Chapter 45

by Herman Melville

　　THE COSMOPOLITAN INCREASES IN SERIOUSNESS.In the middle of the gentleman's cabin burned a solar lamp, swung fromthe ceiling, and whose shade of ground glass was all round fancifullyvariegated, in transparency, with the image of a horned altar, fromwhich flames rose, alternate with the figure of a robed man, his headencircled by a halo. The light of this lamp, after dazzlingly strikingon marble, snow-white and round--the slab of a centre-table beneath--onall sides went rippling off with ever-diminishing distinctness, till,like circles from a stone dropped in water, the rays died dimly away inthe furthest nook of the place.Here and there, true to their place, but not to their function, swungother lamps, barren planets, which had either gone out from exhaustion,or been extinguished by such occupants of berths as the light annoyed,or who wanted to sleep, not see.By a perverse man, in a berth not remote, the remaining lamp would havebeen extinguished as well, had not a steward forbade, saying that thecommands of the captain required it to be kept burning till the naturallight of day should come to relieve it. This steward, who, like many inhis vocation, was apt to be a little free-spoken at times, had beenprovoked by the man's pertinacity to remind him, not only of the sadconsequences which might, upon occasion, ensue from the cabin being leftin darkness, but, also, of the circumstance that, in a place full ofstrangers, to show one's self anxious to produce darkness there, such ananxiety was, to say the least, not becoming. So the lamp--last survivorof many--burned on, inwardly blessed by those in some berths, andinwardly execrated by those in others.Keeping his lone vigils beneath his lone lamp, which lighted his book onthe table, sat a clean, comely, old man, his head snowy as the marble,and a countenance like that which imagination ascribes to good Simeon,when, having at last beheld the Master of Faith, he blessed him anddeparted in peace. From his hale look of greenness in winter, and hishands ingrained with the tan, less, apparently, of the present summer,than of accumulated ones past, the old man seemed a well-to-do farmer,happily dismissed, after a thrifty life of activity, from the fields tothe fireside--one of those who, at three-score-and-ten, arefresh-hearted as at fifteen; to whom seclusion gives a boon more blessedthan knowledge, and at last sends them to heaven untainted by the world,because ignorant of it; just as a countryman putting up at a London inn,and never stirring out of it as a sight-seer, will leave London at lastwithout once being lost in its fog, or soiled by its mud.Redolent from the barber's shop, as any bridegroom tripping to thebridal chamber might come, and by his look of cheeriness seeming todispense a sort of morning through the night, in came the cosmopolitan;but marking the old man, and how he was occupied, he toned himself down,and trod softly, and took a seat on the other side of the table, andsaid nothing. Still, there was a kind of waiting expression about him."Sir," said the old man, after looking up puzzled at him a moment,"sir," said he, "one would think this was a coffee-house, and it waswar-time, and I had a newspaper here with great news, and the only copyto be had, you sit there looking at me so eager.""And so you have good news there, sir--the very best of good news.""Too good to be true," here came from one of the curtained berths."Hark!" said the cosmopolitan. "Some one talks in his sleep.""Yes," said the old man, "and you--you seem to be talking in a dream.Why speak you, sir, of news, and all that, when you must see this is abook I have here--the Bible, not a newspaper?""I know that; and when you are through with it--but not a momentsooner--I will thank you for it. It belongs to the boat, I believe--apresent from a society.""Oh, take it, take it!""Nay, sir, I did not mean to touch you at all. I simply stated the factin explanation of my waiting here--nothing more. Read on, sir, or youwill distress me."This courtesy was not without effect. Removing his spectacles, andsaying he had about finished his chapter, the old man kindly presentedthe volume, which was received with thanks equally kind. After readingfor some minutes, until his expression merged from attentiveness intoseriousness, and from that into a kind of pain, the cosmopolitan slowlylaid down the book, and turning to the old man, who thus far had beenwatching him with benign curiosity, said: "Can you, my aged friend,resolve me a doubt--a disturbing doubt?""There are doubts, sir," replied the old man, with a changedcountenance, "there are doubts, sir, which, if man have them, it is notman that can solve them.""True; but look, now, what my doubt is. I am one who thinks well of man.I love man. I have confidence in man. But what was told me not ahalf-hour since? I was told that I would find it written--'Believe nothis many words--an enemy speaketh sweetly with his lips'--and also I wastold that I would find a good deal more to the same effect, and all inthis book. I could not think it; and, coming here to look for myself,what do I read? Not only just what was quoted, but also, as was engaged,more to the same purpose, such as this: 'With much communication he willtempt thee; he will smile upon thee, and speak thee fair, and say Whatwantest thou? If thou be for his profit he will use thee; he will makethee bear, and will not be sorry for it. Observe and take good heed.When thou hearest these things, awake in thy sleep.'""Who's that describing the confidence-man?" here came from the berthagain."Awake in his sleep, sure enough, ain't he?" said the cosmopolitan,again looking off in surprise. "Same voice as before, ain't it? Strangesort of dreamy man, that. Which is his berth, pray?""Never mind him, sir," said the old man anxiously, "but tell me truly,did you, indeed, read from the book just now?""I did," with changed air, "and gall and wormwood it is to me, a trusterin man; to me, a philanthropist.""Why," moved, "you don't mean to say, that what you repeated is reallydown there? Man and boy, I have read the good book this seventy years,and don't remember seeing anything like that. Let me see it," risingearnestly, and going round to him."There it is; and there--and there"--turning over the leaves, andpointing to the sentences one by one; "there--all down in the 'Wisdom ofJesus, the Son of Sirach.'""Ah!" cried the old man, brightening up, "now I know. Look," turning theleaves forward and back, till all the Old Testament lay flat on oneside, and all the New Testament flat on the other, while in his fingershe supported vertically the portion between, "look, sir, all this to theright is certain truth, and all this to the left is certain truth, butall I hold in my hand here is apocrypha.""Apocrypha?""Yes; and there's the word in black and white," pointing to it. "Andwhat says the word? It says as much as 'not warranted;' for what docollege men say of anything of that sort? They say it is apocryphal. Theword itself, I've heard from the pulpit, implies something of uncertaincredit. So if your disturbance be raised from aught in this apocrypha,"again taking up the pages, "in that case, think no more of it, for it'sapocrypha.""What's that about the Apocalypse?" here, a third time, came from theberth."He's seeing visions now, ain't he?" said the cosmopolitan, once morelooking in the direction of the interruption. "But, sir," resuming, "Icannot tell you how thankful I am for your reminding me about theapocrypha here. For the moment, its being such escaped me. Fact is, whenall is bound up together, it's sometimes confusing. The uncanonical partshould be bound distinct. And, now that I think of it, how well didthose learned doctors who rejected for us this whole book of Sirach. Inever read anything so calculated to destroy man's confidence in man.This son of Sirach even says--I saw it but just now: 'Take heed of thyfriends;' not, observe, thy seeming friends, thy hypocritical friends,thy false friends, but thy friends, thy real friends--that is to say,not the truest friend in the world is to be implicitly trusted. CanRochefoucault equal that? I should not wonder if his view of humannature, like Machiavelli's, was taken from this Son of Sirach. And tocall it wisdom--the Wisdom of the Son of Sirach! Wisdom, indeed! What anugly thing wisdom must be! Give me the folly that dimples the cheek,say I, rather than the wisdom that curdles the blood. But no, no; itain't wisdom; it's apocrypha, as you say, sir. For how can that betrustworthy that teaches distrust?""I tell you what it is," here cried the same voice as before, only morein less of mockery, "if you two don't know enough to sleep, don't bekeeping wiser men awake. And if you want to know what wisdom is, go findit under your blankets.""Wisdom?" cried another voice with a brogue; "arrah and is't wisdom thetwo geese are gabbling about all this while? To bed with ye, ye divils,and don't be after burning your fingers with the likes of wisdom.""We must talk lower," said the old man; "I fear we have annoyed thesegood people.""I should be sorry if wisdom annoyed any one," said the other; "but wewill lower our voices, as you say. To resume: taking the thing as I did,can you be surprised at my uneasiness in reading passages so chargedwith the spirit of distrust?""No, sir, I am not surprised," said the old man; then added: "from whatyou say, I see you are something of my way of thinking--you think thatto distrust the creature, is a kind of distrusting of the Creator. Well,my young friend, what is it? This is rather late for you to be about.What do you want of me?"These questions were put to a boy in the fragment of an old linen coat,bedraggled and yellow, who, coming in from the deck barefooted on thesoft carpet, had been unheard. All pointed and fluttering, the rags ofthe little fellow's red-flannel shirt, mixed with those of his yellowcoat, flamed about him like the painted flames in the robes of a victimin auto-da-fe. His face, too, wore such a polish of seasoned grime,that his sloe-eyes sparkled from out it like lustrous sparks in freshcoal. He was a juvenile peddler, or marchand, as the polite Frenchmight have called him, of travelers' conveniences; and, having noallotted sleeping-place, had, in his wanderings about the boat, spied,through glass doors, the two in the cabin; and, late though it was,thought it might never be too much so for turning a penny.Among other things, he carried a curious affair--a miniature mahoganydoor, hinged to its frame, and suitably furnished in all respects butone, which will shortly appear. This little door he now meaningly heldbefore the old man, who, after staring at it a while, said: "Go thy wayswith thy toys, child.""Now, may I never get so old and wise as that comes to," laughed the boythrough his grime; and, by so doing, disclosing leopard-like teeth, likethose of Murillo's wild beggar-boy's."The divils are laughing now, are they?" here came the brogue from theberth. "What do the divils find to laugh about in wisdom, begorrah? Tobed with ye, ye divils, and no more of ye.""You see, child, you have disturbed that person," said the old man; "youmustn't laugh any more.""Ah, now," said the cosmopolitan, "don't, pray, say that; don't let himthink that poor Laughter is persecuted for a fool in this world.""Well," said the old man to the boy, "you must, at any rate, speak verylow.""Yes, that wouldn't be amiss, perhaps," said the cosmopolitan; "but, myfine fellow, you were about saying something to my aged friend here;what was it?""Oh," with a lowered voice, coolly opening and shutting his little door,"only this: when I kept a toy-stand at the fair in Cincinnati lastmonth, I sold more than one old man a child's rattle.""No doubt of it," said the old man. "I myself often buy such things formy little grandchildren.""But these old men I talk of were old bachelors."The old man stared at him a moment; then, whispering to thecosmopolitan: "Strange boy, this; sort of simple, ain't he? Don't knowmuch, hey?""Not much," said the boy, "or I wouldn't be so ragged.""Why, child, what sharp ears you have!" exclaimed the old man."If they were duller, I would hear less ill of myself," said the boy."You seem pretty wise, my lad," said the cosmopolitan; "why don't yousell your wisdom, and buy a coat?""Faith," said the boy, "that's what I did to-day, and this is the coatthat the price of my wisdom bought. But won't you trade? See, now, itis not the door I want to sell; I only carry the door round for aspecimen, like. Look now, sir," standing the thing up on the table,"supposing this little door is your state-room door; well," opening it,"you go in for the night; you close your door behind you--thus. Now, isall safe?""I suppose so, child," said the old man."Of course it is, my fine fellow," said the cosmopolitan."All safe. Well. Now, about two o'clock in the morning, say, asoft-handed gentleman comes softly and tries the knob here--thus; increeps my soft-handed gentleman; and hey, presto! how comes on the softcash?""I see, I see, child," said the old man; "your fine gentleman is a finethief, and there's no lock to your little door to keep him out;" withwhich words he peered at it more closely than before."Well, now," again showing his white teeth, "well, now, some of you oldfolks are knowing 'uns, sure enough; but now comes the great invention,"producing a small steel contrivance, very simple but ingenious, andwhich, being clapped on the inside of the little door, secured it aswith a bolt. "There now," admiringly holding it off at arm's-length,"there now, let that soft-handed gentleman come now a' softly tryingthis little knob here, and let him keep a' trying till he finds his headas soft as his hand. Buy the traveler's patent lock, sir, onlytwenty-five cents.""Dear me," cried the old man, "this beats printing. Yes, child, I willhave one, and use it this very night."With the phlegm of an old banker pouching the change, the boy now turnedto the other: "Sell you one, sir?""Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use such blacksmiths' things.""Those who give the blacksmith most work seldom do," said the boy,tipping him a wink expressive of a degree of indefinite knowingness, notuninteresting to consider in one of his years. But the wink was notmarked by the old man, nor, to all appearances, by him for whom it wasintended."Now then," said the boy, again addressing the old man. "With yourtraveler's lock on your door to-night, you will think yourself all safe,won't you?""I think I will, child.""But how about the window?""Dear me, the window, child. I never thought of that. I must see tothat.""Never you mind about the window," said the boy, "nor, to be honorbright, about the traveler's lock either, (though I ain't sorry forselling one), do you just buy one of these little jokers," producing anumber of suspender-like objects, which he dangled before the old man;"money-belts, sir; only fifty cents.""Money-belt? never heard of such a thing.""A sort of pocket-book," said the boy, "only a safer sort. Very good fortravelers.""Oh, a pocket-book. Queer looking pocket-books though, seems to me.Ain't they rather long and narrow for pocket-books?""They go round the waist, sir, inside," said the boy "door open orlocked, wide awake on your feet or fast asleep in your chair, impossibleto be robbed with a money-belt.""I see, I see. It would be hard to rob one's money-belt. And I wastold to-day the Mississippi is a bad river for pick-pockets. How muchare they?""Only fifty cents, sir.""I'll take one. There!""Thank-ee. And now there's a present for ye," with which, drawing fromhis breast a batch of little papers, he threw one before the old man,who, looking at it, read "Counterfeit Detector.""Very good thing," said the boy, "I give it to all my customers whotrade seventy-five cents' worth; best present can be made them. Sell youa money-belt, sir?" turning to the cosmopolitan."Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use that sort of thing; my moneyI carry loose.""Loose bait ain't bad," said the boy, "look a lie and find the truth;don't care about a Counterfeit Detector, do ye? or is the wind East,d'ye think?""Child," said the old man in some concern, "you mustn't sit up anylonger, it affects your mind; there, go away, go to bed.""If I had some people's brains to lie on. I would," said the boy, "butplanks is hard, you know.""Go, child--go, go!""Yes, child,--yes, yes," said the boy, with which roguish parody, by wayof cong, he scraped back his hard foot on the woven flowers of thecarpet, much as a mischievous steer in May scrapes back his horny hoofin the pasture; and then with a flourish of his hat--which, like therest of his tatters, was, thanks to hard times, a belonging beyond hisyears, though not beyond his experience, being a grown man's cast-offbeaver--turned, and with the air of a young Caffre, quitted the place."That's a strange boy," said the old man, looking after him. "I wonderwho's his mother; and whether she knows what late hours he keeps?""The probability is," observed the other, "that his mother does notknow. But if you remember, sir, you were saying something, when the boyinterrupted you with his door.""So I was.--Let me see," unmindful of his purchases for the moment,"what, now, was it? What was that I was saying? Do you remember?""Not perfectly, sir; but, if I am not mistaken, it was something likethis: you hoped you did not distrust the creature; for that would implydistrust of the Creator.""Yes, that was something like it," mechanically and unintelligentlyletting his eye fall now on his purchases."Pray, will you put your money in your belt to-night?""It's best, ain't it?" with a slight start. "Never too late to becautious. 'Beware of pick-pockets' is all over the boat.""Yes, and it must have been the Son of Sirach, or some other morbidcynic, who put them there. But that's not to the purpose. Since you areminded to it, pray, sir, let me help you about the belt. I think that,between us, we can make a secure thing of it.""Oh no, no, no!" said the old man, not unperturbed, "no, no, I wouldn'ttrouble you for the world," then, nervously folding up the belt, "and Iwon't be so impolite as to do it for myself, before you, either. But,now that I think of it," after a pause, carefully taking a little wadfrom a remote corner of his vest pocket, "here are two bills they gaveme at St. Louis, yesterday. No doubt they are all right; but just topass time, I'll compare them with the Detector here. Blessed boy to makeme such a present. Public benefactor, that little boy!"Laying the Detector square before him on the table, he then, withsomething of the air of an officer bringing by the collar a brace ofculprits to the bar, placed the two bills opposite the Detector, uponwhich, the examination began, lasting some time, prosecuted with nosmall research and vigilance, the forefinger of the right hand provingof lawyer-like efficacy in tracing out and pointing the evidence,whichever way it might go.After watching him a while, the cosmopolitan said in a formal voice,"Well, what say you, Mr. Foreman; guilty, or not guilty?--Not guilty,ain't it?""I don't know, I don't know," returned the old man, perplexed, "there'sso many marks of all sorts to go by, it makes it a kind of uncertain.Here, now, is this bill," touching one, "it looks to be a three dollarbill on the Vicksburgh Trust and Insurance Banking Company. Well, theDetector says----""But why, in this case, care what it says? Trust and Insurance! Whatmore would you have?""No; but the Detector says, among fifty other things, that, if a goodbill, it must have, thickened here and there into the substance of thepaper, little wavy spots of red; and it says they must have a kind ofsilky feel, being made by the lint of a red silk handkerchief stirred upin the paper-maker's vat--the paper being made to order for thecompany.""Well, and is----""Stay. But then it adds, that sign is not always to be relied on; forsome good bills get so worn, the red marks get rubbed out. And that'sthe case with my bill here--see how old it is--or else it's acounterfeit, or else--I don't see right--or else--dear, dear me--I don'tknow what else to think.""What a peck of trouble that Detector makes for you now; believe me, thebill is good; don't be so distrustful. Proves what I've always thought,that much of the want of confidence, in these days, is owing to theseCounterfeit Detectors you see on every desk and counter. Puts people upto suspecting good bills. Throw it away, I beg, if only because of thetrouble it breeds you.""No; it's troublesome, but I think I'll keep it.--Stay, now, here'sanother sign. It says that, if the bill is good, it must have in onecorner, mixed in with the vignette, the figure of a goose, very small,indeed, all but microscopic; and, for added precaution, like the figureof Napoleon outlined by the tree, not observable, even if magnified,unless the attention is directed to it. Now, pore over it as I will, Ican't see this goose.""Can't see the goose? why, I can; and a famous goose it is. There"(reaching over and pointing to a spot in the vignette)."I don't see it--dear me--I don't see the goose. Is it a real goose?""A perfect goose; beautiful goose.""Dear, dear, I don't see it.""Then throw that Detector away, I say again; it only makes you purblind;don't you see what a wild-goose chase it has led you? The bill is good.Throw the Detector away.""No; it ain't so satisfactory as I thought for, but I must examine thisother bill.""As you please, but I can't in conscience assist you any more; pray,then, excuse me."So, while the old man with much painstakings resumed his work, thecosmopolitan, to allow him every facility, resumed his reading. Atlength, seeing that he had given up his undertaking as hopeless, and wasat leisure again, the cosmopolitan addressed some gravely interestingremarks to him about the book before him, and, presently, becoming moreand more grave, said, as he turned the large volume slowly over on thetable, and with much difficulty traced the faded remains of the giltinscription giving the name of the society who had presented it to theboat, "Ah, sir, though every one must be pleased at the thought of thepresence in public places of such a book, yet there is something thatabates the satisfaction. Look at this volume; on the outside, batteredas any old valise in the baggage-room; and inside, white and virgin asthe hearts of lilies in bud.""So it is, so it is," said the old man sadly, his attention for thefirst directed to the circumstance."Nor is this the only time," continued the other, "that I have observedthese public Bibles in boats and hotels. All much like this--oldwithout, and new within. True, this aptly typifies that internalfreshness, the best mark of truth, however ancient; but then, it speaksnot so well as could be wished for the good book's esteem in the mindsof the traveling public. I may err, but it seems to me that if moreconfidence was put in it by the traveling public, it would hardly beso."With an expression very unlike that with which he had bent over theDetector, the old man sat meditating upon his companions remarks awhile; and, at last, with a rapt look, said: "And yet, of all people,the traveling public most need to put trust in that guardianship whichis made known in this book.""True, true," thoughtfully assented the other. "And one would think theywould want to, and be glad to," continued the old man kindling; "for,in all our wanderings through this vale, how pleasant, not less thanobligatory, to feel that we need start at no wild alarms, provide for nowild perils; trusting in that Power which is alike able and willing toprotect us when we cannot ourselves."His manner produced something answering to it in the cosmopolitan, who,leaning over towards him, said sadly: "Though this is a theme on whichtravelers seldom talk to each other, yet, to you, sir, I will say, thatI share something of your sense of security. I have moved much about theworld, and still keep at it; nevertheless, though in this land, andespecially in these parts of it, some stories are told about steamboatsand railroads fitted to make one a little apprehensive, yet, I may saythat, neither by land nor by water, am I ever seriously disquieted,however, at times, transiently uneasy; since, with you, sir, I believein a Committee of Safety, holding silent sessions over all, in aninvisible patrol, most alert when we soundest sleep, and whose beat liesas much through forests as towns, along rivers as streets. In short, Inever forget that passage of Scripture which says, 'Jehovah shall be thyconfidence.' The traveler who has not this trust, what miserablemisgivings must be his; or, what vain, short-sighted care must he takeof himself.""Even so," said the old man, lowly."There is a chapter," continued the other, again taking the book,"which, as not amiss, I must read you. But this lamp, solar-lamp as itis, begins to burn dimly.""So it does, so it does," said the old man with changed air, "dear me,it must be very late. I must to bed, to bed! Let me see," rising andlooking wistfully all round, first on the stools and settees, and thenon the carpet, "let me see, let me see;--is there anything I haveforgot,--forgot? Something I a sort of dimly remember. Something, myson--careful man--told me at starting this morning, this very morning.Something about seeing to--something before I got into my berth. Whatcould it be? Something for safety. Oh, my poor old memory!""Let me give a little guess, sir. Life-preserver?""So it was. He told me not to omit seeing I had a life-preserver in mystate-room; said the boat supplied them, too. But where are they? Idon't see any. What are they like?""They are something like this, sir, I believe," lifting a brown stoolwith a curved tin compartment underneath; "yes, this, I think, is alife-preserver, sir; and a very good one, I should say, though I don'tpretend to know much about such things, never using them myself.""Why, indeed, now! Who would have thought it? that a life-preserver?That's the very stool I was sitting on, ain't it?""It is. And that shows that one's life is looked out for, when he ain'tlooking out for it himself. In fact, any of these stools here will floatyou, sir, should the boat hit a snag, and go down in the dark. But,since you want one in your room, pray take this one," handing it to him."I think I can recommend this one; the tin part," rapping it with hisknuckles, "seems so perfect--sounds so very hollow.""Sure it's quite perfect, though?" Then, anxiously putting on hisspectacles, he scrutinized it pretty closely--"well soldered? quitetight?""I should say so, sir; though, indeed, as I said, I never use this sortof thing, myself. Still, I think that in case of a wreck, barringsharp-pointed timbers, you could have confidence in that stool for aspecial providence.""Then, good-night, good-night; and Providence have both of us in itsgood keeping.""Be sure it will," eying the old man with sympathy, as for the moment hestood, money-belt in hand, and life-preserver under arm, "be sure itwill, sir, since in Providence, as in man, you and I equally put trust.But, bless me, we are being left in the dark here. Pah! what a smell,too.""Ah, my way now," cried the old man, peering before him, "where lies myway to my state-room?""I have indifferent eyes, and will show you; but, first, for the good ofall lungs, let me extinguish this lamp."The next moment, the waning light expired, and with it the waning flamesof the horned altar, and the waning halo round the robed man's brow;while in the darkness which ensued, the cosmopolitan kindly led the oldman away. Something further may follow of this Masquerade.THE END.