale
man
"
of
the
Hartz
forests
,
whose
changeless
pallor
unrustlingly
glides
through
the
green
of
the
groves
--
why
is
this
phantom
more
terrible
than
all
the
whooping
imps
of
the
Blocksburg
?
Nor
is
it
,
altogether
,
the
remembrance
of
her
cathedral-toppling
earthquakes
;
nor
the
stampedoes
of
her
frantic
seas
;
nor
the
tearlessness
of
and
skies
that
never
rain
;
nor
the
sight
of
her
wide
field
of
leaning
spires
,
wrenched
cope-stones
,
and
crosses
all
adroop
(
like
canted
yards
of
anchored
fleets
)
;
and
her
suburban
avenues
of
house-walls
lying
over
upon
each
other
,
as
a
tossed
pack
of
cards
;
--
it
is
not
these
things
alone
which
make
tearless
Lima
,
the
strangest
,
saddest
city
thou
can
's
t
see
.
For
Lima
has
taken
the
white
veil
;
and
there
is
a
higher
horror
in
this
whiteness
of
her
woe
.
Old
as
Pizarro
,
this
whiteness
keeps
her
ruins
for
ever
new
;
admits
not
the
cheerful
greenness
of
complete
decay
;
spreads
over
her
broken
ramparts
the
rigid
pallor
of
an
apoplexy
that
fixes
its
own
distortions
.
I
know
that
,
to
the
common
apprehension
,
this
phenomenon
of
whiteness
is
not
confessed
to
be
the
prime
agent
in
exaggerating
the
terror
of
objects
otherwise
terrible
;
nor
to
the
unimaginative
mind
is
there
aught
of
terror
in
those
appearances
whose
awfulness
to
another
mind
almost
solely
consists
in
this
one
phenomenon
,
especially
when
exhibited
under
any
form
at
all
approaching
to
muteness
or
universality
.
What
I
mean
by
these
two
statements
may
perhaps
be
respectively
elucidated
by
the
following
examples
.
First
:
The
mariner
,
when
drawing
nigh
the
coasts
of
foreign
lands
,
if
by
night
he
hear
the
roar
of
breakers
,
starts
to
vigilance
,
and
feels
just
enough
of
trepidation
to
sharpen
all
his
faculties
;
but
under
precisely
similar
circumstances
,
let
him
be
called
from
his
hammock
to
view
his
ship
sailing
through
a
midnight
sea
of
milky
whiteness
--
as
if
from
encircling
headlands
shoals
of
combed
white
bears
were
swimming
round
him
,
then
he
feels
a
silent
,
superstitious
dread
;
the
shrouded
phantom
of
the
whitened
waters
is
horrible
to
him
as
a
real
ghost
;
in
vain
the
lead
assures
him
he
is
still
off
soundings
;
heart
and
helm
they
both
go
down
;
he
never
rests
till
blue
water
is
under
him
again
.
Yet
where
is
the
mariner
who
will
tell
thee
,
"
Sir
,
it
was
not
so
much
the
fear
of
striking
hidden
rocks
,
as
the
fear
of
that
hideous
whiteness
that
so
stirred
me
?
"
Second
:
To
the
native
Indian
of
Peru
,
the
continual
sight
of
the
snowhowdahed
Andes
conveys
naught
of
dread
,
except
,
perhaps
,
in
the
mere
fancying
of
the
eternal
frosted
desolateness
reigning
at
such
vast
altitudes
,
and
the
natural
conceit
of
what
a
fearfulness
it
would
be
to
lose
oneself
in
such
inhuman
solitude
.
Much
the
same
is
it
with
the
backwoodsman
of
the
West
,
who
with
comparative
indifference
views
an
unbounded
prairie
sheeted
with
driven
snow
,
no
shadow
of
tree
or
twig
to
break
the
fixed
trance
of
whiteness
.
Not
so
the
sailor
,
beholding
the
scenery
of
the
Antarctic
seas
;
where
at
times
,
by
some
infernal
trick
of
legerdemain
in
the
powers
of
frost
and
air
,
he
,
shivering
and
half
shipwrecked
,
instead
of
rainbows
speaking
hope
and
solace
to
his
misery
,
views
what
seems
a
boundless
churchyard
grinning
upon
him
with
its
lean
ice
monuments
and
splintered
crosses
.
But
thou
sayest
,
methinks
that
white-lead
chapter
about
whiteness
is
but
a
white
flag
hung
out
from
a
craven
soul
;
thou
surrenderest
to
a
hypo
,
Ishmael
.
Tell
me
,
why
this
strong
young
colt
,
foaled
in
some
peaceful
valley
of
Vermont
,
far
removed
from
all
beasts
of
prey
--
why
is
it
that
upon
the
sunniest
day
,
if
you
but
shake
a
fresh
buffalo
robe
behind
him
,
so
that
he
can
not
even
see
it
,
but
only
smells
its
wild
animal
muskiness
--
why
will
he
start
,
snort
,
and
with
bursting
eyes
paw
the
ground
in
phrensies
of
affright
?
There
is
no
remembrance
in
him
of
any
gorings
of
wild
creatures
in
his
green
northern
home
,
so
that
the
strange
muskiness
he
smells
can
not
recall
to
him
anything
associated
with
the
experience
of
former
perils
;
for
what
knows
he
,
this
New
England
colt
,
of
the
black
bisons
of
distant
Oregon
?
