Sunset

The cabin; by the stern windows; Ahab sitting alone, and gazing out.

In the cabin, by the stern windows, Ahab sits alone, gazing out.

I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where’er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass.

I leave a white, churning wake. Wherever I sail, the waters are pale and faces are even paler. The envious waves swell from the sides to cover my track. Let them. But first I pass.

Yonder, by ever-brimming goblet’s rim, the warm waves blush like wine. The gold brow plumbs the blue. The diver sun—slow dived from noon—goes down; my soul mounts up! she wearies with her endless hill. Is, then, the crown too heavy that I wear? this Iron Crown of Lombardy. Yet is it bright with many a gem; I the wearer, see not its far flashings; but darkly feel that I wear that, that dazzlingly confounds. ’Tis iron—that I know—not gold. ’Tis split, too—that I feel; the jagged edge galls me so, my brain seems to beat against the solid metal; aye, steel skull, mine; the sort that needs no helmet in the most brain-battering fight!

Over there, at the rim of the ever-full goblet, the warm waves blush like wine. The golden brow sinks into the blue. The sun, a diver slowly descending since noon, goes down. My soul climbs up! It grows weary from its endless climb. Is the crown I wear too heavy, then? This Iron Crown of Lombardy? Yet it shines with many gems. I, its wearer, cannot see its distant flashes. But I dimly feel that I wear something that dazzles and overwhelms. It is iron, I know that, not gold. It is split, too, I can feel it. The jagged edge chafes me so much that my brain seems to beat against the solid metal. Yes, mine is a steel skull, the kind that needs no helmet in the most brain-battering fight!

Dry heat upon my brow? Oh! time was, when as the sunrise nobly spurred me, so the sunset soothed. No more. This lovely light, it lights not me; all loveliness is anguish to me, since I can ne’er enjoy. Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly! damned in the midst of Paradise! Good night—good night! (waving his hand, he moves from the window.)

Dry heat on my forehead? Oh! There was a time when sunrise stirred me, and sunset soothed me. Not anymore. This lovely light gives me no light. All beauty is agony to me, because I can never enjoy it. I have the gift of deep perception, but I lack the simpler power to enjoy. Damned, so subtly and so cruelly! Damned in the middle of Paradise! Good night, good night! (waving his hand, he moves away from the window.)

’Twas not so hard a task. I thought to find one stubborn, at the least; but my one cogged circle fits into all their various wheels, and they revolve. Or, if you will, like so many ant-hills of powder, they all stand before me; and I their match. Oh, hard! that to fire others, the match itself must needs be wasting! What I’ve dared, I’ve willed; and what I’ve willed, I’ll do! They think me mad—Starbuck does; but I’m demoniac, I am madness maddened! That wild madness that’s only calm to comprehend itself! The prophecy was that I should be dismembered; and—Aye! I lost this leg. I now prophesy that I will dismember my dismemberer. Now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one. That’s more than ye, ye great gods, ever were. I laugh and hoot at ye, ye cricket-players, ye pugilists, ye deaf Burkes and blinded Bendigoes! I will not say as schoolboys do to bullies—Take some one of your own size; don’t pommel me! No, ye’ve knocked me down, and I am up again; but ye have run and hidden. Come forth from behind your cotton bags! I have no long gun to reach ye. Come, Ahab’s compliments to ye; come and see if ye can swerve me. Swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves! man has ye there. Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents’ beds, unerringly I rush! Naught’s an obstacle, naught’s an angle to the iron way!

It was not such a hard task. I expected to find at least one man who would resist. But my one cogged wheel fits into all their different wheels, and they turn. Or, if you prefer, they all stand before me like so many anthills of gunpowder, and I am their match. Oh, how hard it is that the match must burn itself away to set others alight! What I have dared, I have willed, and what I have willed, I will do! They think me mad. Starbuck does. But I am possessed by a demon. I am madness driven mad! That wild madness that is calm only enough to understand itself! The prophecy said I would be dismembered, and yes, I lost this leg. Now I prophesy that I will dismember the one who dismembered me. So let the prophet and the one who fulfills the prophecy be one and the same. That is more than you great gods ever were. I laugh and jeer at you, you cricket players, you boxers, you deaf Burkes and blinded Bendigoes! I will not say to you what schoolboys say to bullies: Pick on someone your own size. Don’t beat up me! No, you knocked me down, and I got up again. But you have run and hidden. Come out from behind your cotton bags! I have no long gun to reach you. Come, Ahab sends you his compliments. Come and see if you can turn me from my course. Turn me? You cannot turn me without turning yourselves! Man has you there. Turn me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, and my soul is set to run on them. I rush without fail over gorges whose depths have never been measured. I rush through the hollowed hearts of mountains and under the beds of torrents! Nothing blocks the iron track, and nothing makes it turn!