Uncle Tom's Cabin and Benito Cereno - Essay Example

Uncle Tom's Cabin and Benito Cereno The use οf racial stereotypes adds credibility to the long-standing notion that both Stowe and Melville consciously made concessions to the South in Uncle Tom's Cabin and Benito Cereno. As Forrest Wilson has pointed out, "the kindest, most philanthropic, and most upright characters were, with some minor exceptions, all Southerners and slave-holders" (276). Among white Southerners and slave owners featured in the novel, Mrs. Shelby and Augustine St. Clare--the former the wife οf Tom's first owner, and the latter Tom's second master--are for the most part admirable characters. And the novel's most despicable character, Simon Legree, is a New Englander from Vermont. Stowe herself had always thought that her novel depicted the favorable side οf slavery, and the fact that she did so should have appeased the South. The typical Southern reaction, however, did not reflect such an awareness. Indeed, in the eyes οf most contemporary Southerners (even those who had never read Uncle Tom's Cabin) Stowe's novel was an abomination, utterly false and therefore a full-fledged misrepresentation οf the institution οf slavery (Johnston 263). Whereas, in one respect, Southern criticism regarding the veracity οf Uncle Tom's Cabin was justified, most contemporary Southern readers οf the novel failed to give Stowe the credit she obviously sought. Still, in both overt and subtle ways, Stowe had consciously attempted to appease the South. Like Melville’s Benito Cereno, one such concession in Uncle Tom's Cabin, which has been overlooked by previous critics, is found in chapter 19 when Augustine St. Clare recounts to his wife Marie an incident in the past when he conquered an unsubmissive slave with kindness. He does this in response to Marie's complaint about a lazy slave her father had once owned who did not want to work. A sensitive, kind, and effeminate man, St. Clare purchases from his brother Alfred an unruly slave named Scipio. The slave had tried to run away into the swamp because he had been struck by one οf Alfred's cruel overseers, then was hunted like an animal, and shot by his pursuers. Proving to be basically intractable, Scipio is a slave who, in St. Clare's words, "'all the overseers and masters had tried their hands in vain'" (253). Scipio had run away, St. Clare reports, because he "'appeared to have the rude instinct οf freedom in him'" (254). Yet under the compassionate attention and care οf St. Clare, his new master, Scipio becomes "'tamed as submissive and tractable as heart could desire'" (254). Once St. Clare has nursed the wounded Scipio back to health, he draws up manumission papers and offers the slave his freedom, which Scipio in turn rejects. Apparently self-conscious about Scipio's rejection οf freedom, St. Clare reports: The "'foolish fellow tore the paper in two, and absolutely refused to leave me. I never had a braver, better fellow, trusty and true as steel'" (254-55). In rejecting St. Clare's offer, Scipio seems to have come to regard slavery as benevolent and being a slave under a caring and paternalistic master preferable to the uncertainties connected with freedom. Subsequently, Scipio, whom St. Clare has treated humanely and compassionately, becomes a Christian who is "'as gentle as a child'" (255). Moreover, St. Clare recognizes Scipio's competence, assigning to him the responsibility οf overseeing St. Clare's lake property, and Scipio "'did it capitally'" (255). In Stowe's character portrayal οf Augustine St. Clare as a caring and compassionate master and οf Scipio as a devoted and contented slave, her portraiture actually conforms closely to the familiar stereotype used to portray other African American slaves and their relationships with their masters that had previously been featured in the antebellum Southern novels such as John Pendleton Kennedy's Swallow Barn (1832) and William Gilmore Simms's The Yemassee (1835). Yet in making this concession to her Southern readers, Stowe created a predicament for herself. Even though she presents Scipio's character indirectly (St. Clare's fond memories οf him), Stowe seems to allow the considerations οf her audience and the matter οf political and social expediency to take precedence over honest and consistent portrayal οf Scipio's humanity. Even so, Stowe surely must have realized that in acknowledging Scipio's trustworthiness and his capability in managing St. Clare's property responsibly, she was undermining the racial stereotype. Nor does it seem that Stowe's contemporary readers likely perceived St. Clare's ineffectuality to accomplish what he sets out to do--to free his slave--as a reflection οf his own moral paralysis, a deliberate counterpoint that serves to enhance Scipio's personal effectiveness. And not many οf her readers, especially her Southern readers, perceived that Stowe may have created in St. Clare's account about Scipio the disturbing reality that even under the most benevolent οf circumstances, slavery is debilitating to the slave as well as to the master. The propaganda leveled against slavery in the Scipio segment is at best subtle, if it exsits at all. Rather, in focusing on the slave's individualized human traits, Stowe seems to have placed a higher premium on Scipio's character portraiture, giving greater emphasis to her integrity as a literary artist than to the narrowly dogmatic sociopolitical agenda expected οf a novelist with an indisputable abolitionist bias. In having St. Clare accentuate Scipio's loyalty and selfless devotion, a dedication that the slave carries out to the fullest extent during a cholera epidemic by endangering his own health and consequently losing his life by caring for the ailing master, Stowe raises in the reader's mind (and perhaps her own as well) the question οf why a man οf Scipio's capability should have to remain a slave. No doubt, had Scipio lived, St. Clare would have felt obligated to insist that the slave to whom he had offered liberty once before, only to have it rejected, accept his deserved freedom this time. In retrospect, it seems clear that Stowe had written herself into a quandary, one she had to find a way to resolve, especially if she intended to pacify her Southern readers. In continuing to use St. Clare as a mouthpiece, Stowe prevents the inevitable from occurring: She writes Scipio out οf the plot, providing an outlet so that St. Clare does not have to extend freedom to his slave for a second time. It appears that Stowe had found yet another way to make peace with her proslavery readers, many οf whom were Southerners, by awkwardly alleviating what now seems a bothersome contradiction and dilemma. But as a consequence Stowe, probably quite unintentionally, creates an ambivalent perspective about slavery. Stowe has St. Clare conclude his story about Scipio by declaring that "'I never felt anybody's loss more'" (255), a sentiment that enabled Stowe to wrench Scipio back to stereotypical status, thereby capitulating to Southern expectations regarding race. She anticipated her contemporary Southern reader's reaction that Scipio should not be regarded as a human being and transformed him into an object οf sentimental pathos. And in converting Scipio from a character οf viable human potential into what amounts to one who is pathetic and inconsequential, Stowe confirms what seems to have been her intention all along3/4to proffer yet another conciliatory gesture to the Southern readers οf Uncle Tom's Cabin. Historians employ a variety οf materials to forge interpretations οf the past, and frequently such evidence takes the form οf official, legal documents such as the depositions appended to Herman Melville's 1855 novella Benito Cereno (hereafter cited as BC) and the memoir upon which it was based, the eighteenth chapter οf Amasa Delano's 1817 Voyages arm Travels (hereafter cited as VT). One role οf historians is to interpret the past in order to make better sense οf the present. In Benito Cereno, Melville employed the former, in part, to achieve the latter. However, while this minor classic οf American literature has received considerable attention from critics, the question οf Melville qua historian remains unexamined. This lapse is curious, given that scholars have applauded Melville's masterful re-rendering οf American sea captain Delano's tale οf a slave uprising at sea. Few have ventured to examine the actual relationship between the two narratives. Delano's first-hand account οf the "generous" role he played in quashing the uprising comprises the bulk οf the historical tale. In 1805, in waters off Chile, Delano, commanding an American sealer out οf Massachusetts, came upon a Spanish slave vessel captained by one Benito Cereno. An earlier slave rebellion aboard Cereno's ship had led to a reversal οf fortunes for its occupants--the slaves were now in full control, the whites reduced to carrying out the blacks' wishes on pain οf death. Delano spent the better part οf a day aboard the Spanish craft blithely unaware οf anything there amiss. Only upon attempting to return to his own ship did Delano gain knowledge οf the slave rebellion--after Cereno dove headlong overboard and into Delano's departing boat. In short order, thereafter, Delano's crew retook the Spanish vessel for Cereno and assisted in returning the ship to port. Melville's tale echoes Delano's. Both begin with a central narrative dominated by the events οf Delano's day aboard Cereno's ship, Cereno's abandonment οf craft, the retaking οf the Spanish vessel, followed by legal documents (Delano proffers ten to Melville's one). At this point, Delano concludes his version, while Melville continues briefly with summary remarks. Scholars have critically dealt with the depositions in two ways. The first addresses them directly. Max Putzel (1962,190) charges that Melville included a single deposition at the end οf his tale merely for the sake οf verisimilitude. David Galloway (1967-68,252) argues that Melville employs the depositions to prompt the reader to "draw back and view the action more objectively"--such is the psychological power οf a legal document upon readers, he suggests. More instructively, Rosalie Feltenstein observes Melville's substitution οf "Babo," the slaves' ringleader, in Delano's depositions for "the slaves" in Benito Cereno's deposition (Feltenstein 1947, 147-48). Melville's reasoning, Feltenstein asserts, was to concentrate evil and its dramatic intensity in one character. The second way in which critics have addressed Melville's deposition is more indirect, less deliberate. While a number οf studies have partially examined the content οf the deposition, they have not investigated the deposition qua deposition. The provocative work on the theme οf cannibalism serves as perhaps the best example. In discrete cases, Barbara Baines (1984) and Sterling Stuckey (1992) necessarily plumb the document because this is where Melville chose to develop the theme (i.e., that the rebellious slaves cannibalised Cereno's mentor/partner Don Alexandro Aranda). Melville's deposition has not been examined in any direct depth; typically, it is utilized by critics only referentially. Yet, clearly, in the latter case the deposition figures prominently. It is odd that the content οf the document has been studied in some detail whereas its structure--and what that structure owes to the depositions concluding Delano's eighteenth chapter--has been all but ignored. Delano uses the depositions in two basic ways. First, he employs them to demonstrate the essential truth οf the narrative earlier presented. Second, the depositions serve to bolster his image as an altruistic Samaritan--in short, as a "generous" man. Delano makes the former intention quite clear: The following documents were officially translated, and are inserted without alteration, from the original papers. This I thought to be the most correct course, as it would give the reader a better view οf the subject than any other method that could be adopted. (VT, 331) The point οf controversy that the addition οf the depositions to the tale might solve derives from legal actions Delano felt compelled to take against Cereno after the uprising ordeal had been concluded. Delano took his case for remuneration to the viceregal authorities in Lima, and his selection οf depositions comes from that "official" record. Delano's employment οf legally binding resolutions seems reasonable enough, too--Cereno's behavior, by the accounts given in Delano's depositions, was discreditable and ungrateful, while Delano's was "generous" and deserving οf financial compensation. Recent scholarship makes it necessary to question Delano's expressed intentions for using (and how he used) the depositions (as quoted above). To begin with, Delano claims that the documents "are inserted without alteration, from the original papers," but this is not true. Delano edited the documents. At various locations he interpolated the words "the generous Amasa" before his own surname. Given Delano's actions--he rescued Cereno and what remained οf his crew from certain death, recovered Cereno's vessel, and aided Cereno in getting back to port--such self-embellishment appears to have been gratuitous. Second, Sterling Stuckey and Joshua Leslie (1988) have unearthed and published the additional relevant "missing" depositions, those Delano chose not to include. In them, Cereno refers to Delano as a "monster," and contends that the American's alleged generosity constituted nothing more than a "crooked scheme" (Stuckey and Leslie 1988, 276). Moreover, in a passage that would surely have titillated Melville, Cereno charges, "No one takes more advantage οf our alliance and friendship than the Anglo-Americans" (277). The additional documents reserve special damnation for Delano by some οf his crew members. The second pilot, David Brown, alleges that the entire crew "would rather go without food for three years than [continue to] follow him" (Stuckey and Leslie 1988, 279). Five other members οf the crew-Charles Spence, Peter Stanson, William Brown, William Murray, and James McCan--echo Brown's dissatisfaction and charge Delano with "ill treatment" and "abuse" (280-83). In his own defense, Delano explains early in the narrative that his crew was largely intractable and could not be trusted, especially those who declared against him. Further, Delano argues that he had been treated by Cereno with "injustice ... [and] ingratitude," and that Cereno sought "to injure my character" by bringing the (uncited) deponents to declare against him: [Cereno] went to the prison and took the depositions οf five οf my Botany-bay convicts. ... Amongst those who swore against me were three outlawed convicts. ... I had been the means, undoubtedly, οf saving every one οf their lives. (VT, 329) Undoubtedly, yet the effect οf Delano's editing bolsters his flattering self-depiction because it strikes any overtly negative portrayals οf him from the historical record. What remains are images οf an ostensibly "generous" (albeit self-proclaimed) and altruistic American, motivated more by compassion than by self-interest. Considering the fiscal nature οf his claim against Cereno, however, it is difficult to reconcile the order in which Delano's tale prioritizes his motives--altruism first, followed, almost incidentally, by self-interest. He recorded, "I never made any demand of, nor claimed in any way whatever, more than that they should give me justice" (VT, 329). I do not mean to suggest that Delano had no legitimate pecuniary gripe with Cereno. He probably did. The more compelling issue is Delano's failure to include some documents--because the decision to do so hints strongly at an inversion in motivation. Delano's omission and interpolation may well represent the actions οf a guilty man, but guilty οf what? Given the historical record as it stands, this questions is and likely will remain unsolvable. But it is important because the whiff οf ambiguity that it raises becomes a foul stench under Melville's hand. Had Delano simply left his tale as a first-person narrative sans depositions the tale may well have been more convincing. Certainly, his use οf the depositions does little to support his interpretation οf events. Works Cited Baines, Barbara J. 1984. "Ritualized Cannibalism in 'Benito Cereno': Melville's 'Black-Letter' Texts," ESQ 30: 163-69. Delano, Amasa. [1817] 1970. A Narrative οf Voyages and Travels in tbe Northern and Southern Hemispheres: Comprising Three Voyages Round the World Together with a Voyage οf Survey and Discovery in the Pacific and Oriental Islands. New York: Praeger. Donovan, Josephine. Uncle Tom's Cabin: Evil, Affliction, and Redemptive Love. Boston: Twayne, 1991. Feltenstein, Rosalie. 1947. "Melville's Use οf Delano's Narrative: Melville's Benito Cereno," American Literature 19: 245-55. Finkelstein, Dorothy Metlitsky. 1961. Melville's Orienda. New Haven: Yale University Press. Galloway, David D. 1967-68. "Herman Melville's Benito Cereno: An Anatomy," Texas Studies in Literature and Language 9: 239-52. Hedrick, Joan D. Harriet Beecher Stowe: A Life. New York: Oxford UP, 1994. Johnston, Johanna. Runaway to Heaven: The Story οf Harriet Beecher Stowe. Garden City: Doubleday, 1963. Melville, Herman. [1855] 1979. "Benito Cereno." In Billy Budd and Other Tales. New York: Signet Classic: 141-223. Putzel, Max. 1962. "The Source and the Symbols οf Melville's 'Benito Cereno'," American Literature 34 (May): 189-206. Stowe, Harriet Beecher. Uncle Tom's Cabin. 1852. New York: New American Library, 1966. Stuckey, Sterling, and Joshua Leslie. 1988. "Aftermath: Captain Delano's Claim Against Benito Cereno," Modern Philology 85 no. 3 (February}: 265-87. Wilson, Edmund. Patriotic Gore: Studies in the Literature οf the American Civil War. New York: Oxford UP, 1962. Wilson, Forrest. Crusader in Crinoline: The Life οf Harriet Beecher Stowe. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1941. Read More