Monstrous Pictures of Whales

I shall ere long paint to you as well as one can without canvas, something like the true form of the whale as he actually appears to the eye of the whaleman when in his own absolute body the whale is moored alongside the whale-ship so that he can be fairly stepped upon there. It may be worth while, therefore, previously to advert to those curious imaginary portraits of him which even down to the present day confidently challenge the faith of the landsman. It is time to set the world right in this matter, by proving such pictures of the whale all wrong.

Before long, I will paint you a picture, as well as one can without canvas. It will show something like the whale’s true form as the whaleman sees it. The whale is there in the flesh, moored alongside the whale-ship, close enough to step onto. First, though, it may be worth mentioning the curious imaginary portraits of the whale. Even today, those portraits confidently demand the trust of people on land. It is time to set the world straight by proving all such pictures of the whale wrong.

It may be that the primal source of all those pictorial delusions will be found among the oldest Hindoo, Egyptian, and Grecian sculptures. For ever since those inventive but unscrupulous times when on the marble panellings of temples, the pedestals of statues, and on shields, medallions, cups, and coins, the dolphin was drawn in scales of chain-armor like Saladin’s, and a helmeted head like St. George’s; ever since then has something of the same sort of license prevailed, not only in most popular pictures of the whale, but in many scientific presentations of him.

The original source of all those misleading pictures may lie in the oldest Hindu, Egyptian, and Grecian sculptures. In those inventive but unscrupulous times, artists gave dolphins scales like Saladin’s chain armor and helmeted heads like St. George’s. They drew them on the marble panels of temples, the bases of statues, shields, medallions, cups, and coins. Ever since then, artists have taken similar liberties in most popular pictures of the whale. Even many scientific depictions have done the same.

Now, by all odds, the most ancient extant portrait anyways purporting to be the whale’s, is to be found in the famous cavern-pagoda of Elephanta, in India. The Brahmins maintain that in the almost endless sculptures of that immemorial pagoda, all the trades and pursuits, every conceivable avocation of man, were prefigured ages before any of them actually came into being. No wonder then, that in some sort our noble profession of whaling should have been there shadowed forth. The Hindoo whale referred to, occurs in a separate department of the wall, depicting the incarnation of Vishnu in the form of leviathan, learnedly known as the Matse Avatar. But though this sculpture is half man and half whale, so as only to give the tail of the latter, yet that small section of him is all wrong. It looks more like the tapering tail of an anaconda, than the broad palms of the true whale’s majestic flukes.

By far the oldest surviving portrait that claims in any way to show a whale is in India’s famous Elephanta cave temple. The Brahmins maintain that the countless sculptures in this ancient temple foretold all human trades and pursuits. Every conceivable human occupation was represented there ages before any of them actually existed. No wonder, then, that our noble profession of whaling was represented there in some form. The Hindu whale appears in a separate section of the wall, depicting Vishnu’s incarnation as a leviathan, known to scholars as the Matse Avatar. But the sculpture is half man and half whale, so it shows only the whale’s tail. Even that small part is completely wrong. It looks more like an anaconda’s tapering tail than the broad palms of a true whale’s majestic flukes.

But go to the old Galleries, and look now at a great Christian painter’s portrait of this fish; for he succeeds no better than the antediluvian Hindoo. It is Guido’s picture of Perseus rescuing Andromeda from the sea-monster or whale. Where did Guido get the model of such a strange creature as that? Nor does Hogarth, in painting the same scene in his own “Perseus Descending,” make out one whit better. The huge corpulence of that Hogarthian monster undulates on the surface, scarcely drawing one inch of water. It has a sort of howdah on its back, and its distended tusked mouth into which the billows are rolling, might be taken for the Traitors’ Gate leading from the Thames by water into the Tower. Then, there are the Prodromus whales of old Scotch Sibbald, and Jonah’s whale, as depicted in the prints of old Bibles and the cuts of old primers. What shall be said of these? As for the book-binder’s whale winding like a vine-stalk round the stock of a descending anchor—as stamped and gilded on the backs and title-pages of many books both old and new—that is a very picturesque but purely fabulous creature, imitated, I take it, from the like figures on antique vases. Though universally denominated a dolphin, I nevertheless call this book-binder’s fish an attempt at a whale; because it was so intended when the device was first introduced. It was introduced by an old Italian publisher somewhere about the 15th century, during the Revival of Learning; and in those days, and even down to a comparatively late period, dolphins were popularly supposed to be a species of the Leviathan.

But go to the old galleries and look at a great Christian painter’s portrait of this fish. He does no better than the ancient Hindoo from before the Flood. It is Guido’s picture of Perseus rescuing Andromeda from the sea monster or whale. Where did Guido find a model for such a strange creature? Hogarth does no better in his painting of the same scene, “Perseus Descending.” Hogarth’s hugely fat monster ripples along the surface, barely drawing an inch of water. It has a kind of howdah on its back. Waves roll into its wide-open, tusked mouth. You might mistake that mouth for Traitors’ Gate, the water entrance from the Thames into the Tower. Then there are the Prodromus whales of old Scotch Sibbald. And there is Jonah’s whale, as shown in old Bible prints and illustrations in old primers. What can be said of these? The bookbinder’s whale winds like a vine around the shaft of a descending anchor. It is stamped in gold on the spines and title pages of many books, both old and new. This whale is very picturesque, but entirely imaginary. I suppose it was copied from similar figures on ancient vases. Everyone calls it a dolphin, but I call this bookbinder’s fish an attempt at a whale. That is because it was meant to be a whale when the design first appeared. An old Italian publisher introduced it sometime around the 15th century, during the Revival of Learning. In those days, and even until relatively recently, people commonly believed dolphins were a species of Leviathan.

In the vignettes and other embellishments of some ancient books you will at times meet with very curious touches at the whale, where all manner of spouts, jets d’eau, hot springs and cold, Saratoga and Baden-Baden, come bubbling up from his unexhausted brain. In the title-page of the original edition of the “Advancement of Learning” you will find some curious whales.

In the small illustrations and other decorations of some old books, you sometimes find curious depictions of whales. All kinds of spouts, fountains, and hot and cold springs bubble up from the whale’s inexhaustible brain. They include Saratoga and Baden-Baden. You will find some curious whales on the title page of the original edition of the “Advancement of Learning”.

But quitting all these unprofessional attempts, let us glance at those pictures of leviathan purporting to be sober, scientific delineations, by those who know. In old Harris’s collection of voyages there are some plates of whales extracted from a Dutch book of voyages, A.D. 1671, entitled “A Whaling Voyage to Spitzbergen in the ship Jonas in the Whale, Peter Peterson of Friesland, master.” In one of those plates the whales, like great rafts of logs, are represented lying among ice-isles, with white bears running over their living backs. In another plate, the prodigious blunder is made of representing the whale with perpendicular flukes.

But let us leave all these amateur attempts behind and look at pictures of leviathan that claim to be serious, scientific depictions by people who know. Old Harris’s collection of voyages includes some whale illustrations taken from a Dutch book of voyages published in 1671. The book is titled “A Whaling Voyage to Spitzbergen in the ship Jonas in the Whale, Peter Peterson of Friesland, master.” In one illustration, the whales lie among ice islands like great rafts of logs, with white bears running over their living backs. In another, the artist makes the enormous blunder of showing a whale with vertical tail flukes.

Then again, there is an imposing quarto, written by one Captain Colnett, a Post Captain in the English navy, entitled “A Voyage round Cape Horn into the South Seas, for the purpose of extending the Spermaceti Whale Fisheries.” In this book is an outline purporting to be a “Picture of a Physeter or Spermaceti whale, drawn by scale from one killed on the coast of Mexico, August, 1793, and hoisted on deck.” I doubt not the captain had this veracious picture taken for the benefit of his marines. To mention but one thing about it, let me say that it has an eye which applied, according to the accompanying scale, to a full grown sperm whale, would make the eye of that whale a bow-window some five feet long. Ah, my gallant captain, why did ye not give us Jonah looking out of that eye!

Then there is an impressive quarto written by Captain Colnett, a Post Captain in the English navy. Its title is “A Voyage round Cape Horn into the South Seas, for the purpose of extending the Spermaceti Whale Fisheries.” The book contains an outline described as a “Picture of a Physeter or Spermaceti whale, drawn to scale from one killed on the coast of Mexico in August 1793 and hoisted on deck.” No doubt the captain had this truthful picture made for the benefit of his marines. Let me mention just one thing about it. According to the accompanying scale, the eye of a full-grown sperm whale would be a bay window about five feet long. Ah, my gallant captain, why didn't you show us Jonah looking out of that eye!

Nor are the most conscientious compilations of Natural History for the benefit of the young and tender, free from the same heinousness of mistake. Look at that popular work “Goldsmith’s Animated Nature.” In the abridged London edition of 1807, there are plates of an alleged “whale” and a “narwhale.” I do not wish to seem inelegant, but this unsightly whale looks much like an amputated sow; and, as for the narwhale, one glimpse at it is enough to amaze one, that in this nineteenth century such a hippogriff could be palmed for genuine upon any intelligent public of schoolboys.

Even the most carefully compiled natural histories for young and impressionable readers contain the same terrible mistakes. Look at the popular work “Goldsmith’s Animated Nature.” The abridged London edition of 1807 contains illustrations of a supposed “whale” and a “narwhale.” I do not wish to sound crude, but this ugly whale looks much like a sow with its limbs cut off. As for the narwhale, one glance is enough to amaze anyone. How could such a hippogriff be passed off as real to any intelligent group of schoolboys in the nineteenth century?

Then, again, in 1825, Bernard Germain, Count de Lacépède, a great naturalist, published a scientific systemized whale book, wherein are several pictures of the different species of the Leviathan. All these are not only incorrect, but the picture of the Mysticetus or Greenland whale (that is to say, the Right whale), even Scoresby, a long experienced man as touching that species, declares not to have its counterpart in nature.

Then, in 1825, Bernard Germain, Count de Lacépède, a great naturalist, published a systematic scientific book about whales. It included several pictures of different species of Leviathan. All these pictures are incorrect. But the picture of the Mysticetus or Greenland whale (that is, the Right whale) is especially wrong. Even Scoresby, who had long experience with that species, declared that nothing like the picture exists in nature.

But the placing of the cap-sheaf to all this blundering business was reserved for the scientific Frederick Cuvier, brother to the famous Baron. In 1836, he published a Natural History of Whales, in which he gives what he calls a picture of the Sperm Whale. Before showing that picture to any Nantucketer, you had best provide for your summary retreat from Nantucket. In a word, Frederick Cuvier’s Sperm Whale is not a Sperm Whale, but a squash. Of course, he never had the benefit of a whaling voyage (such men seldom have), but whence he derived that picture, who can tell? Perhaps he got it as his scientific predecessor in the same field, Desmarest, got one of his authentic abortions; that is, from a Chinese drawing. And what sort of lively lads with the pencil those Chinese are, many queer cups and saucers inform us.

But the crowning touch to all this blundering business was left to the scientist Frederick Cuvier, brother of the famous Baron. In 1836, he published a Natural History of Whales. It includes what he calls a picture of the Sperm Whale. Before showing that picture to any Nantucketer, you had better arrange a quick escape from Nantucket. In short, Frederick Cuvier’s Sperm Whale is not a Sperm Whale, but a squash. Of course, he never had the benefit of a whaling voyage. Such men seldom do. But who can tell where he got that picture? Perhaps he got it from a Chinese drawing. That is how Desmarest, his scientific predecessor in the same field, got one of his supposedly authentic monstrosities. And many a peculiar cup and saucer shows us what lively artists those Chinese are.

As for the sign-painters’ whales seen in the streets hanging over the shops of oil-dealers, what shall be said of them? They are generally Richard III. whales, with dromedary humps, and very savage; breakfasting on three or four sailor tarts, that is whaleboats full of mariners: their deformities floundering in seas of blood and blue paint.

What can be said about the whales painted on signs hanging over oil dealers’ shops? They are generally Richard III whales, with camel humps, and very savage. They breakfast on three or four sailor tarts, meaning whaleboats full of sailors. Their misshapen bodies flounder in seas of blood and blue paint.

But these manifold mistakes in depicting the whale are not so very surprising after all. Consider! Most of the scientific drawings have been taken from the stranded fish; and these are about as correct as a drawing of a wrecked ship, with broken back, would correctly represent the noble animal itself in all its undashed pride of hull and spars. Though elephants have stood for their full-lengths, the living Leviathan has never yet fairly floated himself for his portrait. The living whale, in his full majesty and significance, is only to be seen at sea in unfathomable waters; and afloat the vast bulk of him is out of sight, like a launched line-of-battle ship; and out of that element it is a thing eternally impossible for mortal man to hoist him bodily into the air, so as to preserve all his mighty swells and undulations. And, not to speak of the highly presumable difference of contour between a young sucking whale and a full-grown Platonian Leviathan; yet, even in the case of one of those young sucking whales hoisted to a ship’s deck, such is then the outlandish, eel-like, limbered, varying shape of him, that his precise expression the devil himself could not catch.

But these many mistakes in depicting the whale are not so surprising after all. Consider this: most scientific drawings have been made from stranded whales. They are about as accurate as a drawing of a wrecked ship with a broken back. Such a drawing could hardly represent the noble vessel in the untouched glory of its hull and spars. Elephants have stood for full-length portraits, but the living Leviathan has never properly floated for his. The living whale can be seen in all his majesty and significance only at sea, in unfathomable waters. And when he is afloat, most of his vast bulk is hidden, like that of a launched warship. Once out of the water, he can never be hoisted whole into the air by mortal man. No one could do so while preserving all his mighty curves and undulations. And there is the very likely difference in shape between a nursing whale calf and a full-grown Platonian Leviathan. But even when a nursing calf is hoisted onto a ship’s deck, its shape is strange and eel-like. It is so flexible and changeable that the devil himself could not capture its exact appearance.

But it may be fancied, that from the naked skeleton of the stranded whale, accurate hints may be derived touching his true form. Not at all. For it is one of the more curious things about this Leviathan, that his skeleton gives very little idea of his general shape. Though Jeremy Bentham’s skeleton, which hangs for candelabra in the library of one of his executors, correctly conveys the idea of a burly-browed utilitarian old gentleman, with all Jeremy’s other leading personal characteristics; yet nothing of this kind could be inferred from any leviathan’s articulated bones. In fact, as the great Hunter says, the mere skeleton of the whale bears the same relation to the fully invested and padded animal as the insect does to the chrysalis that so roundingly envelopes it. This peculiarity is strikingly evinced in the head, as in some part of this book will be incidentally shown. It is also very curiously displayed in the side fin, the bones of which almost exactly answer to the bones of the human hand, minus only the thumb. This fin has four regular bone-fingers, the index, middle, ring, and little finger. But all these are permanently lodged in their fleshy covering, as the human fingers in an artificial covering. “However recklessly the whale may sometimes serve us,” said humorous Stubb one day, “he can never be truly said to handle us without mittens.”

But you might imagine that the bare skeleton of a stranded whale could give you an accurate idea of its true shape. Not at all. One of the more curious things about this Leviathan is that its skeleton gives very little idea of its overall shape. Jeremy Bentham’s skeleton hangs as a chandelier in the library of one of his executors. It accurately suggests a burly-browed old gentleman who was a utilitarian, along with all of Jeremy’s other leading personal characteristics. Yet nothing of the kind could be inferred from the assembled bones of any leviathan. In fact, as the great Hunter says, a whale’s bare skeleton relates to the fully covered and padded animal as an insect relates to the rounded chrysalis enveloping it. This peculiarity is strikingly evident in the head, as will be shown in passing somewhere in this book. It also appears very curiously in the side fin. Its bones correspond almost exactly to those of a human hand, except for the thumb. The fin has four ordinary bony fingers: the index, middle, ring, and little finger. But all four are permanently enclosed in flesh, like human fingers in a glove. “However roughly the whale may sometimes treat us,” the humorous Stubb said one day, “he can never truly be said to handle us without mittens.”

For all these reasons, then, any way you may look at it, you must needs conclude that the great Leviathan is that one creature in the world which must remain unpainted to the last. True, one portrait may hit the mark much nearer than another, but none can hit it with any very considerable degree of exactness. So there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks like. And the only mode in which you can derive even a tolerable idea of his living contour, is by going a whaling yourself; but by so doing, you run no small risk of being eternally stove and sunk by him. Wherefore, it seems to me you had best not be too fastidious in your curiosity touching this Leviathan.

For all these reasons, however you look at it, you must conclude that the great Leviathan is the one creature in the world that must remain unpainted to the end. True, one portrait may come much closer than another, but none can be very accurate. So there is no way on earth to find out exactly what the whale really looks like. The only way to get even a reasonably good idea of its shape in life is to go whaling yourself. But if you do, you run a considerable risk of having your boat smashed and sunk by the whale, and dying as a result. Therefore, it seems to me you had better not be too particular in your curiosity about this Leviathan.