Search This Blog



Planetary Motions
, published by Giant Steps Press, is now available on Amazon for $14.95. The Giant Steps website is https://giantstepspress.com/.



Spoor of Desire: Selected Poems
is available for $16.00 from FootHills Publishing, P.O. Box 68, Kanona NY 14856 or see www.foothillspublishing.com.

Tourist Snapshots was available from Randy Fingland's CC Marimbo, P.O. Box 933, Berkeley CA. CC Marimbo has, unfortunately ceased publishing, though I still have a few copies to spare.

Dada Poetry: An Introduction was published by Nirala Publications. It may be ordered on Amazon.com for $29.99 plus shipping. American buyers may order a copy from me for $23 including shipping.

Each book is available from the author William Seaton.


A categorized index of all work that has appeared on this site is available by looking under the current month in the Blog Archive section and selecting Index.


This site is listed in BlogCatalog and

Literature Blogs
Literature blog








Thursday, September 1, 2022

Visions of Vorticism: Wyndham Lewis and Ezra Pound

 

Vorticists at the Restaurant de la Tour Eiffel: Spring 1915 (1961-62) by William Roberts. Representing Cuthbert Hamilton, Ezra Pound, William Roberts, Wyndham Lewis, Frederick Etchels, and Edwatd Wadsworth.

  


     Like other self-conscious schools of twentieth century modernism, Vorticism was imprecisely defined by its inventors, inevitably then producing work of considerable variety.   Though the concept of the vortex had been first used by Ezra Pound to refer to some contemporary art and poetry, suggesting the site of the greatest concentration of energy, the idea of a Vorticist movement emerged publicly with Wyndham Lewis’s Blast in 1915 and the show at the Doré Galleries in London the same year. [1]  With an eye on being the most avant-garde of the avant-gardes, Lewis had sought to distinguish himself from recognized schools, maintaining the superiority of his own version of the geometric designs of Cubism, encouraging abstraction energized by a certain modern dynamic sometimes labeled “hard-edged,” resembling Futurism with an interest in industry and violence.   Lewis’s own art and that of others who exhibited as Vorticists – the original show included Lewis, Jessica Dismorr, Henri Gaudier-Brzeska, William Roberts, Helen Saunders, Frederick Etchells, and Edward Wadsworth [2] -- combined Cubist fragmentation of reality with imagery derived from the machine and the urban environment.  The idea of Vorticism itself adds little to understanding of the works from that show or of Pound’s poetry of the time.  Lifting the banner of a militant movement, however, l did provide an arena for avant-garde posturing by both Lewis and Pound, entertaining in itself, but shedding limited light on their art.   

      The investigation into the question of to what extent, if any, these artists constituted a coherent group would seem to depend primarily on their adherence to the principles of Vorticism.  As it happens, the same year of the Vorticist exhibition, Lewis published a manifesto in his journal Blast. [3]  The reader might be baffled to find virtually no reference to visual art in this document.  Its attention-getting typography reinforces the notion of volume implied by the publication’s title, but the shouting does not seem to add up to much of a program.  The emphasis is rather on playing the bohemian viva voce, satirizing the priggish and the sentimental, the conventional and the bourgeois, while claiming for England (and in that way for himself) the leadership of modern art.  Lewis here constructs a persona by taking center stage to enact the role of the modern artist.

     There are artistic references, all polemical, in the series of declarations opening the inaugural and penultimate issue of Blast titled “Long Live the Vortex!”  Bearing the banner of the avant-garde holds for Lewis a critical significance.  Due to the value he places in novelty, he declares that “education (art education and general education) tends to destroy the creative instinct,” though his own theory remains obscure, apart from a commitment “to destroy politeness, standardization, and academic, that is civilized, vision” and to express “vivid and violent ideas.”  He arbitrarily claims that “great artists in England are always revolutionary, just as in France any really fine artist have [sic] a strong traditional vein.”  Precisely what this might mean is unexpressed, except that Vorticist art must engage “the Reality of the Present,” shaped by the artist acting as an individual.

     With a self-conscious deprecation of realism, he maintains that Vorticism means to appeal to “every class and description of people, TO THE INDIVIDUAL” in spite of the fact that he is well aware that the overwhelming majority of the populace will never hear the word.  He emphasizes this vague universality, concluding with the summary statement: “Blast presents an art of individuals,” a proposition acceptable to most Romantic and post-Romantic critics.  In an equally ill-defined clue to the identity of Vorticism, he anticipates Surrealism, saying “WE NEED THE UNCONSCIOUSNESS OF HUMANITY – their stupidity, animalism, and dreams.” [4] 

     Whatever this may mean, he fears that his movement might be confused with Futurism which he repeatedly condemns as “sensational and sentimental,” no advance at all, but merely “the latest form of Impressionism.”  His own predilections for fascism made him no more sympathetic to Mussolini’s cheerleader.  He ridicules the Italian’s interest in industrial and mechanical imagery, saying “Marinetteism” [sic] amounts to nothing but “Automobilism.”  His rivals, though somewhat similar to Lewis to outsiders, are not to him even second-rate; they are contemptible

     Lewis compensates for the fact that Vorticism may seem to some a splinter of a faction by jauntily speculating on the pillars of society becoming Vorticists: Lloyd George, shortly to become prime minister, Lady Mond, Baroness Melchett, and perhaps even the king.  The effect of the suggestion, of course, is to emphasize its unlikeliness and thus to highlight Lewis’s counter-cultural credentials.

     “Long Live the Vortex!” is followed by a lengthy manifesto, or series of manifestoes.  The first eighteen pages are a compilation of blessings and curses of things English and French, an amusing and typographically spectacular definition, I suppose, of Lewis’s specific individuality.  Much of this content is satirical or otherwise humorous, though certain significant patterns emerge.  English wet weather and politeness are both rather predictably condemned, but so are England’s “socialist-playwright” and “tonks.”  Considering France he curses “gallic gush,” the Arc de Triomphe, and France’s status as a “Mecca for Americans” and for many an “amative German professor.”  The years 1837 to 1900, the period of “bourgeois Victorian vistas” are denounced as a whole, though he blesses Britain’s “seafarers” expressing particular fondness for their “restless machines.”  Having blasted “humour” in one section, he returns to bless it a few pages later.  In England the “art-pimp” is blasted though with no description by which he might be identified, while in France a similarly mysterious “bad music” is condemned.  The reader is clearly dealing with a self-identified enfant terrible, more eager to provoke than to present a new view of artistic practice.  The address of Blast is, after all, the Rebel Art Centre, implying that the most important element in Lewis’s Vorticist program is rebellion.

     A seven-part document titled “Manifesto” follows.  Part I sheds little new light on artistic practice, but rather aims to evoke and destroy dualities in the same pronouncements.  This principle is restated in several forms.  The first item says “Beyond Action and Reaction we would establish ourselves.”  Next, starting from “opposite statements of a chosen world,” the Vorticist wishes to set up a “violent structure” between the extremes.  Thus “we discharge ourselves on both sides.”  Etc.  What this might mean in terms of practice or connoisseurship remains obscure.

     Perhaps in illustration of this dialectic, Lewis proceeds, after establishing England’s reputation as “anti-artistic,” to assert that this is the very reason “why England produces such good artists.”   Hints of appropriate subject matter emerge as “the Art-instinct is permanently primitive,” finding “stimulus” in a chaos of imperfection, discord, etc.,” a “savage” wholly unlike any “Futurist individual of Mr. Marinetti’s limited imagination.”  The modern artist will derive material from “this enormous, jangling, journalistic fairy desert of modern life” as artists of the past had been inspired by nature.   In spite of the world’s being “a fairy desert,” Lewis laments the passing of fairies and offers a somewhat premature elegy for the Spanish bullfight.  Fruitful imaginative resources, “springs of creation,” remain, however, characterized by “mysticism,” “gladiatorial instincts,” and “blood and asceticism.” 

     Shakespeare embodies a certain British “mysticism, madness, and delicacy” uniting comedy and tragedy.  Lewis indulges in his peculiar version of chauvinism by claiming that the “Modern World” as a whole is due to “Anglo-Saxon genius,” making the English the natural practitioners of the imagery of “machinery, trains, steamships” “buildings, bridges, and works.”  They are “the inventors” of modern “bareness and hardness,” and the enemies of “Romanticism,” while the similar modernism of the Futurists is to him spurious, “romantic and sentimental,” nothing but “gush.”  The tone of the journal is clear from the next feature, poetry from Ezra Pound, beginning with his “Salutation the Third” which opens, “Let us deride the smugness of ‘the Times’:/ GUFFAW!”

     Apart from his considerable brio in presenting an individualistic catalogue of preferences somewhat resembling the lists of the hip and the non-hip Norman Mailer compiled for the Village Voice and his generalized bad boy persona the reader may yet wonder just what a Vorticist work of art looks like.  The show at the Doré Gallery perforce answered that question and, in Lewis’s “Note for Catalogue” [7] of the exhibition, he let the cat peek just a bit out of the bag.  He opens with an adroit faux naïf use of passive voice, referring to “painters, to whom the name Vorticist has been given” (as though he and Pound had not concocted the movement).  He has not dropped his rivalry with Marinetti, referring to the “fuss and hysterics of the Futurists,” but he is now at pains to distinguish himself from another rival as well, Picasso in whose work he finds “passivity” (Lewis used all capitals) in contrast to Vorticist “activity.”  To him Picasso is a “dressmaker” who simply “matches little bits of stuff he finds lying about. He puts no life into the pieces of cloth or paper he sticks side by side, but rather contemplates their beauty.”

      The heart of Lewis’s remarks in this introduction to the exhibition, however, stresses abstraction rather than dynamism.

The impression received on a hot afternoon on the quays of some port, made up of the smell of tar and fish, the heat of the sun, the history of the place, cannot be conveyed by any imitation of a corner of it. The influences weld themselves into an hallucination or dream (which all the highest art has always been) with a mathematic of its own.   

He criticizes naturalistic or academic painting the goal of which is what was later called photorealism, concluding that abstraction is the only adequate method of conveying his vision.  His whimsy has not altogether departed.  He suggests that if advertisements were abstract “the effect architecturally would be much better, and the Public taste could thus be educated in a popular way to appreciate the essentials of design better than picture-galleries have ever done.”  As a final caprice, he implies that Vorticism is a contribution to the British war effort in contending against German Kultur.  In terms of actual Vorticist characteristics, gallery-goers are offered only in fact abstraction as a kind of higher symbolism and the idea of energy.

     While Blast had been primarily a counter-cultural entertainment, an irreverent eruption making considerable noise while shedding little light, the exhibit allowed Lewis to define the “movement” with bit more specificity.  Today descriptions of Vorticist art generally limit themselves to prescribing “hard-edged abstraction” allied on the one hand with Cubist forms and on the other with Futurist themes. 

     The movement’s other parent, however, was Ezra Pound whose primary concern was literary.  Pound argues in his essay “Vortex” [8] for a sort of abstraction in literature as well as visual art, quoting with approval Pater’s line that “all arts approach the conditions of music.” He elaborates.

It is no more ridiculous that a person should receive or convey an emotion by means of an arrangement of shapes, or planes, or colours, than that they should receive or convey such emotion by an arrangement of musical notes.

 For him consciousness is “the primary pigment,” and the artist is reproducing a state of mind, not an observed external scene.  Just as poetry tends toward the pleasures of music, music answers and, to him, “music, sheer melody, seems as if it were just bursting into speech.”  Everything is symbolic.  “The vorticist relies not upon similarity or analogy, not upon likeness or mimicry.”  Realism is a “secondary application”

     In Pound’s Vorticist poetry prettiness, too, is not the focus. 

Since the beginning of bad writing, writers have used images as ornaments. The point of Imagisme is that it does not use images as ornaments. The image is itself the speech. The image is the word beyond formulated language.

In accordance with Pound’s admiration for craft, the primary aim for him is formal, a value highlighted by his claim (which he immediately moderates) that “Lewis is Bach.” 

Music was vorticist in the Bach-Mozart period, before it went off into romance and sentiment and description. A new vorticist music would come from a new computation of the mathematics of harmony, not from a mimetic representation of dead cats in a fog-horn, alias noise-tuners.

     Far from dropping Imagisme for Vorticism, he built on its foundation.  Far from being left behind, the image generates the vortex.  For him “THE IMAGE IS NOT an idea,” and presumably not mere decoration either. He characterizes it using formal terms, beginning with the word vortex itself.  To Pound the vortex is “a radiant node or cluster.”  His images are meant neither to be symbols requiring decoding nor decorative elements, but rather vortices, formal patterns “from which, and through which, and into which, ideas are constantly rushing.”  Even the sort of images he admired in East Asian poetry become, through this lens, vorticist nodes of activity in spite of their apparent stillness.   Rhythms alone are, like music, capable of communicating anything.  “I believe that every emotion and every phase of emotion has some toneless phrase, some rhythm-phrase to express it.”

     Physicists in the early twentieth century found, upon close examination of material reality, that its apparent solidity conceals teeming activity and extraordinary potential energy on the subatomic level.  At the time of Vorticism scientists were beginning to dig deeper yet, uncovering first the mysteries of relativity and then those of quantum mechanics.   By analogy the Vorticist claimed to be likewise looking into the very essence of things. 

     Pound, then, argues for the formal values of abstraction while maintaining a practice of imagism, asserting what to him  are essentially artistic values against thematics.  He republishes his principles of Imagism which have now become principles of Vorticism as well. [9] He aspires to pass beyond the mild beauty of the picturesque, beyond the appeal of the concrete specific, to reach a glimpse of the tumultuous, sometimes awe-inspiring energy of the vortex.   He repeats at the same time Lewis’s conviction that Vorticism must be altogether au courant, in the very forefront of innovation.  “Vortex is the present, the moment of the creation of the future.”

     To visualize Vorticism as the central modern art movement he situates it among others, Marinetti, Picasso, and Kandinsky in particular.  He declares defiantly that Marinetti “did not set on the egg that hatched me,” he disparages Marinetti’s Futurism as merely “a sort of accelerated  impressionism.”  For him all non-Vorticist work, “every work that is not poised in this whirlpool” [i.e., the vortex) “is a corpse”.

     On the other hand he admires the artists most associated with abstraction and Cubism, Kandinsky and Picasso, and is willing to accept descent in their lineage.  “Picasso, Kandinski, father and mother, classicism and romanticism of the of the [Vorticist] movement.”  In associating Picasso with a sort of “classicism,” he may have been recognizing the tendency toward poised serenity in composition of many of Picasso’s Cubist work during the World War I period even before what art historians often label his ”classical” phase. 

     To Kandinsky he attributed the principle that content is quite irrelevant.  “An artist should have just as much pleasure in an arrangement of planes or in a pattern of figures, as in painting portraits of fine ladies, or in portraying the Mother of God as the symbolists bid us.”  This insistence on abstraction is shared by Lewis and Pound and is perhaps the chief discernable principle of Vorticism. 

     The documents here analyzed preserve the idea of the movement, though Lewis’s visual works might well be subsumed under other labels.  Vorticism is ever elusive since it “never presented a coherent point of view.” [11]  A critical article wonders “on what basis we can call any work of art ‘Vorticist,’” adding  “It is difficult to imagine any sentence as an example of the Vorticist style, or any visual style in painting.”  A description of Vorticist work might be equally applied to paintings by Kandinsky or Picasso or, indeed, to “most of the paintings created between 1907 and 1915 by the avant-garde.”   Vorticist poetry seems to be in an even worse case.  Even when looking at Pound’s own work, the Vorticist character “remains elusive.” [10]  another investigator says that, in general, Vorticism “failed miserably,” and “left no permanent traces on  Western styles of art.”   “If few understood it then,” the writer concludes, “it is even more obscure now.” [12]

     Vorticism, though occasioned perhaps more by Lewis’s break with Roger Fry’s Omega group and Pound’s rambunctious free-lance troublemaking than by theoretical considerations, enjoyed a brief efflorescence.  At its crest, though, the movement had little to distinguish it from the longer-lived trends of Imagism and Cubism.  Vorticism’s founders, much as they looked down upon Marinetti, shared with him a noxious politics that has discouraged discipleship.  Yet for a time Vorticism seized the spotlight of the art world, though this most often meant attracting scorn.  The Daily Mail commented that “Almost any child between the ages of eight months and three years can be a first rate Vorticist if it is given some lightly coloured paints, bottle of blacking and mama’s new white tablecloth.” [13]  Such philistinism is by no means entailed by a critique of Vorticism.  Lewis’s pictures and Pound’s poems retain a lasting value and Blast will remain a marvel, a pyrotechnic display that energizes and amuses still after more than a hundred years, a reminder of a time when the Bohemian avant-garde still possessed the power to shock and, with that sometimes, to stimulate thinking.    

 

 

1.  This was followed by a New York show at the Penguin Club the same year1915.  The group then lost coherence, though elements recoalesced as Group X (which exhibited in 1920).  Since then, major shows focusing on Vorticism as a historic phenomenon, first at the Tate in 1956, and since at the Estorick Collection in 2004, and again at the Tate in 2011. 

2.  Others of the circle included Lawrence Atkinson, Cuthbert Hamilton, and Sir Jacob Epstein.

3.  Though the manifesto bears eleven signatures, it is thought to have been written by Lewis.

4.  Capitals in the original.  Following this statement, however, Lewis’s capitalization seems impressionistic and improvisatory, guided by design more than content.  To avoid an unpleasantly busy page, I shall silently return other cited phrases to conventional capitalization. 

5.  Reprinted in Advertisements for Myself, p. 364-6 where the reader learns that “Schrodinger’s model of the atom,” “differential calculus,” and Catholic things are hip, while  “Bohr’s model of the atom,” “analytic geometry,” and what is Protestant are square. 

6.  Whether another critic might deem “Les Demoiselles d'Avignon” passive may seem dubious, though many of the artists’ Cubist works are serenely composed and he was shortly to enter what art historians call his neo-classical period.

7.  Available online at https://exhibitions.univie.ac.at/exhibition/724.

8.  “Vorticism,”  The Fortnightly Review, September 1914.  Available at https://fortnightlyreview.co.uk/vorticism/.

9.  “A Few Don’ts by an Imagist,” Poetry Magazine,z March 1913. 

10.  William C. Lipke and Bernard W. Rozran, “Ezra Pound and Vorticism: A Polite Blast,” Wisconsin Studies in Contemporary Literature Vol. 7, No. 2 (Summer, 1966).

11.  Arthur J. Sabatini, “Vorticism Revitalized,” Journal of Modern Literature, Vol. 38, No. 4 (Summer 2015).

12.  Herbert N. Schneidau, “Vorticism and the Career of Ezra Pound.”  Modern Philology, Vol. 65, No. 3 (Feb., 1968).

13.  Quoted in  Andrew Thacker “Blasting Beyond Britain,” Fortnightly Review, August 24, 2011.

The Contradictions of Minstrelsy: Jim Crow, Zip Coon, and Gumbo Chaff

 

Numbers in brackets refer to endnotes; those in parentheses refer either to stanzas in “Jim Crow” or to lines in “Zip Coon,” and “Gumbo Chaff.”  The poems are appended. 

 

      The minstrel show was a leading form of American popular entertainment for decades.  What had been enjoyed as simple entertainment lost its savor when the form was eventually recognized as aggressively and perniciously racist.  Already in its heyday Frederick Douglass denounced minstrelsy with righteous anger, castigating the performers as “the filthy scum of white society, who have stolen from us a complexion denied to them by nature, in which to make money, and pander to the corrupt taste of their white fellow-citizens.” [1] 

     Douglass’ unqualified condemnation, while justifiable in a polemic, is reductive.   His disgusted rejection of minstrel entertainment contrasts dramatically with the attitude of W. E. B. Du Bois whose defense of the contributions of Black artists included “American music built on Negro themes . . . such as ‘Old Black Joe’” as well as praising James Weldon Johnson and composer Will Marion Cook whose works were, doubtless for commercial considerations, sometimes clearly derivative of minstrelsy. [2]  The penetration of minstrelsy to the most sophisticated Black artists is evident in Cook and Paul Lawrence Dunbar’s operetta Clorindy: the Origin of the Cakewalk (1898) which was heavily influenced by the genre’s conventions and included songs like "Who Dat Say Chicken In Dis Crowd" and “Hottest Coon in Dixie.”

     In their time minstrel shows were nationwide popular culture in a young nation, and were valued by many as a sort of unique national culture.  For some sympathetic to Black culture, far from being degrading, minstrel entertainments allowed music arising from African-American culture to become popular and “cross over” to a wider audience.  Since “negroes” were “the true originators of this music,” its performance might allow the race to “aspire to an equality with the musical and poetical delineators of all nationalities.” [3]  A popular music magazine in 1856 lamented the lack of musicality of many white Americans, noting that “we are still dependent on foreigners [Italians and Germans] for our music,” since “the only musical population of this country are the negroes of the south.”  “Compared with our taciturn race, the African nature is full of poetry and song. The Negro is a natural musician.”  The apparent praise arises, however, from a Romantic and racist premise: “the African nature is full of poetry. Inferior to the white race in reason and intellect, they have more imagination.” [4]

     A similar ambivalence is reflected in a comprehensive and detailed survey of Black performance in America published in 1889 which noted that that minstrelsy was “the only branch of the dramatic art, if properly, it can claim to be an art at all, which has had its origin in this country, while the melody it has inspired is certainly our only approach to a national music.”  The qualifying phrase questions whether Black art can be art at all, while at the same time it concedes the quality and distinctly American character of performances developed from African-American materials. [5]

     The historical context confirms the ambiguity of what today seems an outrightly offensive art.  Minstrelsy began in New York City and its leading performers were virtually all Northerners and no defenders of slavery.  Performers like Thomas “Daddy” Rice claimed to be imitating valued Black models.  As an actor Rice sometimes played Uncle Tom in blackface in the extremely popular enactments of the novel which served as propaganda for the anti-slavery cause.  Dan Emmett, the founder of the first troupe of minstrel performers, was from frontier Ohio.  He, too, was an opponent of slavery and reportedly regretted having written his biggest hit “Dixie” when the South made it an anthem (Lincoln was very fond of the song as well).  [6]  Though his dialect songs no longer find listeners, Henry Work Clay in “Kingdom Coming” expressed rebellion against master and overseer and celebrated liberation (“ De whip is lost, de han'cuff broken”) in his work while in his life he maintained an Underground Railway stop.      

     Recent studies have argued for the complexity of the theatrical phenomenon.  A recent popular account claims that minstrel shows expressed a progressive point of view and attracted a multi-racial audience specifically because they “embodied the strivings and frustrations of laborers of all races and circumstances who were wise to their oppressive masters.”  In this writer’s view the blackface character is a “compellingly transgressive cross-racial persona, with its slyly veiled but unmistakable challenge to power.”  [7]  A scholarly treatment elides race while suggesting that minstrelsy was progressive.  The shows “represented, in a comic way, the natural and democratic values usually fostered by the Indian, the Yankee, or the frontiersman against artificiality and elitism.” [8]  Calling the minstrel form “shot through with ambivalence,” another academic study raises the possibility that blackface manifested a genuine “African-American people’s culture,” [9] while yet another notes that in general early “minstrels deplored the cruelty of slavery.” [10]

     Ambivalence emerges inevitably from the blackface tradition.  While the comic figures of the minstrel stage were portrayed as buffoons (a fate common to many comic characters), their antics accompanied the movement of music based in part on Black models to the center of popular taste, a dominance now globalized with the influence of blues, jazz, and rhythm and blues.  In this way the rise of minstrelsy might, like the prominence of Gnaoua musicians in Morocco, be viewed as a result of West African musical genius.  The fact remains that the minstrel stage constructed and perpetuated negative racial stereotypes which, while likely reassuring to the white audience, were socially destructive.  Despite this general effect, the songs and skits could sometimes express authentic aspirations of African-Americans while satirizing the master class.  Some minstrel comedy is embodied in projections of desire which apply to all people. 

     The polyvalence of what might seem on the surface a simple and unambiguous set of conventions is in fact inherent in its essence.  A masquerade in which a white person aped a Black (reminiscent of African masquerades and forgotten European ones) was capable of further turns.  Soon Black performers were imitating white ones imitating Black ones.  Once the African-American with the stage name of Juba (William Henry Lane) became sufficiently celebrated (in part through Dickens’ description of him in American Notes) to attract imitators, a viewer witnessing their derivative shows could see a white man pretending to be a Black imitating a white person in the role of a Black one.   The vertigo of such a situation is unsettling and clearly problematic.

     The original texts of the classic minstrel characters provide a body of evidence more direct and revealing than theoretical speculation or circumstantial historical investigation.  Among the most celebrated of the early minstrel characters were Jim Crow, originated by Thomas “Daddy” Rice, Zip Coon, performed by George Washington Dixon, and Gumbo Chaff, performed by both Rice and Dixon.  An examination of the songs attributed to each of these contributes to an understanding of the racial attitudes of the performers and their audiences.   

     The Jim Crow spectacle doubtless centered on the dancing which was surely expert but also exotic, and likely a bit grotesque.  Rice’s model was a disabled man whose performance entertained people in the same way as kings had once been amused at dwarfs.  The improbable makeup must have had a comic impact like Groucho Marx’s mustache when it was painted on, or Chaplin’s villains’ towering eyebrows.  These significant elements are lost.  The character of Jim Crow underwent considerable reuse and adaptation on the minstrel stage and beyond, but the present analysis, like those that follow, is based on the text of the original poem alone.

     Jim Crow appears in Rice’s song fundamentally as a hero, a man of prodigious abilities and appetites, a fighter and a lover.  With physical strength sufficient to “split a horse block” (13) he is “full of fight” (5).  The song concludes with an aggressive challenge to racists.

 

An I caution all white dandies,

Not to come in my way,

For if dey insult me,

dey'll in de gutter lay.     (44)

 

     Like Gilgamesh, Achilles, and Lancelot, Jim Crow is a lover as well.  He cannot stay away from the river due to the many “galls” there.  He admires women in Hoboken, too, where he sees them “drinking lemonade.” (26)  He is enthusiastic about marriage and looks down on divorce, imagining himself proudly strolling down Broadway with his wife on his arm. (40-42)  This final image is in a way definitive: what Jim Crow wants is respect.

     The song, however, is comic, enlivened by carnival spirit including the sort of fanciful boasts characteristic of the tall tales associated with the frontier.  Just as Davy Crockett was said to claim to be able to “whip my weight in wildcats” [11], Jim Crow boasts, “I wip my weight in wildcats.” (7)  Crockett claims to be “half alligator,” while Jim Crow says he could “eat an Alligator.” (7)  With similar verbal display Jim Crow’s fighting prowess leaves one opponent nothing but “a little grease spot” (6) while another turns gray with fright. (14)

     When Jim Crow comes to comment directly on politics, the views expressed are direct and uncompromising.  The singer contemplates emancipation, declaring that the slaves’ “wish for freedom” is “shining in deir eyes” and boldly stating an abolitionist position.

 

I'm for freedom,

An for Union altogether,

Aldough I'm a black man,

De white is call'd my broder.

                                          (39)


 Rice’s Jim Crow even goes into the political details of the time, noting the challenge to the federal government in South Carolina’s Nullification Act of 1832 and anticipating the Civil War.

 

De great Nullification,

And fuss in de South,

Is now before Congress,

To be tried by word ob mouth.

(34)

 

Dey hab had no blows yet,

And I hope dey nebber will,

For its berry cruel in bredren

One anoders blood to spill.

(35)

 

     In spite of the obvious insulting racial stereotypes implied by the makeup, the dialect, and the doubtlessly weird dance movements, Jim Crow as a character seems more a comically exaggerated frontier hero like Davy Crockett or Mike Fink than weak and simply ridiculous like the movies’ Lincoln Perry (Stepin Fetchit) or Willie Best.  

     Zip Coon is likewise a comic figure, boastful in spite of his uneducated language; though he claims to be a “larned skoler,” (1) though the reader suspects his deepest learning concerns the pursuit of the “possum up a gum tree” or the “coony on a stump.” (5) His love with Suky, though rustic, is mutual.  The frivolous tone of the song with its effervescent nonsense syllables is inescapable, but Zip Coon, like Jim Crow, has a partisan political position.  Like Andrew Jackson and many of the country’s working class, he opposes the United States Bank, but his next line is a startling one: “de bery nex President, will be Zip Coon.” (32)  He then tops this declaration by naming Davy Crockett, who was found to have a good deal in common with Jim Crow, as vice-president. (47)  Zip Coon, far from accepting the status quo, clearly advocates grass roots rebellion.  He is appetitive and boastful, but these are the characteristics of heroes as well as fools.

     “Gumbo Chaff,” another character Rice popularized with a song and dance, while he begins in slavery, ends in bourgeois propriety, introducing his wife to neighbors.  A riverboat man skilled at cat-fishing, he is nonetheless mistreated by his master whose death then appears a matter of retributive justice. [12]  He has little doubt of the slaveowner’s posthumous fate.

 

An' I do believe sure enough he's gone to de debil,

For when he live you know he light upon me so,

But now he's gone to tote de firewood way down below. (22-4)

 

     The deceased master’s wife seems to have troubles of her own including an acquisitive new lover whose exploitation of her wealth is the occasion for another sympathetic reference to Davy Crockett. (28)  Perhaps she also exercises less control over the slaves, for Gumbo Chaff runs off to New Orleans where he astonishes the locals with his “genius” at handling cotton bales: “dey swore it was de debil or old Gumbo Chaff.” (42)  In this free environment he flourishes, dancing and learning French, until he stows away for a return upriver to a satisfied retirement where he recounts his career for the amusement of “white folks,” a task he accomplishes by the very act of speaking of it. (63)

     Far from finding contentment in slavery, Jim Crow, Zip Coon, and Gumbo Chaff all express the desire to escape their oppression.  In the first and last instances they achieve a respectable married life and in the second (in imagination, at any rate) the presidency of the United States.  The comic attributes of all three are in part the appetitive proclivities often prominent in comedy magnified by the exaggerations of “tall tale” lore.  Yet Douglass had good reason to complain that minstrel performers “pander to the corrupt taste of their white fellow-citizens,” “corrupt” because they direct laughter at African-Americans as they coopt their skin color and thus reinforce the racism that has poisoned this republic since its founding.  Minstrelsy as a Creolized art, a mixture of European and African elements, was perhaps bound from its conception to a profound ambivalence.  

      The white working-class audience that patronized early minstrel shows, like the white working class in other eras, was able to scapegoat and mock African-American workers, while periodically recognizing their common humanity.  This vacillation was inevitably represented in popular entertainments during and after the practice of the country’s “peculiar institution.”  While some members of a white audience  might seek to elevate their own exploited position prior to the rise of labor unions by scorning identifiable groups of their fellow workers, women or immigrants if not non-white peoples, this reaction was neither necessary nor consistent.  White workers sometimes also extended a general human sympathy with slaves and Blacks, often in the popular sentimental mode of the day, and sometimes made common political cause with them on the basis of class.  The same ambivalence, unfortunately, is no less apparent in twenty-first century America.  Condemning the racism that clearly plays a role in minstrel entertainments need not involve blindness to the progressive tendencies of such performances and of the artists who composed them. 

 

  

 

1.  “The Hutchinson Family.—Hunkerism,” The North Star, October 27, 1848.  Douglass recommended instead the Hutchinson Family, a group of white singers who actively supported opposition to slavery as well as other progressive causes such as woman suffrage, opposition to the Mexican War, and Prohibition. 

 

2.  W. E. Burghardt DuBois, “The Negro in Literature and Art,” The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, Sep., 1913, Vol. 49, The Negro's Progress in Fifty Years (Sep., 1913).  Cook had studied in Heinrich Jacobson in Germany and in America with Dvořák.  He directed an operatic version of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in 1898.

 

3.  “The Black Opera,” first published in the New York Herald Tribune, June 30, 1855,  reprinted in Dwight’s Journal of Music, July 3, 1858.

 

4.  “Songs of the Blacks,” Dwight’s Journal of Music, 15 November 1856.

 

5.  Hutton, “The Negro on the Stage,” Harper’s June 1889.

 

6.  Hans Nathan, Dan Emmett and the rise of early Negro minstrelsy, p. 275.  Emmet wrote the fife-and-drum manual for the Union Army.

 

7.  Sarah Richardson, “The History of the Real Jim Crow,” American History,  April, 2018. 

 

8.  Cory Rosenberg, “Ole’ Zip Coon is a Mighty Learned Scholar: Blackface Minstrelsy as Reflection and Foundation of American Popular Culture,” Gettysburg College Journal of the Civil War Era, Volume 3 Article 6, 2013.

 

9.  Eric Lott, "’The Seeming Counterfeit’: Racial Politics and Early Blackface Minstrelsy,” American Quarterly Vol. 43, No. 2 (Jun., 1991).

 

10. Anthony J. Berret, S. J., “Huckleberry Finn and the Minstrel Show,” American Studies, Vol. 27, No. 2 (fall 1986). 

 

11.  John S. C. Abbott, David Crockett: His Life and Adventures, pt. 4.

 

12.  Indifference or relief at a master’s death appears in numerous other minstrel songs as well, the most familiar being “Jimmy Crack Corn,” a song popularized by Dan Emmett's Virginia Minstrels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rice sheet music publication 1832

Jump Jim Crow
 

1
Come listen all you galls and boys
I's just from Tuckyhoe,
I'm goin to sing a little song,
My name is Jim Crow

Chorus

Weel about and turn about and do jis so,
Eb'ry time I weel about and jump Jim Crow.
 

2
Oh, I'm a roarer on de Fiddle,
And down in old Virginny,
They say I play de skyentific
Like Massa Pagannini.
 

3
I git 'pon a flat boat
I cotch de Uncle Sam
Den I went to see de place
Where dey kill'd Packenham.


4
I went down to de riber,
I did'nt mean to stay,
But dere I see so many galls,
I couldn't get away.

 

5
And den I go to Orleans
An feel so full of fight
Dey put me in de Calaboose,
An keep me dare all night.
 

6
When I got out I hit a man,
His name I now forget,
but dere was nothing left
'Sept a little grease spot
 

7
I wip my weight in wildcats
I eat an Alligator,
And tear up more ground
Dan kifer 50 load of tater
 

8
I sit upon a Hornet's nest,
I dance upon my head,
I tie a Wiper' round my neck
And den I go to bed.
 

9
Dere's Possum up de gumtree
An Raccoon in de hollow,
Wake Snakes for June bugs
Stole my half a dollar
 

10
A ring tail'd monkey
An a rib nose Babboon,
Went out de odder day
To spend de arternoon.
 

11
Oh de way dey bake de hoecake
In old Virginny neber tire
Dey put de hoe upon de foot
An hole it to de fire.
 

12
Oh by trade I am a carpenter,
But be it understood,
De way I get my liben is,
By sawing de tick oh wood.
 

13
I'm a full blooded niggar,
Oh de real ole stock,
An wid my head and shoulder
I can split a horse block.
 

14
I struck a Jersey niggar,
In de street de oder day,
An I hope I neber stir
If he didn't turn gray.
 

15
I'm berry much afraid of late
Dis jumping will be no good.
For while de Crow are dancing,
De Wites will saw de wood.
 

16
But if dey get honest,
By sawing wood like slaves
Der'es an end to de business,
Ob our friend Massa Hays.
 

17
I met a Philadelphia niggar
Dress'd up quite nice & clean
But de way he 'bused de Yorkers
I thought was berru mean.
 

18
So I knocked down dis Sambo
And shut up his light,
For I'm jist about as sassy,
As if I was half white.
 

19
But he soon jumped up again,
An 'gan for me to feel,
Says I go away you niggar,
Or I'll skin you like an eel.
 

20
I'm so glad dat I'm a niggar,
And don't you wish you was too
For den you'd gain popularity
By jumping Jim Crow.
 

21
Now my brodder niggars,
I do not think it right,
Dat you should laugh at dem
Who happen to be white.
 

22
Kase it dar misfortune,
And dey'd spend ebery dollar,
If dey only could be
Gentlemen ob colour.
 

23
It almost break my heart,
To see dem envy me,
And from my soul I wish dem,
Full as black as we.
 

24
What stuf it is in dem,
To make de Debbil black
I'll prove dat he is white
In de twinkling of a crack.
 

25
For you see loved brodders,
As true as he had a tail,
It is his very weakness
What makes him turn pale.
 

26
I went to Hoboken,
To hab a promenade,
An dar I see de pretty gals,
Drinking de Lemonade.
 

27
Dat sour and dat sweet,
Is berry good by gum',
But de best of lemonade is,
Made by adding rum.
 

28
At de Swan cottage,
Is de place I tink,
Whar dey make dis 'licious
An 'toxicating drink.
 

29
Some go to Weehawk,
An some to Brooklyn hight
But dey better stay at home,
If dey want to see de sight.
 

30
To go to de museum,
I'm sure it is dare duty,
If for noting else,
Jist to see de sleeping beauty.
 

31
An dare is daddy Lambert,
An a skeleton on he hunkie,
An likeness of Broadway dandy
In a glass case of monkies.
 

32
De Broadway bells,
When dey carry full sail,
Around dem wear a funny ting,
Just like a fox tail.
 

33
When you hear de name of it,
I sure it make you roar,
Why I ax'd 'em what it was,
And dey said it was a boar.
 

34
De great Nullification,
And fuss in de South,
Is now before Congress,
To be tried by word ob mouth.
 

35
Dey hab had no blows yet,
And I hope dey nebber will,
For its berry cruel in bredren
One anoders blood to spill.
 

36
Wid Jackson at de head,
Dey soon de ting may settle
For ole Hickory is a man,
Dat's tarnal full ob mettle.
 

37
Should dey get to fighting,
Perhaps de blacks will rise,
For deir wish for freedom,
Is shining in deir eyes.
 

38
An if de blacks should get free,
I guess dey'll fee some bigger,
An I shall concider it,
A bold stroke for de niggar.
 

39
I'm for freedom,
An for Union altogether,
Aldough I'm a black man,
De white is call'd my broder.
 

40
I'm for a union to a gal,
An dis is a stubborn fact,
But if I marry an dont like it,
I'll nullify de act.
 

41
I'm tired of being a single man
An I'm tarmined to get a wife
For what I think de happiest
Is de swee married life.
 

42
Its berry common 'mong de white
To marry and get divorced
But dat I'll nebber do
Unless I'm really forced
 

43
I think I see myself in Broadway
Wid my wife upon my arm,
And to follow up de fashion,
Dere sure can be no harm.
 

44
An I caution all white dandies,
Not to come in my way,
For if dey insult me,
dey'll in de gutter lay.

 

 

 

Old Zip Coon (1834)
 

O ole Zip Coon he is a larned skoler,
O ole Zip Coon he is a larned skoler,
O ole Zip Coon he is a larned skoler,
Sings posum up a gum tree an coony in a holler,
possum up a gum tree, coony on a stump,
possum up a gum tree, coony on a stump,
possum up a gum tree, coony on a stump,
Den over dubble trubble, Zip Coon will jump.
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.           10
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
 

O it's old Suky blue skin, she is in lub wid me,
I went the udder arter noon to take a dish ob tea;
What do you tink now, Suky hab for supper,
Why chicken foot an possum heel, widout any butter.
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.               20

Did you eber see the wild goose, sailing on de ocean,
O de wild goose motion is a bery pretty notion;
Ebry time de wild goose, beckons to de swaller,
You hear him google google google google goller.
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
 

I tell you what will happin den, now bery soon,
De Nited States Bank will be blone to de moon;   30
Dare General Jackson, will him lampoon,
An de bery nex President, will be Zip Coon.
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
 

And wen Zip Coon our President shall be,
He make all de little Coons sing possum up a tree;
O how de little Coons, will dance an sing,
Wen he tie dare tails togedder, cross de lim dey swing. 40
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
 

Now mind wat you arter, you tarnel kritter Crocket,
You shant go head widout ole Zip, he is de boy to block it;
Zip shall be President, Crocket shall be vice,
An den dey two togedder, will hab de tings nice.
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.              50
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
 

I hab many tings to tork about, but don't know which come first,
So here de toast to old Zip Coon, before he gin to rust;
May he hab de pretty girls, like de King ob ole,
To sing dis song so many times, 'fore he turn to mole.
 

O zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.                  60
 

 

 

Gumbo Chaff  (1850)
 

On de Ohio bluff in de state of Indiana,
Dere's where I live, chock up to de Habbana,
Eb'ry mornin early Massa gib me likker,
I take my net and paddle and I put out de quicker,
I jump into my kiff and I down the river driff,
And I cotch as many cat fish as ever nigger liff
 

Now dis morning on a driff log tink I see an Alligator,
I scull my skiff around and chuck him sweet potatoe,
I cratch him on de head and try for to vex it,
But I couldn't fool de varmint now how I could fix it;        10
So I picks a brick an' I fotch'd him sich a lick,
But twant nothin' but a pine knot 'pom a big stick.
 

Now old Mass build a barn to put de fodder in,
Dis ting an dat ting an' one ting anodder;
Thirty ninth Decembur time come a rise ob water,
An' it carry Massas barn much farder dan it ought to;
Then old Massa swear, he cuss an' tare his hair,
Becase de water tuck de Barn off he cou'dnt tell where.
 

Now old Massa die on de lebenteenth of April,
I put him in de troff what cotch de sugar maple,                   20
I digs a deep hole right out upon de level,
An' I do believe sure enough he's gone to de debil,
For when he live you know he light upon me so,
But now he's gone to tote de firewood way down below.
 

Den Missis she did marry Big Bill de weaver,
Soon she found out he was a gay deceiver,
He grab all de money and he put it in his pocket,
And de way he did put out was a sin to Davy Crocket;
So old Missis cry and 'gin to wipe her eye,
For she marry Bill de weaver she cou'dnt tell why.                 30
 

Now one day de sun gone down an' de days work over,
Old Gumbo Chaff he tink he'd live in Clover;
He jump into a boat wid his old Tamborine,
While shoonerhead Sambo play'd de Violin;
De way we sail'd to New Orleans never be forgotten,
Dey put me on de Levy dock to roll a bale of Cotton.
 

When I cotch hold de bale oh! den you ought to seen us!
First time dis child 'gan to show his genus;
I got hold de corner an' I give him such a hug,
An' I light upon him like a duck 'pon a june bug;                      40
Oh! you ought to been dare to see de Niggers laff,
For dey swore it was de debil or old Gumbo Chaff.
 

I lern'd to talk de French oh! a la mode de dancey,
Kick him shoe, tare him wool, parle vo de Francey,
None jaw Madamselle, Stevadors and Riggers,
Apple jack and sassafras and little Indian Niggers;
De natives laff'd an swore dat I was corn'd,
For dey neber heard sich French since dey was born'd.
 

I leab New Orleans early one day morning,
I jump'd aboard de boat jist as de day was dawning,                  50
I hide behind de wood where de Niggers allways toss'um,
And lay low like de Coon when him tries to fool de Possum;
I lay dare still doe 'twas rather diffikill,
An dey did'nt find me out 'till I got to Louisville.
 

Dare Jim beats de drum an old Joe's de fifer,
An I is dat child what can read an cifer;
Twice one is five den carry six to seven,
Twice six is twenty nine an eighteen's eleven,
So 'twixt you and me its very plain to see,
Dat I learnt to play de Banjo by de double rule of three.             60
 

Now I rive on our farm on de Ohio Bluff,
An' I tink of fun an' frolick old Gumbo's had enough;
Oh! de white folks at home I very much amuse,
When I sing dis song an tell 'em all de news;
So we'd music all night an dey set up sich a laff
When I introduced de Niggers to Mrs Gumbo Chaff.

Monday, August 1, 2022

Confidence Games

 

     When I was young and television was young as well, my favorite program was Racket Squad, a police show which would always open with Reed Hadley turning his imposing face from his radio where he had been answering a call to identify himself, “Captain Braddock . . . Racket Squad.”  The story would then turn on some elaborate confidence game, generally a long con indeed, foiled eventually by inexorable detective work.  At the end Hadley would solemnly advise the audience, “Remember, a man can shake your hand with one hand and pick your pocket with the other.”  What appealed to me, I think, was the artfulness of that particular variety of crime.  Far from threatening the victim, the grifter eschewed violence and threats and took the opposite tack, convincing the mark of his amiability and trustworthiness before vanishing with the loot.  Like an artist, the fraudster must create a convincing alternative world.

     While the efforts of the scammers on television seemed as though they must be exaggerated -- their efforts to build a convincing façade generally involved actors, props, and such sets as apparently functioning offices -- they were only magnifying, not creating, the theatrical flourish that once animated this distinctive field of criminal endeavor.  Con men of today have no imagination in comparison.  We are all familiar with the extremely common and extremely boring confidence schemes that currently dominate the field.  Everyone receives numerous spam emails and bogus telephone calls so clumsy and transparently fraudulent that it is difficult to conceive of their working at all.  Yet the magic of microcircuits has enabled vast numbers of messages to be sent for virtually no cost while conveniently allowing a high degree of anonymity to the knowledgeable sender.  The immense quantity of come-ons makes up for their shoddy quality in credibility resulting, I suppose, in a satisfactory yield. 

     By comparison, the con-man most people today have encountered in person, the three card monte operator, is a virtuoso artist.  A successful three card monte dealer must equal the skills of a closeup magician in both his skill in patter and in prestidigitation, or sleight-of-hand.  The game, modern successor of the old shell game, has survived in the street, in subway cars, and in public parks because it can still bring in money even though everyone is familiar with how it works.  What observer could possibly think that the practitioner of the art, a professional after all, would ever go home with less money in his pocket than he had had when he left?  The shills are obvious little short of the point of slapstick.  And yet the show is sufficiently compelling that people continue to put their money down. 

     Police reports indicate that a few practitioners continue old short-change routines, usually based on presenting a large bill to pay for a small item and, as the change is counted out, suddenly saying one wishes to use a smaller bill.  Variations exist, mostly depending on using multiple transactions to generate confusion, though a few maneuvers depend on “fixing” a wad of cash to make a one seem to be a twenty or a half-bill look like a whole one.  This practice, too, requires manual dexterity and instant discernment of the clerk’s evolving state of mind.

      Newspaper accounts indicate that the old pigeon drop still can work, too, in which an apparently valuable object is found which, for one reason or another, the possessor is willing to let go very cheaply.  Perhaps he is an illegal alien afraid to cash in his winning lotto ticket, or on his way to an important job interview so he cannot cash in the diamond necklace the two of you have come upon.  At some point the mark is asked to advance money of his own on the promise of a greater return very shortly.  So acting once again is perhaps the leading component of the con.   

     Self-interested deceptions are, of course, as old as the ability to lie, which is to say, as old as language.  Some colorful fragments of past practices are preserved in Francis Grose’s A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785).  In what he calls “flash lingo,” both “money-droppers” and practitioners of the “fawney rig” are clearly working eighteenth century versions of the pigeon drop.  Grose mentions a variety of other con artists whose specialties have become obsolete.  He defines “amusers” as those who toss snuff into a person’s face, allowing confederates to lift his purse while pretending to assist him.  Among journeyman hatters, he says to “bug” a customer is to substitute a cheaper product for a beaver hat.  He says those selling a lethargic horse might “feague” it, putting ginger into the animal’s “fundament” in order to make it behave in a temporarily lively manner.  A more elaborate charade is suggested by his definition of “Vincent’s law” as “the art of cheating at cards,” a collective enterprise requiring a “banker," a shill or “gripe,” and a Vincent (the mark). 

      This last begins to approximate the professionally theatrical quality confidence games acquired during their “Augustan Age” [1].  Though the set-ups that figured in Racket Squad episodes had seemed impossibly elaborate, in fact, the television version may be no more than a just memorial for the extraordinarily artful criminal enterprises of the first half of the twentieth century.  David Maurer, their finest chronicler [2], describes grand and lengthy deceptions, managed like movie sets, with storefronts staffed by teams of operators, each a specialist in one role of the deception such as the “roper,” who locates likely marks and the “inside man,” who impersonates a broker or manager of gambling den.  Some of their “long cons” stretch over weeks during which they may move from one city to another.  Each participant is known to fellow grifters by a nickname: Kangaroo John, the High Ass Kid, Slobbering Bob, Queer-pusher Nick, the Hash House Kid, Wildfire John, Pretty Sid.   

     According to Maurer’s account, which is unlikely to be superseded, such “long cons,” in which big rewards are possible when the victim is persuaded to draw on his bank accounts and investments, were common in the years following World War I.  Short cons, those in which gains are limited to what the mark is carrying “went out with the horse and buggy,” though he does describe a variety of its forms worth listing for the names alone: the smack (flipping coins), the tat (dice), the tip (cards), the last turn (cards), the huge duke (cards), money box with the coin, the hot seat, the single-hand con.  Over time serious professionals used such tricks only to satisfy an immediate need.  Looking for a larger payoff, they turned to classic long cons.

     According to Maurer, the most common set-up originally was the “mitt store” or “mitt joint,” a term which sometimes referred to a fortune-teller’s parlor, but often meant a crooked gambling establishment to which dupes were steered thinking they might win in a fixed boxing match or other athletic contest.  Under the name of “dollar store,” the establishment might offer as a front a number of cheap items for sale, while the real money was made in short cons inside.  A back room might be given to card or dice players or race track bookies.  Under a variety of names (“the wire,” “the pay-off,” “the rag”) the same basic set-up can be used for any form of gambling and for phony stock purchases.

     Maurer called the con-men he knew the “aristocrats” of criminals and the scholar seems to have shared in their pride in avoiding violence and taking only money that has been freely handed over.   In Maurer’s book they all seem as charming as Damon Runyon characters and his unlikely intimacy with these underworld hustlers is reminiscent of William Powell’s “Thin Man.”  Over many years Maurer studied their argot as well as that of pickpockets, drug users, moonshiners, and others.  His classic account of confidence games describes their activities in convincing detail, including lists of the individuals and locations active in various cities over the years.  He is said to destroyed interviews and correspondence with his informants before his suicide to protect his underworld friends from possible prosecution. 

     The fact that the volume has been translated and several times reprinted suggests that many have savored the author’s light yet mordant tone and his compilation of stories, every one of which concludes in the same way, with the trickster making off with the money and the victim wondering what happened.  Edmund Wilson, for one, was susceptible to the charms of Maurer’s book, sending a copy to Vladimir Nabokov with a note calling it “very curious” and “extremely funny,” but received only a risqué joke in response: Nabokov wrote that “for one instant I had the wild hope that the big Con was French.” [3] 

     Surely in the charades of the con artists there may have lurked some of the poet’s creative ebullience.  I fancy that this accounts for my own interest, at the same time that I was fond of magic and could perform a few dozen tricks, including a bit of legerdemain and a line of distracting patter.  Magicians, con-men, fabulators, artists, all surely have something in common.  Shamans are known to use tricks in their theatrical rituals, sometimes identical to the maneuvers of American faith healers.  Imposters, quacks, charlatans, miracle-makers seem to find a welcome in every setting.  I have spoken to two otherwise reasonable men who proudly displayed tokens given them by the late Sai Baba after he had apparently materialized these objects out of the air.  I understand devotees would receive a momento of gold, silver, or brass corresponding to their level of faith (though it may be that this was most easily measured by the size of their previous contributions). 

     The question is where to draw the line.  If a given guru is suspected of fraud, how about the gloriously begowned Pope?  Is there a difference only in degree between the lies of someone touting a wholly phony investment and the enthusiastic words of a conventional old-time broker?  How may one distinguish an acquaintance who builds a reputation with information fictitious in part from the huckster who creates an identity out of whole cloth?  Politicans?

     Confidence games occupy a fascinating borderline realm, on the one hand artful yet not art.  Fraudsters immediately discover in concrete financial terms how serviceable their imaginative constructions are while, on the other hand, the definition of a con fades into the constant subjective reckonings by which we all must negotiate our lives.  The greed and ego of con artists creates a fantasy which in turn elicits an answering avarice in the victim, the counterpart, perhaps, of love giving rise to love, or a poet's shaping a structure of words capable of stimulating a desired resonance on the heartstrings of the reader.  

 

1.   Luc Sante, “On ‘The Big Con’”, NYRB June 24, 1999 issue.

2.  David Maurer’s The Big Con: The Story of a Confidence Man is worth reading for the author’s knowledge of criminal cant.  Maurer was a linguistics professor who managed to cultivate relationships with large numbers of con-men and hustlers.    

3.  See Barbara Wyllie, “Shape-Shifters, Charlatans, and Frauds: Vladimir Nabokov's Confidence Men,” The Cambridge Quarterly Vol. 45, No. 1 (March 2016).  Con = cunt.

A Question of Tone in The Mill on the Floss


      The Mill on the Floss is a tragic story not alone in the essential sense that the principal characters die at the end.  The shadow of doom plays over Maggie and Tom even in their childhood when the real agonies of their lives lay far in the future.   At one point the narrator explicitly declares that the story is tragic, though admittedly in an unconventional way.  While the genre, she says, has customarily featured “lofty” heroes as the “source of that conspicuous, far-echoing tragedy, which sweeps the stage in regal robes, and makes the dullest chronicler sublime,” yet humbler people may likewise possess hubris (in Eliot’s phrase “pride and obstinacy”) and “have their tragedy too,” though often “of that unwept, hidden sort that goes on from generation to generation, and leaves no record.” (III, 1)  Written at a time when literary Realism was overtaking Romanticism, The Mill on the Floss sought to adapt the ancient form to modern experience by situating tragedy in a bourgeois setting familiar to many of the book's readers from lived experience. 

     The book closes in a pathetic scene in which Stephen and Philip separately visit Tom and Maggie’s grave.  The postmortem intimacy both between the siblings and between Maggie and her lovers, seems more sentimental than tragic, but the tone is thoroughly melancholy.  Their death in the flood had been repeatedly foreshadowed throughout the book not least in the unlikely legend of St. Ogg and its reprise in Maggie’s dreams while in the boat with Stephen. [1]  Though the fall of Jeremy Tulliver through his obstinate lack of judgement may be the central catastrophe of the plot, the focus is really on Maggie, the spirited girl too clever for her circumstances, too sensitive to avoid self-doubt and too emotional to act in a way others might find prudent.  Then, too, Tom is inherently kind but narrow-minded and stubborn like his father, Stephen is captured in languid insouciance until the crisis, while Philip Wakem, his father, the Dodson aunts, and virtually everyone in the story is portrayed as flawed to various degrees.  Even those who try to conduct their lives with moral sensitivity find their choices clouded by ambiguity and contradiction.  (The sole exception is good old Bob Jakin, whose dialect may sound comic, but who proves not only a loyal friend in spite of class division, but even a good investment advisor.)

     Yet the gravity of the situation in which Maggie and Tom find themselves remains latent for a long stretch.  For most of the volume the reader hears nothing of impending doom, but rather the voice of a warmly wise narrator, superior to the characters in knowledge and judgement, but not as much critical of them as gently amused and indulgent toward their all-too-human shortcomings.  While this sort of authorial attitude is generally foregrounded in predominately comic works, it is present in serious ones as well, occurring not only in Dickens and Trollope, but in George Eliot.  This tone is so dominant that passages might be found throughout her work.  The present analysis examines examples in “Mr and Mrs Glegg at Home” (Book I, Chapter 12).

     This odd condescension which views the characters as acting with incomplete knowledge or erring judgement is facilitated for a portion of the narrative by Tom and Maggie’s being still children, and the attitude is here intensified by the notion that St. Ogg’s at the time of the story was itself naive and young, a kind of immature village.

     Paradoxically, this trait is expressed even in calling the town “venerable,” which here sounds patronizing, as if to say “quaint,” or “curious.”  It is also said to be “familiar with forgotten years,” suggesting both a history and a failure to learn from it.  This phrase introduces a Romantic formulation of the past implying a misty, legendary history including “a Saxon hero-king” (who himself takes a retrospective view, thinking of “the scenes of his youth and love-time”).  The modern more sophisticated reader is urged to be indulgent, to “look with loving pardon on the inconsistencies” of village architecture.  The book’s “refined readers” are likely to feel condescension when regarding the country scene, as the author pays tribute to the readers’ refinement, graciously suggesting that their familiarity with such rural products as cheese and wool is not even in their daily use, but rather only “through the medium of the best classic pastorals.” [2]  The light tone is unmistakable.

     Eliot notes that in earlier years foreign wars had raged and civil conflict as well: “first Puritans thanked God for the blood of the Loyalists, and then Loyalists thanked God for the blood of the Puritans.”  The language suggests that there was no right and wrong cause; rather, each mindlessly reflected the fanaticism of the other.  St. Ogg’s was unconscious of the past, never educated by it, as the village had “inherited a long past without thinking of it.”  “The days were gone when people could be greatly wrought upon by their faith, still less change it” for, after all, “for a long while it had not been expected of preachers that they should shake the souls of men.”  Not only had religion as well as politics become routine, in general, “it was a time when ignorance was much more comfortable than at present.”

     As a leading example of such “ignorance,” the narrator notes that it was “a time when ladies in rich silk gowns wore large pockets, in which they carried a mutton-bone to secure them against cramp. Mrs Glegg carried such a bone, which she had inherited from her grandmother” in blind obedience to tradition.  She and her sister Mrs. Pullet are highly predictable, every appearance demonstrating anew the same characteristics: Mrs. Glegg’s lofty view of herself and her family and Mrs. Pullet’s vulnerability to melancholy and pessimism. 

     Mrs. Glegg may, one learns, look out from her front parlor to frown upon the “gadding about” of married women or out the back to reflect on her husband’s “folly” in maintaining elaborate gardens.  The reader, of course, is to feel altogether superior to both, gifted by the omniscient narrator with a vision nearly divine. The comedy widens from the lady herself to her entire sex; it emerges that “the responsibilities of a wife” include keeping a “check on her husband’s pleasures, which are hardly ever of a rational or commendable kind.” 

     Mr. Glegg is hardly more exemplary.  His energy might seem so, as might his delight in close-up studies of the natural history of his garden plot, yet we learn that he uses his observations to seek esoteric correspondences between the behavior of slugs and the like and events in the greater world.  This speculation is excused on the ground that he “had an unusual amount of mental activity, which, when disengaged from the wool business, naturally made itself a pathway in other directions.”  He, too, has a censorious side to his meditations, satisfied by considering the “contrairiness” of women of which his wife, of course, is an excellent example.  Both may appear foolish to others such as the narrator and the reader, but their foibles are invisible to themselves; both consider themselves to have good sense, though neither quite thinks that of the other, and the reader is entitled to look down on them all, albeit with an indulgent eye.

      If he is stingy, he is “a lovable skinflint.” If she sems in a foul mood, surely it is because she is one of those “who seem to enjoy their ill-temper.”  His difficult wife is only exhibiting “a too pungent seasoning that nature had given to [her] virtues.” As he has “an affectionate disposition,” he is inclined to accept her ways and, indeed, to take pride in “the tightness and emphasis” with which she rolled their table-napkins.  Mr. Glegg’s devotion to his garden may owe a good deal to his wish to escape the confines of his house, while his wife caricatures Maggie’s asceticism when she “made her tea weaker than usual this morning and declined butter” due to being annoyed.  The chapter’s final scene between them depicts their muted but habitual friction.  She is set on finding fault whatever he might do and he responds with some asperity, though the temperature never rises far.  The reader knows that the duet is enacted daily. 

     Despite their flaws – the main way in which each is described – neither is in any way wicked.  In fact, the entire book has no wicked characters.  Much of the narration is pitched on the level of social and psychological satire, colored with Dickensian warmth rather than Swiftian fierceness.  Perhaps for this reason the sudden denouement has struck so many critics as a fault.  The emotional engagement mounts to another plane from the practice of humor in which no one really is hurt and everyone strives to do well in a variety of absurd and ineffective ways to a sudden life-and-death crisis and the summation of two lives that had had more of privation and self-denial than of pleasures for years.  The shift from amusement to gravitas is abrupt.

     While combining comedy with tragedy would have seemed a breach of literary decorum in antiquity, by Horatian standards for instance, the mixing had come to be defended well before Eliot’s novel.  Samuel Johnson’s praise of Shakespeare, for instance, not only accepts the poet’s “mixing comick and tragick scenes”; he lauds such mixed compositions as exhibiting the real state of sublunary nature, which partakes of good and evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless variety of proportion and innumerable modes of combination.”  As Johnson eloquently notes, in lived experience very often “the loss of one is the gain of another; in which, at the same time, the reveller is hasting to his wine, and the mourner burying his friend; in which the malignity of one is sometimes defeated by the frolick of another.”  [3] 

     At the same time that Eliot’s novel establishes new ground for realistic narrative, her loyalty to the Classical tradition, especially elements of Greek tragedy, remains. [4]  In The Mill on the Floss she insists on the emotional profundity of the experiences of ordinary, small-town citizens while at the same time reflecting their radically limited view.  Each is obliged at act on the basis of, at best, partial information.  It is then no wonder if worthy motives might motivate unworthy actions.  In the end the mingling of what the ancients would have thought incompatible, an impermissible violation of decorum, is justified for the simple reason that it reflects everyone's common experience.  Each of us is given an imperfect view of what is before our eyes, we are all like Oedipus oblivious, walking always directly toward our own undoing unaware of what lies ahead.  Literary decorum cannot govern life; each day presents a succession of moments of fatuous absurdity followed by sensitive concern, a satiric insight may be followed by deep empathy and ridicule may be jumbled with profound anxiety in a mélange reflected in the tonal range of The Mill on the Floss. 

 

 

 1. Among the studies of this device is Larry Rubin, “River Imagery as a Means of Foreshadowing in The Mill on the Floss,” Modern Language Notes, Vol. 71, No. 1 (Jan., 1956).

2.  Proust, another writer captivated by memory, expressed great admiration for George Eliot and for The Mill on the Floss in particular.  Among the many studies of her influence on him are Ian McCall, “The Portrayal of Childhood in Proust's Jean Santeuil and Eliot's ‘The Mill on the Floss’", Comparative Literature Studies Vol. 36, No. 2 (1999); Kenichi Kurata, “George Eliot, Marcel Poriust, and the Logic of Desire,” The George Eliot Review 44 (2014), and Inge Crosman Wimmers, “Proust and Eliot: An Intertextual Reading,” Studies in 20th & 21st Century Literature Vol. 36, No. 1 (January 2012)

3.  “Preface to Shakespeare.”

4.  Fir a general treatment, see P. E. Easterling, “George Eliot and Greek Tragedy,” Arion: A Journal of Humanities and the Classics Third Series, Vol. 1, No. 2 (Spring, 1991).

The Knot of Dialectic in “Bryd one brere”

 

The Middle English poem and a version in modern English follow the essay.

 

     In a typical example of the chance survival of such poems, around the turn of the fourteenth century the three stanzas of “Bryd one brere” (“Bird on a Briar”) were written on the back of a papal bull.  The words of Innocent III had been promulgated a century earlier and the document archived since then.  What might the writer have been thinking?  The circumstance associates an appropriate quality of immediacy with the lyric.  It may be that a zephyr had reminded a monk in his cell at the Priory of St. James near Exeter of a song he had heard in the marketplace.  Perhaps writing it was meant as an aid to memory or, on the other hand, the writer may have meant to banish it from his meditations by leaving it on the parchment page.  These circumstances nicely spotlight the poem’s polysemy, poised between heaven and earth, suspended in the tensions inherent in the human condition, caught in a tight knot of dialectic.     

     “Bryd one brere” is as well an excellent example, though only one among many, of the fruitful ambiguity cultivated by the poets of the period.  The opening phrase invites multiple readings.  Joined phonetically by alliteration, its terms are semantically opposed.  A bird and its song, especially appearing in lyric poetry, are associated with grace and beauty, while a briar or thorn has a threatening, potentially painful aspect.  The complex affective fluctuations of human experience, ranging from bliss to misery, might be figured as “between the bird and the briar.”  

     Yet the opening word is ambiguous even in isolation.  In fact, nothing that follows requires that it refer to an animal.  As the lyric was originally sung, the bird would certainly suggest the poet.  “Bryd” also can mean a woman or a bride, and, with only a slight phonetic stretch of the sort routine in the era, it might be read as the past participle “buried” or as a reference to St. Brigid. In this way the poem opens by confronting the reader with a series of dualities: pain and pleasure, life and death, earth and heaven.  The image cast by the first three words constitutes a balanced mandala-like concept characterizing the contradictions out of which the phenomenal world is generated.  One knows the joy of a songbird by contrast with the pain of an injury, the pleasures of life are the more acute with the sight of the grave just beyond the horizon ahead.

     The next phrase “kynd is come of love” makes the point explicit with another emphatic alliteration.  It is through the separation and attraction of opposites that nature, the most common meaning of “kynd,” has arisen, both in the biological sense of sexual reproduction and in the grand sense in Genesis of things coming into being through the generation of dualities like light and dark or land and sea.  “Kynd” may also mean something close to what the word means today, “beneficence” or “good will,” implying, as courtly love does, the derivation of moral nobility through love.  In the loose semantic web of these verses, associations with kindling a flame (in some forms “kinde”) and children (“kindle”) are also relevant, as erotic heat and thus children are the consequence of love. 

     Bu the general principle upon which the world moves forward, whether figured as fire, love, reproduction, or birdsong, is deficient in the case of the speaker.  The phrase “love to crave” indicates a state of love-longing, of unsatisfied desire that contrasts with the full-throated bird on the briar.  The bird is blithe (the consonantal music never stops) either because it is so beautiful, which is to say so in tune with its world, a harmony signaled by the fecundity of nature.

     The bird is, in fact, so joyful that it seems supernatural.  Addressing the animal as though it were a god, the persona poses another opposition, in prayer-like supplication asking the bird either to have pity on him or to “dig him his grave.”  The most archaic associations accompany the name of St. Brigid (spelled in a variety of ways, including Brid); indeed, the very existence of Brigid of Kildare is open to question.  What is certain is that a good many of the Christian saint’s characteristics duplicate those of her pagan predecessor.  Her feast-day is on February 1, the day of the pre-Christian Imbolc holiday marking the beginning of spring, so the connotations of both saint and goddess include the fertility of the earth.    

     Without love, there is no life, so the speaker asks directly that his grave be dug if lovelessness is to be his portion.  Though mortality had been hovering in the background in earlier lines, death is evoked here directly in the double mention of digging (evoking successive shovelfuls of earth) and then of the grave itself, all beginning with the growling sound gr-. 

     With the opening words of the second stanza, the poet leaps from the burying ground to the sublime empyrean when the persona recalls a glimpse of his human beloved, now distinguished from her bird-totem. [1]  This visitation enables his own soul to be called “blithe” just as the bird had been.  The appearance of the beloved is little short of a theophany.  She appears numinous, perfect, purely white, so “fair” she is “the flower of all.” [2] The language and the emotion might equally apply to an observer wonderstruck with the beauty of nature, a lover enthralled by a woman’s charms, or a spiritual seeker who has experienced an access to what feels like the divine.

     Yet the delight in merely seeing the beloved is short-lived.  The persona must have her love in return, and his anxiety about achieving this goal leads him to possessive rhetoric.  “Might she only do as I want” the third stanza begins, and prove “steadfast, lovely, and true.”  The speaker might then be “saved” from sorrow as sinners are from Hell, and be instead renewed and clothed in angelic “joy and bliss.”  

     The poem is an extraordinary incantation expressing the deepest human needs for pleasure, sex, love, and the divine, in its first portion a medieval version of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” but ending in an ecstatic vision of possibility, though the speaker’s reward of love remains conditional: she “may” save him.  The last line is subjunctive.  So the poem relates only a potential deliverance from the suffering of desire; the persona remains subject to the ordinary pains of life just as the reader is.  The construction of an image of totally satisfying love only highlights how far short of that ideal his lived experience remains.

     Frustration, however, only exacerbates appetite.  The longing for sexual satisfaction and for truly fulfilling love, the pursuit of a closer relationship with the divine may neither be extinguished nor entirely satisfied.  In the contemplation of the figure of the bird, the most commonplace of sights, seen and heard daily, the poet has expressed the tensions of the human condition.  The poem ends, as life does, in uncertainty.

 

 1.  See the works of Marija Gimbutas for the widespread early European bird-goddesses.

 

2.  A figure of great antiquity, popular in the Middle Ages.  Cf. Anacreon 55.  See the excellent “Excursus” on the topic by Peter Dronke in Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-lyric I, 181-192.

 

 

Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere,
Kynd is come of love, love to crave
Blythful biryd, on me thu rewe
Or greyth, lef, greith thu me my grave.

Hic am so blithe, so bryhit, brid on brere,
Quan I se that hende in halle:
Yhe is whit of lime, loveli, trewe
Yhe is fayr and flur of alle.
 

Mikte ic hire at wille haven,
Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe,
Of mi sorwe yhe may me saven
Ioye and blisse were were me newe.
 

 

modernization:
 

Bird on a briar, bird, bird on a briar,
We come from love, and love we crave,
Blissful bird, have pity on me,
Or dig, love, dig for me my grave. 


I am so blithe, so bright, bird on briar
When I see that handmaid in the hall:
She is white-limbed, lovely, true,
She is fair, and the flower of all.


Might I have her at my will,
Steadfast of love, lovely, true,
She may save me from my sorrow;
Joy and bliss would wear me new.