In his tattered, single-breasted frock-coat, buttoned meagerly up to his chin, the shutter-brain made him a bow, which, for courtesy, would not have misbecome a viscount, then turned with silent appeal to the stranger. But the stranger sat more like a cold prism than ever, while an expression of keen Yankee cuteness, now replacing his former mystical one, lent added icicles to his aspect. His whole air said: "Nothing from me." The repulsed petitioner threw a look full of resentful pride and cracked disdain upon him, and went his way.
"Come, now," said the cosmopolitan, a little reproachfully, "you ought to have sympathized with that man; tell me, did you feel no fellow-feeling? Look at his tract here, quite in the transcendental vein."
"Excuse me," said the stranger, declining the tract, "I never patronize scoundrels."
"Scoundrels?"
"I detected in him, sir, a damning peep of sense—damning, I say; for sense in a seeming madman is scoundrelism. I take him for a cunning vagabond, who picks up a vagabond living by adroitly playing the madman. Did you not remark how he flinched under my eye?' (36, 45-49)
Talk about icing somebody out. Winsome gives zero cares for you if you're in need of money. He's also pretty suspicious of this poor man's mental state. He argues that since the dude isn't completely insane, he must be faking. We're starting to think Melville's trying to tell us it's a pitiless world out there.
"—tell me, was not that humor, of Diogenes, which led him to live, a merry-andrew, in the flower-market, better than that of the less wise Athenian, which made him a skulking scare-crow in pine-barrens? An injudicious gentleman, Lord Timon." (24, 56)
Name-drop time: who exactly is Diogenes? Glad you asked. He's a cynic from classical Greece who wasn't too impressed with society or its leaders, people like Alexander the Great. His claim to fame? He hung out in a tub in his birthday suit in public making a ruckus.
So why's Diogenes brought up here? Well, Frank is trying to get Pitch to party—you know, be the opposite of a misanthrope. In order to do that, he says that if Pitch is going to be a grumpus, then it's better to be a grumpus like Diogenes, who used to hang out being wild and crazy in the town center, rather than a grumpus like Timon of Athens, another misanthrope who ran away into the woods and bellyached all the time about how bad everybody was. He didn't come to a good end.
"Your hand!" seizing it.
"Bless me, how cordial a squeeze. It is agreed we shall be brothers, then?"
"As much so as a brace of misanthropes can be," with another and terrific squeeze. "I had thought that the moderns had degenerated beneath the capacity of misanthropy. Rejoiced, though but in one instance, and that disguised, to be undeceived." (24, 57-59)
Pitch misunderstands Frank. When Frank invokes Diogenes, Pitch thinks that after all, Frank must just be a regular misanthrope himself. Apparently, Pitch is cool with a brotherhood if that bro-life means hating on others. For Pitch, this "revelation" gives him faith in humanity, that there are still people out there who…hate humanity. Irony alert.
"No man is a stranger. You accost anybody. Warm and confiding, you wait not for measured advances. And though, indeed, mine, in this instance, have met with no very hilarious encouragement, yet the principle of a true citizen of the world is still to return good for ill." (24, 10)
Frank is explaining what it's like to be a cosmopolitan. The main job requirement is to be ready to be awesome to others, even if they're bags of doo-doo to you. That's some major charity, in the form of generosity of spirit—and it's a fairly tall order.
"Is the sight of humanity so very disagreeable to you then? Ah, I may be foolish, but for my part, in all its aspects, I love it. Served up la Pole, or la Moor, la Ladrone, or la Yankee, that good dish, man, still delights me; or rather is man a wine I never weary of comparing and sipping; wherefore am I a pledged cosmopolitan, a sort of London-Dock-Vault connoisseur, going about from Teheran to Natchitoches, a taster of races; in all his vintages, smacking my lips over this racy creature, man, continually. But as there are teetotal palates which have a distaste even for Amontillado, so I suppose there may be teetotal souls which relish not even the very best brands of humanity." (24, 12)
Frank is shocked—shocked—at Pitch's serious lack of interest in making nice with the world. Cue his chance to talk about how much and in what manner he loves mankind. In this description, we can't help but notice how he's using a lot words associated with tasty snacks. More accurately, beverages. Come to think of it, he loves all the people of the world after "sipping" these great "vintages." Is this a realistic point of view, or is Frank kind of a smarmbot?
"A cosmopolitan, a catholic man; who, being such, ties himself to no narrow tailor or teacher, but federates, in heart as in costume, something of the various gallantries of men under various suns. Oh, one roams not over the gallant globe in vain. Bred by it, is a fraternal and fusing feeling." (24,10)
Frank puts in a plug for not being a man-island. Travel the world, folks. It's a brotherhood. See and meet and chat with everybody. This type of roaming connectivity is the ultimate freedom, and isn't freedom what people are actually trying to get with the solitary life?
"Excuse me, but it just occurs to me that you, my dear fellow, possibly lead a solitary life."
"Solitary?" starting as at a touch of divination.
"Yes: in a solitary life one insensibly contracts oddities,—talking to one's self now." (24, 12-14)
Pitch is uber-surprised that Frank can tell he's doing the lone wolf thing. Of course Frank can tell: he's read Pitch's idiosyncrasies like a book. Pitch's isolation signal? Talking to himself. Can't hold it against him. But it is pretty transparent.
"The judge, with his usual judgment, always thought that the intense solitude to which the Indian-hater consigns himself, has, by its overawing influence, no little to do with relaxing his vow. He would relate instances where, after some months' lonely scoutings, the Indian-hater is suddenly seized with a sort of calenture; hurries openly towards the first smoke, though he knows it is an Indian's, announces himself as a lost hunter, gives the savage his rifle, throws himself upon his charity, embraces him with much affection, imploring the privilege of living a while in his sweet companionship." (26, 20)
While we don't have any sympathy for peeps of this kind, apparently even those who've decided to make mortal enemies out of American Indians and devote their lives to solitude get lonely. They get so lonesome for human contact, in fact, that they're willing to put down their weapons and ask for some chitchat. Precious.
The cosmopolitan rose, the traces of previous feeling vanished; looked steadfastly at his transformed friend a moment, then, taking ten half-eagles from his pocket, stooped down, and laid them, one by one, in a circle round him; and, retiring a pace, waved his long tasseled pipe with the air of a necromancer, an air heightened by his costume, accompanying each wave with a solemn murmur of cabalistical words.
Meantime, he within the magic-ring stood suddenly rapt, exhibiting every symptom of a successful charm—a turned cheek, a fixed attitude, a frozen eye; spellbound, not more by the waving wand than by the ten invincible talismans on the floor.
"Reappear, reappear, reappear, oh, my former friend! Replace this hideous apparition with thy blest shape, and be the token of thy return the words, 'My dear Frank.'" (32, 2-4)
Wait. What just happened here? Did he…? Is Frank magic? We know this isn't your cutesy pull-a-rabbit-out-of-your-hat trick. Everything in this scene has the trappings of witchcraft or your average old-school, demon-summoning type incantation. In this case, the "demon" Frank is summoning is the friendlier version of Charlie. Pay close attention to what Frank uses to bring back the confidence-offering Charlie: gold coins.
Quote 10
"With all my heart," said the cosmopolitan, dropping the necromancer with the same facility with which he had assumed it. "Yes," he added, soberly picking up the gold pieces, and returning them with a chink to his pocket, "yes, I am something of a funny man now and then; while for you, Charlie," eying him in tenderness, "what you say about your humoring the thing is true enough; never did man second a joke better than you did just now. You played your part better than I did mine; you played it, Charlie, to the life."
"You see, I once belonged to an amateur play company; that accounts for it. But come, fill up, and let's talk of something else." (32, 6-7)
Ever heard of the connection between theater and religion and magic? No? Well, the Western tradition has a long tradition of spectacle, whether that gets played out onstage or in church. The ability to make an audience experience an incredible range of feelings is almost magical, and some theatrical rituals even have roots in or overlap with magic. So, okay, what does any of this have to do with what's going on here? Well, for one thing, Charlie straight up just said he was playacting. On top of that, he says he's gained his powers of persuasion from performing in community theater. We think it's worth considering the role of drama in this moment, since even Frank is described as "dropping the necromancer" routine.