How we cite our quotes: (Chapter, Paragraph)
Quote #7
"Are there none here who feel in need of help, and who, in accepting such help, would feel that they, in their time, have given or done more than may ever be given or done to them? Man or woman, is there none such here?"
The sobs of the woman were more audible, though she strove to repress them. While nearly every one's attention was bent upon her, a man of the appearance of a day-laborer, with a white bandage across his face, concealing the side of the nose, and who, for coolness' sake, had been sitting in his red-flannel shirt-sleeves, his coat thrown across one shoulder, the darned cuffs drooping behind—this man shufflingly rose, and, with a pace that seemed the lingering memento of the lock-step of convicts, went up for a duly-qualified claimant. (18, 27-28)
We've got not one, but two women in this scene. It's kind of a big deal. We're going the figure-out-masculinity-by-contrasting-it-against-representations-of-feminitity route, and this one is subtle business. Let's set the scene: the herb-doctor walks back into a room he left earlier. He was kind of laughed out of it because everyone thought his medicine must be rubbish. Now he's back, and he's offering up money for anyone who needs it (though this could just be a ploy to garner goodwill). Anyway, what we want to pay attention to is the crowd.
Just before these lines, one woman gets shamed into not accepting the charity because the rest of the crowd doesn't believe she deserves it. Why? They disapprove of her outfit. Lame. Okay, but right here, there's a weeping widow who ostensibly needs the money. She doesn't get it, either. Is it because she'll be stared down by the crowd, too? Is it because she has too much pride? Jury is out.
Who does get the money? A man whose day-laborer status introduces class into the tricky business of how Melville's text explores being a man. The dude's been injured, and he steps up to receive the cash as if it's been rightfully his all along. He's got a walk that seems to be a "lingering memento of the lock-step of convicts." Is this supposed to make him seem less trustworthy because of a supposed criminal past? Is this to show he's been reformed? We don't know.
What we do know is that nobody stares him into submission. Nobody even tries. He gets to claim the money when two women were denied. This scene demands that we try to assess who is deserving of money. Make no mistake, this moment is majorly complicated.
Quote #8
"At this coon. Can you, the fox, catch him?"
"If you mean," returned the other, not unselfpossessed, "whether I flatter myself that I can in any way dupe you, or impose upon you, or pass myself off upon you for what I am not, I, as an honest man, answer that I have neither the inclination nor the power to do aught of the kind."
"Honest man? Seems to me you talk more like a craven."
"You in vain seek to pick a quarrel with me, or put any affront upon me. The innocence in me heals me."
"A healing like your own nostrums. But you are a queer man—a very queer and dubious man; upon the whole, about the most so I ever met." (21, 75-79)
The herb-doctor is up against another version of the rough-and-tumble woodsman, but this time it's with a man who's a bit sprightlier. What do we make of their interaction? Well, for one thing, we get specific value judgments from Pitch about what type of a man the herb-doctor is, and they're all negative. Contrasting the herb-doctor's more mannered tone against Pitch's volatile jibes, we learn that part of the reason Pitch distrusts the dude (besides the obvious shady medicine thing) is because he talks a good game.
Wait a minute—the herb-doctor's being dissed for being good with words? Well, yeah—he's too good with them. Like, politician-level good—which, as we all know, means that nothing he says can be trusted. Overall, Melville presents a complicated system of manhood in which there is both value and danger in being seen as smart and eloquent. Depending on who you're chatting up, brains can be a boon or, as this coon-hat wearing rustic argues, a sign that you've got no brawn. Even trickier is the fact that Pitch aligns the herb-doctor's talents with the ability to deceive, while the herb-doctor claims innocence and hopes to demonstrate this by keeping his cool—another "manly" trait in this text, but who's keeping track?.
Quote #9
"Hands off!" cried the bachelor, involuntarily covering dejection with moroseness.
"Hands off? that sort of label won't do in our Fair. Whoever in our Fair has fine feelings loves to feel the nap of fine cloth, especially when a fine fellow wears it."
"And who of my fine-fellow species may you be? From the Brazils, ain't you? Toucan fowl. Fine feathers on foul meat." (24, 1-3)
We learn in kindergarten that it's best to keep our hands to ourselves. Pitch really doesn't like it when Frank gets grabby with him—the familiarity is too much, and the text asks us to look at Pitch's "manly" discomfort against Frank's sensual appreciation of Pitch's clothing and body. Pitch responds to Frank's appreciation with disdain: he's not into Frank's "fancy" outfit, which makes him look like a painted bird, and he insults him with a pun on "fowl" by calling Frank's clothes "fine feathers on foul meat." Why is Frank fowl (foul?) to Pitch? Is it because he doesn't ascribe to serious, plain, and rough stereotypes of masculinity?