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A Message from the Sea
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A Message From the Sea (hosted by Sara) - 4th Summer Read 2021
Question 1:I was feeling that the ghost of Honor Livingston was real. Lots of men play games with women's feelings and might feel guilty afterwards, but they do not see ghosts. He probably had some mental instability, and the appearance of the ghost pushed him over the edge into madness.
(I'm not sure if ghosts exist or not, but it's fun to assume that they do for the sake of the story!)
Great questions Sara. Initially, I saw Lawrence as a privileged male looking down on the inferior Honor who should have known better than to love him, her social better. And I think that man exists throughout the story. As time goes on, however, I think Lawrence begins to see that he played a part in her death. He can’t laugh at what he considers her foolishness anymore, much as he wants to.
As to whether he was haunted by a ghost vs his own emotions, I’m in favor of the ghost story. We are before Freud and analyzing emotions and behavior when this was written and , anyway, I like ghost stories. If this were written today, it would be his emotions dictating everything.
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Before anything else, I'd like to link to Petra's great post on Harriet Parr, which you mentioned consulting at the start: LINK HERE. It is far more comprehensive than the official GR one.
I've added the links within chapter 3.
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There are quite a few collections of sensational Victorian ghost stories authored by women. I think they were all the rage (and like Sue I love them too!) One I have is The Virago Book of Victorian Ghost Stories: 21 stories by various authors; some forgotten, but also Charlotte Brontë, Willa Cather, Mary Elizabeth Braddon and so on.
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Whether the ghost is real, I don't know - and don't think the author does either. It's ambiguous. Like Connie, I think it's fun to suspend disbelief for the sake of the story, whilst allowing a possibility. And I do like that themes of guilt and responsibility are raised, (as your questions suggest, Sara), though the story.
And note the name of the deceived young woman: "Honour" speaks for itself - and "Livingston"(e). Does she still live, beyond the gravestone? This name is worthy of Charles Dickens himself!
Sorry not to answer them in order, but hopefully you feel I've addressed them here. Ultimately this story is about Love versus Ambition.
I saw this also as a tale of redemption. In the beginning Lawrence toys with Honor, and while he feels some remorse when he sees her body and her blind mother crying over it, he sees her laid to rest without prayers and then attempts to just forget and live his life as if nothing had happened. The guilt pursues him, and he suffers for it, albeit he also initially shows little thought of Honor, but only of the consequences her haunting is now having for him. But, in the end, he wonders why Honor had to pay that kind of price for their dalliance, and he speculates as to whether it was fate. He feels genuine remorse now, and his thoughts are for not only himself, but also for the cost to Honor.
I do not think it was fate that doomed them, but choice. He chose to hold his behavior lightly and play with her heart. He withheld from her the important information that he was already promised to Anne. She also chose. She chose to engage in the flirtation and to become far too serious about a man who had made her no promise and treated her carelessly, and she chooses to die. Suicide is a serious sin, not to be taken lightly at this time, as evidenced by the burial outside the cemetery walls...a kind of eternal shunning and for many believed to be a final dooming of the soul.
Her haunting of Lawrence leads him to deal with the immorality and the consequences of his actions, and in the end he goes to face those things at the falls. Does he commit suicide as well? The community does not treat him that way. He is buried with all the pomp and prayers, but how is his decision different from hers? She dies because she loves, he dies because he turned from love--which sin is greater?
I think the major indicator that he is redeemed and goes to her forgiven is that he prays for her at the gravesite. He stops thinking about himself long enough to think about her. He steps into the storm he sees coming and pays the price for his trespass.
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Beautifully written and clarified, Sara, even though it takes away my favorite ghostly element. For some reason I had not seen him as contrite even at the end. Perhaps more resigned. That may be a fault of my reading too quickly at the very end.
I like your interpretation of redemption, Sara.It also seemed that he was so emotionally drawn to Honore's spectre that he may not have been rationally thinking about what he was doing when he fell. They were not joined in life, but were joined in death. So the story also had the elements of a tragic romance in it.
This was another fantastically written story. I think with each story they are getting more and more intense and engrossing. You just don't want to stop reading it for wanting to know how it will end. I loved the way the diary was used to convey Jemmy Lawrence's thoughts. I like what's been said about suspending disbelief to believe in the ghost of Honor as that adds to the suspense and the build up to Jemmy's madness. I also like Sara's take on the redemption theme - so well-thought out and explained so thank you for that. in essence the jilting caused her to want to die, so I would think his guilt is a result of his belief that he caused her death. He is saddened that she is buried in a sinner's grave and didn't get a prayer even for peace which I'm lead to believe he thinks would have calmed her spirit. Whether she is really a ghost or just a concoction of his imagination due to guilt, I think I'll lean toward the concoction. He says once he returns to Ashendell that he's seen her in various places but calls them shadows.
Shadows they are, out of my own brain, and they take the shape of Honor because I have let her become a fixed idea in my mind.
Of course he goes on to say that he heard her voice, so who is to know reality from the madness.
Definitely elements of a tragic romance here and I agree that both of them chose their fate.
I particularly liked this story, and loved reading all your thoughts on it. I wavered between thinking the ghost was there and thinking he conjured it. I could easily make a case for both, after all, could her spirit rest being buried as she was and after putting the curse upon him? In the end, it made little difference; for him it became real. Nothing beats (for me) a good ghost story in which the elements are all there to go either way. It is what makes Henry James and Edith Wharton so good at the craft, and I will now include Harriet Parr in the number.
I did want to thank Petra again for her remarkable research on this author and appreciate Jean's linking it so that it is readily available to us all.
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This was a wonderful ghost story. I wavered between ghost and madness throughout the read. If a ghost with a vengeance, she didn't keep her oath to visit each year. That caused me to think that there might not be a ghost. Yet madness would have ensured that he saw a ghost each year on the correct day. So......I'm still torn. I do like a good ghost story, so would like her to be one.
Sara's take on this story feels real and in the true meaning of a Christmas story of redemption.
It's a shame that Jemmy made the choice he did. Riches over love seldom lead to a satisfactory life. There's a coldness in such a marriage that the riches can't overcome.
I believe he would have been a happier man with Honor than with Anne. He would have found that monetary riches meant little without the warmth of a good home & family.
Stories such as this are about choices. Fate plays some part; such as it was Fate that they met at all. But once they met, they made choices.
Jemmy is probably an ordinary man who had dreams of an easy life (in terms of money). His choice was for ease and position, he meant no harm, I think. But, as happens with people's feelings, harm happens, even when that isn't the intention.
He saw how Honor's death harmed her blind mother. But did Honor see how her death would leave her blind mother adrift? Was that harm Jemmy's fault or Honor's?
In a perfect world, each choice would be made with the contemplation of how the decision affects everyone involved in the outcome. Things don't happen that way. If they did, Honor would have thought about her mother's situation once she (Honor) was dead. That itself could have changed her mind.
This is a deep story. One could contemplate the various innuendos for some time.
Bionic Jean wrote: "It is far more comprehensive than the official GR one (and I still think you should upload it to the author page, Petra!)..."Thanks, Jean. I'm not sure how to do this. I'm not a GR Librarian or in any way associated with this side of GR.
Bionic Jean wrote: "I've scanned and added the "message in a bottle" illustration to the correct place, after your summary of chapter 2, Sara. LINK HERE. I had wondered about also putting it as a header ... or do you ..."This story is so perfect for illustrations. It's a shame that there aren't many.
Jean, I really like the picture of the message in a bottle. It shows the mysteriousness of the message and the uncertainty of what it contains.
Yet, despite that uncertainty, it was believed in enough to start a journey of discovery.
I very much enjoyed this story and this discussion, and think Sara did a great job of encapsulating the various chapters. I haven't commented a lot in the latter half of this thread because, for various reasons, life has intervened. I am sorry there were not more illustrations available, because there was great opportunity in the parts of the story. I have been amazed at the research and knowledge of the members of this group, so thanks to you all for your contributions.
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I think we're about half way through - is that right Sara? It's hard to tell on that massive kindle file, but there are 2 more chapters after this one.
Petra wrote: "This is a deep story. One could contemplate the various innuendos for some time"Thanks so much, Petra, for your input. There is so much responsibility to be shared between these two lovers, and I agree that Honor's lack of concern for her mother makes her perhaps even more responsible for her mother's situation. How could she have been selfish enough to leave her blind mother to not only deal with the heartbreak but then have to struggle through her own life alone.
This would be an easy tale to just read and enjoy and go on, but there is so much to be mined if you take your time over it.
Jean, thank you so much for posting the illustration of the letter. I don't think it is too much of a spoiler if you put it as a header...we all know there will be a message in the bottle and reading the message alone (especially in that state) tells you little about the ensuing story.We are about halfway. There are two more stories to discuss in this chapter and the following chapter is very intense and rather lengthy. I had divided the time hoping to have a few days to discuss the overall story at the end. I hope I have timed things well, but it isn't a precise science, so we shall see.
Diane - So glad to have your comment and, like Jean, hoping it is just routine busyness that is interfering with your reads!
I really loved this section. And I so appreciate Sara's questions which lead me to think ever deeper about this story. I enjoyed reading everyone's comments so much. Sorry I'm commenting late, like Diane I've also had life interferring.I never warmed to Jemmy Lawrence. I'm afraid I don't find much redemption for him. I found him a bit of a narcissist. He was so cavalier with Honor's feelings when they met, and he only becomes remorseful after enduring her haunting (I lean towards it being real). Then he strikes his wife and has nothing nice to say about her after that. He helps his mother, but never sees her again. He does nothing to help Honor's mother who is blind. He basically runs away travelling all over the world instead of facing up to his responsibilities. In the end when he goes to pray at Honor's grave he says "I prayed for her today -- more need perhaps to pray for myself".
I really loved how Parr ended the story with Lawrence being given a proper burial, because I felt that really drove home the unfairness of the way Honor was treated compared with Lawrence. It brought to mind for me The Scarlett Letter and how Hester Prynne carries the burden of the affair far greater than her lover (view spoiler)
Yours is a very valid view, Bridget, and I'm so pleased you quoted Lawrence's words when he prayed for her...does sort of put it in another light. Although I thought he recognized that he was the one who needed prayers because he had not been held responsible for his part in her demise.Perfect comparison with The Scarlet Letter and the contrast between how Honor was treated and how Lawrence was treated was infuriating. It was striking that the community immediately labeled his death an accident.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts...I am now mulling the story again. :)
Me too, mulling after reading Bridget's thoughts. You have pointed out some very telling points about Lawrence and difficult to refute. The quote of his words at her gravesite sheds a more selfish light on his prayer. HmmmmmmThis is for me, the best of the stories, so far.
Sara wrote: "Yours is a very valid view, Bridget, and I'm so pleased you quoted Lawrence's words when he prayed for her...does sort of put it in another light. Although I thought he recognized that he was the o..."I think maybe all our views about this story are valid. Its like Sara said awhile back, what makes a really great ghost story is when the elements could lead the reader either way, I'm really enjoying these stories so much!
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Done. And I won't stop looking for a complete edition of this in print. Please do tell us anyone, if you know of one.
How surprising that the next chapter is long too, Sara. It makes such a mockery of those incomplete editions :( So this, and the previous nautical one, are at least novellas, if not full length novels!
Loving everyone's observations about the social conventions, ethical mores and spiritual depths of this section :)
Bridget, my feelings really align with yours. Lawrence’s description of how he regarded and treated Honor was dripping with male and social superiority. And then he as much as states that she should have known that he was not serious. He was having fun on his holiday after all. And these were thoughts after she had died. He doesn’t treat any woman in this story decently. Are they on his same level, I wonder, as he perceives them? I also tend to think he was haunted. Whether it was because of a gradual guilt or actual ghost—well, I wonder if he would have had sufficient guilt without a haunting.
Captain Jorgan’s Pipelight (possibly authored by Amelia B. Edwards){Note: I believe this might be the work of Amelia B. Edwards, based on the fact that she is a known contributor and she was noted for her poetry, although she was also a recognized writer of ghost stories. Definitive attribution of the poem is by no means possible for me, just an educated guess. But, she was absolutely a contributor to the overall story at some juncture, if not this one, so I will include a brief biography here.}
A little about Amelia B. Edwards 1831-1892:
Author of the ghost story The Phantom Coach (1864), the novels Barbara's History (1864) and Lord Brackenbury. a Novel (1880), and the travelogue of Egypt A Thousand Miles Up the Nile (1877). She also wrote and published poetry in various publications of her time. Her contributions to Dickens’ periodical All The Year Round include contributions to the Christmas stories Tom Tiddler's Ground (1861), Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings (1863), and Mugby Junction (1866).
She is best known for her work in quite another field, however; the field of Egyptology. She founded the Egyptian Exploration Fund, set up in 1882, and the Department of Egyptology at University College London, created in 1892 through a bequest on her death. Her name is still attached to the Chair of Egyptian Archaeology at University College.
In 1877 she published a lengthy account of her trip to Egypt, A Thousand Miles Up the Nile. The account was well received as being both readable and informative, and Edwards illustrated it with her own beautiful watercolours. She was a woman of myriad talents. The book marked a turning point in women’s travel writing because it concentrated on the history and research of the region and ignored more domestic topics, which were generally those covered by women.
And now for our story and poem:
The next spin of the teetotum lands upon Captain Jorgan himself. He claims to have no story of his own to recount, but when commanded by the Chairman, Jorgan observes that Polreath has read from a diary, so he wishes to read from a document as well. He says,
I defer to the President,--which ain’t at all what they do in my country--where they lay into him head, limbs and body.
Note: (This might be a direct reference to the political upheaval in the States at the time of this writing. It felt a bit prescient, given that the war was on the horizon, but the first shot had not yet been fired, and Lincoln was yet to be assassinated.)
Jorgan requests that he be allowed to read from a pipe-light (a paper intended to be used for the lighting of a pipe), this particular pipelight being in the form of a verse. The verse was written by a passenger on Jorgan's last voyage, a man whom he had doctored during an illness, and was given to him in thanks for that service.
And it ain’t been lighted yet, and that’s a fact., he says, and unrolling the paper, begins to read.
We sit by the fire so wide and red,
With the dance of the young within,
Who have yet small learning of cold and dread,
And of sorrow no more than of sin ;
Nor dream of a night on a sleepless bed
Of waves, with their terrible wrecks o'erspread.
We sit round the hearth as red as gold,
And the legends beloved we tell,
How battles were won by the nobles bold,
Where hamlets of villains fell:
And we praise our God, while we cut the bread,
And share the wine round, for our heroes dead.
And we talk of the Kings, those strong proud men,
Who ravaged, confessed, and died ;
And of churls who rabbled them oft and again,
Perchance with a kindred pride
Though the Kings built churches to pierce the sky,
And the rabbling churls in the cross-road lie.
Yet 'twixt the despot and slave half-free,
Old Truth may have message clear ;
Since the hard black yew, and the lithe young tree,
Belong to an age and a year,
And though distant in might and in leaf they be,
In right of the woods, they are near.
And old Truth's message, perchance, may be:
" Believe in thy kind, whate’re the degree,
Be it King on his throne, or serf on his knee,
While Our Lord showers light, in his bounty free,
On the rook and the vale on the sand and the sea"
They are singing within, with their voices dear,
To the tunes which are dear as well!
And we sit and dream while the words we hear,
Having tale of our own to tell
Of a far midnight on the terrible sea,
Which comes back on the tune of their blithe old glee.
As old as the hills, and as old as the sky,
As the King on his throne, as the serf on his knee,
A song wherein rich can with poor agree,
With its chorus to make them laugh or cry
Which the young are singing, with no thought nigh,
Of a night on a terrible sea :
" I care for nobody ; no, not I, Since nobody cares for me."
The storm had its will.
There was wreck there was flight
O'er an ocean of Alps, through, the pitch-black night,
When a good ship sank, and a few got free,
To cope in their boat with the terrible sea.
And when the day broke, there was blood on the sea,
From the wild hot eye of the sun outshed,
For the heaven was a-flame as with fire from Hell,
And a scorching calm on the waters fell,
As if Ruin had won, and with fiendish glee,
Sailed forth in his galley to number the dead.
And they rowed their boat o'er the terrible sea,
As mute as a crew made of ghosts might be :
For the best in his heart had not manhood to say,
That the land was five hundred miles away.
A day and a week--There was bread for one man;
The water was dry. And on this, the few
Who were rowing their boat o'er the terrible sea,
To murmur, to curse, and to crave began.
And how 'twas agreed on, no one knew,
But the feeble and famished and scorched by the sun,
With his pitiless eye, drew lots to agree,
What their hideous morrow of meat must be.
Then were the faces frightful to read,
Of ravening hope, and of cowardly pride
That lies to the last, its sharp terror to hide ;
And a stillness as though 'twere some game of the Dead,
While they waited the number their lot to decide
There were nine in that boat on the terrible sea,
And he who drew NINE, was the victim to be.
You may think what a ghastly shiver there ran,
From mate to his mate, as the doom began.
Six had a wife with a wild rose cheek ;
Two a brave boy, not a year yet old ;
EIGHT his last sister, lame and weak,
Who quivered with palsy more than with cold.
You may think what a breath the respited drew,
And how wildly still, sat the rest of the crew ;
How the voice as it called spoke hoarser and slower ;
The number it next dared to speak was FOUR.
'Twas the rude black man, who had handled an oar
The best on that terrible sea of the few.
And ugly and grim in the sunshine glare
Were his thick parched lips, and his dull small eyes,
And the tangled fleece of his rusty hair
'Ere the next of the breathless the death-lot drew,
His shout like a sword pierced the silence through.
" Let the play end, with your Number Four.
What need to draw ? Live along, you few
Who have hopes to save and have wives to cry
O'er the cradles of children free !
What matter if folk without home should die,
And be eaten by land or sea ?
I care for nobody ; no, not I, Since nobody cares for me !"
And with that, a knife and a heart struck through
And the warm red blood, and the cold black clay,
And the famine withdrawn from among the few,
By their horrible meal for another day !
So the eight, thus fed, came at last to land,
And the tale of their shipmate told,
As of water found in the burning sand,
Which braves not the thirsty, cold.
But the love of the listener, safe and free,
Goes forth to that slave on that terrible sea.
For, fancies from hearth and from home will stray,
Though within are the dance and the song ;
And a grave tale told, if the tune be gay,
Says little to scare the young.
While they sing, with their voices clear as can be,
Having called, once more, for the blithe old glee
" I care for nobody, no, not I, Since nobody cares for me."
But the careless tune, it saith to the old,
Who sit by the hearth as red as gold,
When they think of their tale of the terrible sea :
" Believe in thy kind, whate’er the degree,
Be it King on his throne, or serf on his knee,
While Our Lord showers good from his bounty free,
Over storm, over calm, over land, over sea"
It is the cheerful singing of the young people that brings to mind the horrible experience of the ship wreck, and the irony that what they sing is tied to such a terrible event and yet they are sadly unaware of any importance, for death itself is unimaginable to them. One of the major concerns of men at sea must have been the fear of being stranded and becoming someone else’s meal. I do not think this happened frequently, but it did happen, famously to the Carribean in the early 17th Century and the Essex in 1820. This poem is a pretty powerful expose on slavery and racism. It is the black man who is both the bravest and the most caring man in the boat. He sacrifices himself, when the draw would have selected someone else as the victim, and he does so with the explanation that he leaves no one behind him, will not be missed, and loses no home in the bargain. That so much of what the others have to live for has been stripped from him already--he has suffered the death of the soul at the hands of men like the others in the boat--makes his ultimate sacrifice all the more poignant.
Abolitionism was at its height in the States in 1860. England had abolished slavery in 1833, Frederick Douglas had toured England in 1846, giving the English a first hand account of what slavery in the States was like, and slaves from the U.S. were fleeing to Canada daily. There would have been active support for abolitionist groups, and general sympathy among both the writers of this periodical and its readers.
That is a powerful story, Sara. I hadn’t read it in my collection yet but I’m glad I found it here.
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I am absolutely delighted to find that Amelia B. Edwards was, at the very least, involved in writing this story, and concur with your thoughts. She had actually flitted through my mind when I was reading it (!) although I had no idea of its provenance. So thank you for endorsing (if not able to fully confirm) my vague impression.
For interest, my full review of The Phantom Coach by Amelia B. Edwards is LINK HERE. (I think you've read this story too, haven't you Sara?) It includes a bit of biography similar to Sara's and the author's connection to "All the Year Round" :)
Thank you so much, Jean, for reinforcing my conviction that this was Amelia Edward's work. I knew there was not enough proof available to me to be sure, but I feel much easier about my drawn conclusion now that you have supported the possibility. I have read The Phantom Coach and recommend it to those who enjoy a good, old-fashioned Victorian ghost tale. Thank you for linking your review. Needless to say, your reviews are always well-written and comprehensive!
I was so delighted to find a copy of the poem that I could copy and paste. I had given up and then made one last effort and voila.
I definitely want to read this now.
Sara, thanks for the links. I sent myself the YouTube link to listen later. I checked my ghost story books and they don’t have this story.
I didn't listen to the full youtube, Sue, so I'm really hoping she has included these internal stories. She did say "complete". This novella is well worth the reading.
Do you think she wrote more than one of the stories we’re reading here?
She may well have contributed to some of the others. This work is very collaborative and Dickens made a point not to designate contributions, so it is hard to tell exactly which bits or ideas belong to whom. I found two scholarly papers on the subject, unfortunately they were not available to me without paying to join the organizations. It would be interesting to see what the experts at the universities have come up with, but apparently they don't want us common people to have that information.
I want to add my thanks to Sara for putting this into verse form, because its also laid out as prose in my version. I think the rhythm of the verse comes out more when its broken into stanzas.I appreciated the language and imagery in this poem. My favorite was
Since the hard black yew, and the lithe young tree,
Belong to an age and a year,
And though distant in might and in leaf they be,
In right of the woods, they are near.
"In the right of woods they are near"......I kept reading that over and over. Just love that line. To me it says we are all human and deserving of the same treatment. That's a beautiful thought.
Thank you also Sara for your analysis of the poem. You've expressed so well what I was also thinking of as I read this.
I really enjoyed this poem and the story within it. It stabbed me in the heart a few times. The loneliness, pain and exclusion that this person felt throughout his life was excruciating. No one should ever feel so alone in this world. Bridget, I love your interpretation of equality and standing side by side, equals forever.
Thank you, Bridget and Petra.The stanza you selected, Bridget, is one I also lingered over. And, this one:
For, fancies from hearth and from home will stray,
Though within are the dance and the song ;
And a grave tale told, if the tune be gay,
Says little to scare the young.
The contrast between the old, who are wiser and more sorrowful through experience, and the young, who hear the happiness in the song and music, despite the sorrowful nature of its lyric, and who feel the immortality that only youth feel. I have often thought that had I been as frightened by what "might happen" when I was younger, I could never have made it to this point in life, where what "might happen" sometimes seems as real as what is actually happening. The grave somehow never seems real to the young...or perhaps only real in that it is intended for others, not themselves.
"What matter if folk without home should die, And be eaten by land or sea:
I care for nobody; no, not I, Since nobody cares for me!"
These lines were very poignant since slavery brought him to a state where he felt that he had no home, no family, no love, and no reason to keep on living.
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It's funny how phrases and lines can stick in the brain, just as melodies do.
Sounds a bit like Emily Dickinson. "Because I could not stop for death/he kindly stopped for me." Ironic that the names are so similar.
Jean, the phrase comes from a traditional folk song, The Miller of Dee. I found this on Wikipedia There Was a Jolly Miller Once is a traditional folk song (Roud #503) from the Chester area in northwest England. It is often titled "The Miller of the Dee" or "The Jolly Miller".
The song was originally part of Isaac Bickerstaffe's play, Love in a Village (1762). Subsequently, other versions of Bickerstaffe's original song were made by various other poets. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miller_...
Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Jean. I had never heard it, but I imagine you may well have done so. This is, no doubt, the song the young people are singing when the poem opens.
Connie - Another important stanza, which tells us all about this man and his life in a few words. It is sad to see anyone completely alone, but it cannot help striking us that this man is in this condition through no fault of his own. His home, family and life have been taken from him, and now the ultimate taking will be the devouring of his body.
What a gut-wrenching story. I find it amazing that so much depth was written into this poem. My amazement is primarily because I don't read poetry because it's quite intimidating to me. But this was beautifully written and the message was very loud and clear. I may have gasped a few times throughout! Thanks to Sara, again, for providing this in verse form. I reread it and could really get the musicality and flow of the rhythm.
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Thanks Diane for the thought, but "I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me" is there and repeated in the folk song. We learned a lot of these old songs at school when I was a child :)
Isn't it amazing how the nursery rhymes and folk songs of our childhood, in fact babyhood sometimes, stay with us? I forget what I did yesterday, but I can recite poems I learned in grammar school word perfect. The brain is a wonderful and perplexing thing. Knowing this is a folk song that would have been commonly known, adds another level to the poem for me. It explains why the young people are so happy in singing it despite the sorrow of its lyric. It also made me think how it had no true meaning for them, but was almost an anthem of his life for this slave, who had no doubt heard it over and over and alone caught the seriousness of the words.
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Oswald Penrewen’s Story (author unsure)Mr. Parvis snores loudly and is awakened and offered to be taken home. He declines and slides immediately back into sleep.
The teetotum is spun again and lands upon Oswald Penrewen. The Captain exclaims “Here’s Unchris’ened at last!”
Penrewen’s story is his brother’s ghost story that happened thirty years earlier. While on a sketching tour through Switzerland, he crossed the Grindlewald three-quarters of an hour after sunset, late into the day. There had been a fair in town on that day, and the best inn in the village was full, but he secured a promise of a rug and a mattress in a room to share with three others at a second, lesser, inn.
As he took his meal in a large general room, where some thirty travelers were gathered, he struck up conversation with a pair of Italians, Stefano and Battisto, who were making their way to Geneva, selling cameos, castings, and other jewelry along the way. When he went to his room, he was delighted to find that these two youths are two of his fellow lodgers, the third is already asleep, facing the wall.
On waking the next morning, the brother is greeted by the merry talk of three voices, and the Italians introduce him to a handsome young man, Christien Baumann, a native of Kandersteg, and a maker of music boxes. The four trade pleasantries and look at one another’s wares, and Christien says he may buy a cameo for his sweetheart, Marie, to whom he is to be married the following week.
Battisto has a sweetheart as well, Margherita, and his brother teases him. To distract from the subject, he unfolds his wares and shows Christien his cameos. Christien choses one as the one he would like to give his bride, but the image on the cameo is a tomb and when he finds this he thinks how terrible it would be to select a tomb as a wedding gift. Battisto assures him, however, that the tomb belongs to a man dead some eighteen hundred years, and Christien decides that the tomb of a heathen, born before Christ, is “no tomb at all” and buys it to have it set in a brooch at Interlocken.
The morning is magnificent, the beautiful blue mountains surround them on all sides, and the three young men are in fine spirits. As they walk away chatting together, the brother lingers behind, plucks a red flower, and floats it down a stream. Why was his heart so heavy, and why were their hearts so light?
The brother’s melancholy increased and the boys’ high spirits as well. They talked of their loves and their ambitions, Battisto wishes to be married and a master craftsman, Stefano to travel, Christien to settle to farming, as his fathers have done, in the Kander Thal. They stop for lunch to the tinkle of one of Christien’s music boxes, and they hear the distant sound of an avalanche in the Jungfrau.
They hike the afternoon and come to an inn, nestled in the summit of the pass. Here they rest and toast again Christien and his wife, and he tells them that he now makes enough to marry and that on the next day he will hold Marie for the first time in two years. He explains that he is not expected for two days, but will arrive early because he will not take the long way around, but will sleep at Lauterbrunnen, cross the glacier in the morning, and reach home on the morrow.
They pause at yet another inn, but the brother finds sleeping difficult, lapsing into fitful sleep and nightmares. Toward morning he slips into a deep slumber and when he wakes it is past noon and Christien has already departed. The Italians impart an invitation they have all received to Christien’s wedding and they determine they will go, so the brother agrees to meet them in Interlocken on the following Thursday and walk with them to Kandersteg. He watches them out of sight on the road.
Alone again, the brother takes his sketchbook and sketches the area, comes back to the inn to a warm fire and attempts to read, despite a cold and wet night outside. His mind, however, wanders, and he finds himself reflecting on his dim past. At eleven he hears the doors downstairs being locked. He goes to the window, opens it, and allows the rain to beat on his face and hair. As he thinks to return inside and change his shirt, he hears, distinctly, the tinkle of the music box they had played the day before while they lunched.
Believing Christien to have returned and thinking he is standing below the window, the brother flings it open wide and calls his name. He is met with silence. Then he hears the sound of the box again, but inside his own chamber. He now believes Christien to be inside his room, but when he turns, the sound ceases and he turns cold, like the chill of death is upon him and as if his heart and lungs were freezing. It lasts but a second, and then he is able to close the window and feel the warmth in his veins, but the front of his shirt and the water in his hair have frozen stiff and hang in icicles.
He looks at his watch, which has stopped at twenty minutes before twelve, and takes the temperature of the room. It measures 68-degrees. How is it possible that the rain has frozen on him? He changes into dry clothes, wraps himself into a blanket, and sits before the fire the remainder of the night. When he awakens in the morning, he is in his bed with no memory of how he got there.
The following morning was beautiful and he would have doubted the events of the night before had his watch not still been stopped at twenty minutes before twelve. He determines to set out for Interlocken, when a char pulls up and out jumps Battisto. He asks the brother if he believes in spirits and then declares that Christien’s spirit came to him the night before at exactly twenty minutes before twelve. He then describes a freezing exactly like the brother had experienced and hearing the music box as well. Stegano’s watch has stopped at the same time, but he persists in believing Battisto has simply had a bad dream.
Battisto is sure that Christien is in trouble on the mountain and the brother agrees and assembles a rescue party to go in search of him. They set out at mid-day and travel to the glacier. The climbers they have assembled make a plan to scale the glacier, but as the brother is about to ascend the face of the glacier, Battisto cries out and points and the brother sees Christien standing some hundred yards away. As soon as he sees him, he disappears. He neither faded, nor sank down, nor moved away; but was simply gone, as if he never had been. Battisto fell to his knees and the brother knew the search was over. The men with them saw nothing, nothing but sun and ice.
Insisting that they explore a deep crevasse that lay at the foot of where the figure had been seen, they come upon a dark object wedged into the crevasse but a long distance down. The men do not want to descend, since they cannot be sure it is a man, but the brother says if they will not, he will. At that, the youngest of the men ties a rope about his waist and agrees to descend into the crevasse. When he returns, he lays the body of Christien at his feet.
The brother takes the body back to Kandersteg and Marie. Many years later, when he returns to the area, he sees Marie’s grave, which is next to Christien’s in the village graveyard.
After this story is complete, Alfred puts the question once more regarding the money. The club disburses into the night. Jorgan resolves to see the town’s lawyer and clergyman on the following morning, and the men are shown up to their rooms. Jorgan is given a room at the attic, where he is warned the wind whistles, and Alfred is given a double-bedded room, which he is sharing with the seafaring man.
Jorgan predicts Kitty will not have to wait long for her wedding, and shows Alfred to his room, where the seafaring man is sleeping soundly, his face turned to the wall. Jorgan waits outside the door to see if there is any stirring on the part of the seafaring man, but hearing none, he departs to his own bed and leaves Alfred to his.
This is the last of the Club stories and we resume the events surrounding the message in the bottle, and the mysterious seafaring man.I will admit that I found this story more pedestrian, having followed the three before. I was unable to determine any authorship, but we have both Henry F. Chorley and Charles Allston Collins, both of whom participated in this collaboration and neither of whom have been attributed any contribution.
It may be more pedestrian but it still evokes some wonderful images of the mountain landscape. The foreboding was done rather heavily with the melancholy arising for no purpose at all long before Christien left on the ill-fated walk.
Dickensians!
Books mentioned in this topic
A Message from the Sea (other topics)The Wreck of the Golden Mary: Being the Captain's Account of the Loss of the Ship, and the Mate's Account of the Great Deliverance of Her People in an ... Number of Household Words, Christmas, 1856. (other topics)
Great Expectations (other topics)
Dombey and Son (other topics)
The Wreck of the Golden Mary (other topics)
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Authors mentioned in this topic
Charles Dickens (other topics)Charles Dickens (other topics)
Wilkie Collins (other topics)
John Brougham (other topics)
Charles Dickens (other topics)
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1. Is the ghost of Honor Livingston real, or has Lawrence succumbed to a kind of madness brought on by his guilt coupled with her final words to him?
2. Is he responsible for her death? Is his, as Polreath implies, a deadly sin?
3. How would you answer the questions he puts to himself in the graveyard? Are they fated, or do they choose? Would he have been a happier man if he had embraced Honor and jilted Anne?
4. He is late in feeling his remorse. Is he remorseful only because Honor is dead?
5. Is the fact that he feels his “sin” so acutely a sign that he is, indeed, a moral man? Would an immoral person have been bothered by the events or merely put them down to Honor’s own character flaws?
6. Does the fact that she is in a sinner’s grave and even not given the comfort of prayers influence his feelings, particularly after seeing the devastation this visits upon her blind mother?